Would the cutting be as compelling if there were other ways to feel pleasure, other sensations?
But that sterile life was her past. Now she was gaining the experience of driving in snow, and as long as she didn’t run into another vehicle or end up in a ditch, the Wolf had no reason to criticize.
The road forked. The left fork curved toward the Owlgard Complex and the Pony Barn. The right fork was the main road and had a sign that read, TRESPASSERS WILL BE EATEN.
Meg swallowed hard and continued on the main road, passing the Green Complex. Then she passed the Ash Grove and the Utilities Complex. Finally she reached the ornate black fences that marked the Chambers, the part of the Courtyard claimed by the Sanguinati.
She tried to pull up some memory about that name, was sure she knew something about them even though the girls had been taught very little about the Others. But Jester’s warning when she was packing up the BOW was clear enough.
The fences around the Chambers aren’t decorative, Meg. They’re boundaries. You never push open a gate and step onto the Sanguinati’s land for any reason. Anyone who enters without their consent doesn’t leave—and I’ve never known them to give their consent.
What unnerved her about the words was the certainty that they applied to the rest of the terra indigene as well as humans.
But she didn’t have to break the rules to deliver the packages. When she pulled up to the first white marble building positioned in the center of its fenced-in land, she saw nine metal boxes outside the fence, painted black and secured to a stone foundation. They didn’t have individual numbers, so they must be used by everyone who lived in the . . . Was that a mausoleum? It seemed small if the handful of names with this particular address actually lived inside.
She opened the door of the first box. Roomy enough for magazines and other mail of similar size. Another box was wider and the packages she had fit well enough. She put packages in three more boxes, then got back into the BOW and went on to the next building.
Four packages for the residents of this part of the Chambers. This time, as she closed the door of the last box, she noticed the soot around the mausoleum. Or was that smoke? Was something on fire inside?
She leaned into the BOW and fumbled for the mobile phone Tess had arranged for her to have. She had dutifully put in the contact numbers for Simon, Tess, and the consulate. But whom should she call to report a fire? How did the Courtyard handle emergencies?
Then the smoke drifted away from the structure with a deliberate change of direction—toward her.
She stopped fumbling for the phone, got into the BOW, and headed for the next fenced area.
This mausoleum didn’t look any different from the other two, except there was a smaller one built close to the fence separating the two structures. The walkway from the gate to the elaborately carved wooden door was clear of snow, as was the marble stoop.
Smoke drifted close to the fences.
Jester didn’t say she wouldn’t be harmed if she was on this side of the fence. He just said being harmed was a certainty if she went inside the fenced area.
Maybe they would appreciate someone finally delivering their packages?
Tucking her pass inside the coat pocket, she got out of the BOW, raised the back door, pulled out the packages, and filled several of the boxes.
Then she pulled out a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati. It was one of the packages shoved farthest back in that corner of the sorting room, so it had been there for weeks, maybe even months.
It wasn’t a heavy package, but it was square rather than a rectangle, making it too high to fit into the metal boxes. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering what she should do.
“Something wrong?”
She stumbled back a step. She hadn’t seen anyone approach, hadn’t heard anyone, but a beautiful woman with dark eyes and black hair that flowed to the waist of her black velvet gown now stood near the fence that separated the two mausoleums.
“I have a package for Mr. Erebus Sanguinati, but it won’t fit into the boxes.”
“You’re the new Liaison?”
“Yes. I’m Meg Corbyn.”
The woman didn’t offer her name. Instead, she looked toward the larger mausoleum—whose door was now open just enough for someone to peek out.
“You could leave a form saying there is a package being held at the Liaison’s Office,” the woman said.
“It’s been at the office for a while,” Meg replied. “That’s why I thought I should deliver it in person.”
The woman’s smile was more lethal than encouraging. “You could leave it in the snow. The previous Liaisons would have—if they had been brave enough to come at all.”
Meg shook her head. “Whatever is inside might get damaged if it got wet.”
A sound like dry leaves skittering over a sidewalk came from the larger mausoleum.
The woman looked startled, then studied Meg with unnerving interest. “Grandfather Erebus says you may enter the Chambers and set the package before the door. Stay on the walkway, and you will come to no harm.”
“I was told I wasn’t allowed to enter the Chambers,” Meg said.
The woman’s smile sharpened. “Even the Wolfgard accommodates the Grandfather.”
Which meant Mr. Erebus was a very important person in the Courtyard.
Smoke flowed swiftly over the snow, gathering to one side of the gate. Part of it condensed, becoming an arm and a hand that pulled open the gate before changing back to smoke that moved away.
Something about smoke and the name Sanguinati that she needed to remember.
Pushing open the gate a little more, Meg walked up to the mausoleum. A hand curled around the edge of the door—an old hand with knobby joints, big veins, and yellowed, horny fingernails. A dark eye in a lined face peered out at her.
Not quite looking him in the eye, in case that was offensive to him, Meg carefully set the package down on the dry marble stoop.
“I’m sorry it took so long for you to receive your package, Mr. Erebus. I’ll watch for them from now on and get them to you as soon as I can.”
“Sweet child,” he whispered in that dry-leaves voice. “So considerate of an old man.”
“I hope nothing spoiled,” Meg said, stepping back. “Good day, sir.” She turned and walked back to the BOW, aware of all the smoke gathering just inside the fences. The gate closed behind her. The woman continued to watch her as she got into the BOW and drove off.
She had another set of packages for another address in the Chambers, but she was feeling shaky and wanted to get away from that part of the Courtyard. She continued driving until she passed the last of those ornate black fences and was heading for the Hawkgard Complex.
Then she remembered. Smoke. Sanguinati.
She hit the brakes and almost slid into a snowbank. She managed to put the BOW in park and crank up the heater before she started shaking.
Vampire. In one of their hurried, forbidden conversations, Jean had told her vampire was the street name for the Sanguinati. Smoke was another form they could take when they were hunting.
And when they are killing?
Now she understood why it was so dangerous to set foot on their land—and why no one who did left the Sanguinati’s piece of the Courtyard.
But an old, powerful vampire had given permission for her to enter the Chambers and deliver a package.
“Oh, I feel woozy.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them, too uneasy about not being able to see what might be approaching.
How many of them had been out there, watching her?