“Not tarot,” Jesse said softly. “Something close. Something I almost remember. Could I see your sets of cards?”
“Sure. I’ll bring them right over.” Abigail dashed out of the store, almost running into Tobias as he tried to enter.
“Need cold drinks. Whatever you’ve got,” he said.
“Why don’t I fill up a wire crate while you talk to Tobias,” Shelley said.
“Talk to me about what?” Tobias wiped his face on his sleeve.
“About this.” Jesse pulled the picture of the bison out of the envelope and watched her son pale. “Did it look like this?”
Tobias shook his head. “Mom, you can’t show that picture around.”
“I was asked to give it to Joe Wolfgard. You and Shelley are the only ones in town who have seen it. The only ones who will see it.” She wanted to rub the ache in her wrist, but he knew her tell just like she knew why he sometimes pressed a hand against his right ribs when he was sensing something strong. “What spooks you about this?”
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Tobias gave her a hard look. “Won’t. Truman and I saw something this morning, something humans don’t usually see and live to tell about it.”
Jesse looked at the one paw print that was different from the smaller Wolf prints painted on the bison. “All right, Tobias. I still have to give the picture to Joe Wolfgard.” She hesitated. “Abigail Burch wondered if she could have some bison fat for making her candles and soap.”
“Mom . . .” Tobias didn’t continue, and Jesse heard the tick-tick-tick of her old clock. “I’ll ask, but you make sure Abigail—and Kelley—knows she can’t be wandering out there by herself.”
Shelley put the wire crate on the counter, filled with bottles of juice and soda. “I figured Floyd has water.”
“He does. Thanks Shelley.” Tobias lifted the crate, gave Jesse a look that was both hard and pleading, then walked out of the store.
“Trouble?” Shelley asked.
“Could be.” Jesse put both pictures in the envelope and stashed them under the counter as Abigail returned.
“I brought both sets of cards,” Abigail said, setting silk-wrapped bundles on the counter.
Not tarot cards, Jesse thought as Abigail showed them her grandmother’s deck, then did a reading for Shelley with her own deck. Not tarot, but something similar. Something I’ve seen before.
“I’m going to meet a stranger full of danger and darkness.” Shelley watched Abigail dash across the street toward her own little shop. Then she snorted. “How likely is that here in Prairie Gold?”
“You didn’t get a feeling?” Jesse wished she could put some ice on her now-throbbing wrist.
“Nothing.” Shelley gave her a curious look. “Did you?”
“You need to get back before your helper gets bored and starts rearranging the books again.” Since Shelley’s helpers were usually the older children who liked books and wanted to earn pin money, they tended to be responsible—up to a point. “Do some research for me.”
“You want your own set of tarot cards?” Shelley teased.
“I want to know who makes them. I especially want to know if any Intuit-run company makes them or something like them.”
“You getting a feeling?”
Her vision grayed for a moment, a terrifying sensation. “Yes, I have a feeling.”
CHAPTER 10
Windsday, Juin 6
Jean clenched her hands on either side of the bathroom sink. The Gardners, the Simple Life family who were allowing her to stay in their little guest cabin, never commented when they saw evidence of cutting, but she knew they reported it to someone.
Some days she could resist the need to cut by sitting outside the door of her cabin and watching the activity around the farm, listening to the sounds of children playing. Some days she could resist, but today an old scar itched so much it burned.
Dangerous to cut an old scar and have new images overlaying the previous vision. More dangerous to cut across old scars and jumble together the images of several prophecies. Such a cut was rarely useful. More often it drove a blood prophet insane or broke her mind in some other, smaller way. And this scar wasn’t a true cut. This was damage that had been done to her while the Controller’s men were beating her in order to get blood to make the drug called gone over wolf.
Had to cut. And, worse, had to remember what she saw.
Jean pulled out her razor. Then she rolled up a clean washcloth and bit down on it as a gag. Finally, she carefully cut the old scar and set the razor down moments before the agony filled her body and images filled her mind.
Two images, repeating over and over. Ones she had seen before while the Controller’s men beat her.
She stood on a hilltop, looking down at a big map of Thaisia, its boundaries scratched into the earth. Scattered throughout the continent were tiny candles. In the first image, some of the candles were clustered together, perhaps indicating human cities with a lot of people. In most places, there was a single candle. Probably a marker for a town. All those candles. Heavier concentrations along parts of both coasts. More human places than she would have guessed existed.
The second image. The same map of Thaisia, seen from the same hilltop. So few candles still burning now. So few. But a candle still burned for Lakeside, and another burned for Great Island. Only two candles burned for Toland instead of many.
Some candles burned in the Midwest and Northwest, but their position didn’t match the names of any of the towns she’d learned.
Jean spit out the washcloth, then pressed it against the cut. She was on the bathroom floor, and her body hurt too much to try to stand just yet.
Should she write down what she’d seen and share it with Meg? Should she burden the one blood prophet who, as the Trailblazer, was trying to help the rest of them stay alive?
“Meg’s Wolf,” Jean whispered. Yes. He was a leader of the Lakeside Courtyard. He’d rescued her because Meg had asked him to help her. Maybe knowing that Lakeside could survive what was coming would help him make the choices that would ensure that the city did survive.
Shaky, Jean got to her feet. She washed and bandaged the cut, then cleaned her razor and ate a small meal. Having properly cared for herself, she sat down and wrote a letter to Simon Wolfgard.
To: Simon Wolfgard and Vladimir Sanguinati
Intuits in the Midwest and Northwest have heard about bison being killed in dozens of places throughout those regions. No reports about the bison killings in the news; however, there were reports of cattle or sheep being killed, and outraged ranchers and residents of the neighboring towns were interviewed. Everyone ignored the simple fact that Wolves, Panthers, and Grizzlies don’t shoot their prey, so the animals weren’t killed by the terra indigene. Maybe a few of you should learn how to use a rifle. Less work catching your dinner and much less chance of being kicked or trampled.
Received a request from Jesse Walker, who runs a general store in Prairie Gold. She says Vlad gave his consent for her and a Shelley Bookman to be included in our e-mails about cassandra sangue. Please confirm.
Received the pictures. Wish I could thank you for them.
—Steve Ferryman
To: Steve Ferryman
Jesse Walker’s request confirmed. We want to further the connections between Lakeside, Great Island, Prairie Gold, and Sweetwater.