Written in Red (5 page)

“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.

“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 fancy clothes and baubles. Other times she spent a few weeks in a town that was a variation of Podunk, playing the role of shy young widow starting a new life, wearing twin sets and pumps while she ferreted out information about the selected target—or helped ruin his business career or political ambitions.

The work was exciting, it was fun, it paid well, and now that Bigwig had brought in a few other interested parties to finance her, she was being given extended assignments with more challenging targets. It wasn’t the way most actresses built their careers, but she’d return to Sparkletown in another year or two with enough juice to get any part she wanted.

Infiltrating a Courtyard was her biggest and riskiest assignment to date. She had relocated to Lakeside because it was the only Courtyard in the whole of Thaisia that had any human employees beyond the Liaison. Even Toland on the East Coast and Sparkletown on the West—the financial and entertainment centers of the continent—didn’t have Courtyards with as much tolerance for humans. Her task was to get in, observe, and report anything and everything that might help with dealing with the Others or, better yet, breaking their stranglehold on the human cities in Thaisia.

With minimal information to work with, despite having friends who had friends in Lakeside’s government, Bigwig had suggested two potential targets as her ticket into the Courtyard: Elliot Wolfgard and Simon Wolfgard. With Elliot, she would have rubbed elbows with government officials and social climbers who might have provided other information of monetary value. But at the last minute, Bigwig discovered that, before relocating to Lakeside, Elliot had once told a society girl who was flirting with him that monkey fucking wasn’t any different from barnyard banging, and neither was of interest to him. No one remembered what she said in reply, but a few days later, the society girl was found partially eaten in her own bedroom. So Asia crossed Elliot Wolfgard off the list.

That left Simon, who looked to be in his mid-thirties—young enough to like a frequent rub and old enough that he wouldn’t be likely to lose control, leaving a human partner rutting with a Wolf. So she’d chosen a persona and a look that fit in with the other university and tech-college girls who hung around the store. She even signed up for a couple of classes at Lakeside University as a way to fill time. And what had she gotten for her efforts so far? Nothing. No job, no sex, no pillow talk, not even a few minutes in the stockroom for some tongue and tickle. She couldn’t even wangle a membership to the fitness center.

She needed to show some progress soon. If she didn’t, her backers might end the assignment and send in someone else. And if they did
that,
Bigwig wouldn’t deliver on his promises, and she could end up back in Podunk instead of being the star of her own TV show.

Cawing announced the arrival of a handful of Crows who landed on the shoulder-high brick wall that ran along the left-hand side of the delivery area. One flew down to a flat-topped wooden sculpture positioned in front of one of the Liaison Office’s windows. That one watched whatever was going on inside the office. The other four watched
her.

Turning as if she had paused momentarily and had no interest in anything that concerned the Courtyard, Asia walked away.

She wasn’t getting anywhere with Simon Wolfgard. Maybe she would have better luck with the new Liaison.

Meg opened the door marked
PRIVATE
, then closed her eyes and pictured the Liaison’s Office as if it were drawn on paper. A rectangular building divided into three big rooms. The back room had the washroom, which contained the toilet and sink. It also served as break room and storage, and had a door that led outside and one that accessed the sorting room. The sorting room had a large outside delivery door, an
inside
delivery door that provided access to the front room, and the door with the
PRIVATE
sign that was directly behind the three-sided counter area. The front room, where she assumed most deliveries would be made since it had the counter, had the one glass door and two large windows.

She studied the sorting room again and wondered who had designed the Liaison’s Office. For a room that was supposed to be private, private,
private
, the sorting room had an awful lot of doors, not to mention a window that would accommodate illicit access.

Not her problem. As long as she kept the delivery doors locked when they weren’t needed, she could avoid being eaten. Maybe. Hopefully. Right now, she had to get ready for business.

Turning on the lights in the front part of the office was easy—the switches were on the wall next to the Private
door. Getting to the outside door to open it was a problem because she couldn’t figure out how the short left end of the counter opened to let someone into the main part of the room. So she got the stool from the sorting room and used it to climb over the counter. She turned the simple lock to the open position and then realized the simple lock was augmented by a heavy-duty dead bolt that required a key—which might or might not be on the key ring she’d left in the sorting room.

Caw caw