Etched in Bone
Page 55
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• • •
“No,” Steve said.
Frightened by the ferocity in that one word, Meg moved closer to Simon, who bared his teeth and snarled at the Intuit.
“Why?” she asked. “Sierra needs a safe place to live.”
“Not in Ferryman’s Landing. And not on the island. I watched her, Meg. I listened to her. And I had a feeling—a very bad feeling—that she would cause serious trouble for my people if I permitted her to relocate to Great Island.”
She hadn’t been prepared for an argument, hadn’t considered that Steve would put one of his feelings ahead of one of her prophecies, even if her prediction of the future had come from using the prophecy cards.
“She needs a safe place,” Meg insisted.
“Then you and Simon and her cop brother should help her relocate somewhere far away.”
Simon had narrowed his eyes at Steve and growled softly, but he wasn’t adding anything to her argument—which made her wonder if he actually agreed with Steve. Which made her angry.
“Give me one good reason for not allowing Sierra to live on Great Island,” Meg snapped.
“I can give you five,” Steve snapped back. “Six if you count Jean.”
She swayed as if he’d given her a hard slap.
Steve rammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m not saying Sierra would go after the girls and try to do them deliberate harm. I didn’t get that feeling. But everyone who lives in Ferryman’s Landing knows about the girls. Almost every business in the village is involved in building the new campus, and Lois Greene has begun printing a progress report in the Great Island Reporter. That we’re taking care of young blood prophets isn’t a secret—gods, I’m the one who sends out The Blood Prophets Guide e-mails—but there aren’t many people beyond Intuits and terra indigene who know about the girls in our care.” He hesitated, then looked directly at Simon. “Stavros Sanguinati knows. He dropped by to introduce himself, being the new leader in Talulah Falls. He said I could call him if I needed his kind of help.”
Meg looked at Steve, then at Simon. “What kind of help?” She’d met Stavros. He reminded her of Vlad, only more intense.
“Stavros was the Toland Courtyard’s problem solver,” Simon replied, focused on Steve. “He doesn’t offer his kind of help lightly.”
Steve nodded. “That was my impression.”
The skin around Meg’s spine buzzed. The pins-and-needles feeling prickled the skin above her collarbone. She wanted to cut, wanted to feel the relief and release. Wanted the euphoria that came from speaking prophecy. She’d been good for weeks and weeks, using the cards instead of the razor. Cards that might provide answers but not the pleasure.
“Meg?”
Simon’s hand, warm on the back of her neck.
“Sierra and Cyrus,” she said softly. “It’s like me and the razor, isn’t it?”
She didn’t hear the snarl; she felt the rumble of it through his hand.
“There’s no need for that,” Steve said, sounding upset.
No need except wanting something that harmed her and would eventually kill her.
She took the wooden box out of the drawer and spread the prophecy cards over the sorting room table. “Ask the question.”
Steve looked confused—or perhaps just unwilling.
“What would happen if the Sierra moved to Great Island?” Simon said. “Speak, prophet, and we will listen.”
Meg closed her eyes and let her fingers brush over the cards until she found the one that made her fingers burn, made her spine buzz and the skin around her collarbone prickle. She turned the card over before opening her eyes.
Hooded figure holding a scythe.
“Death,” Simon said grimly.
“We don’t know who will die,” Meg said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Steve replied. “It might be Sierra or one of the young blood prophets. It might be an Intuit or one of the terra indigene. If she lives among us, she’ll bring death.”
“Because she won’t be able to resist her own kind of razor,” Meg said. Hadn’t she been receiving that message in one form or another from Ruth and Merri Lee and Theral? “Sooner or later, Sierra would call Cyrus or leave some kind of clue of where to find her.”
“I’m no counselor, but that sounds about right,” Steve said. “Until she chooses not to make that call, there is no safe place for her to live, and I can’t agree to something that will put our most vulnerable citizens at risk.”
Meg nodded. You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want help. That was a hard, and bitter, life lesson.
“Well,” Steve said after an awkward silence. “I’d better go hear what Captain Burke has in mind.” He reached across the table and touched Meg’s hand. “Sorry I couldn’t help.” Giving Simon a nod, he left the Liaison’s Office.
Meg gathered up the cards and returned them to the box. “Whatever the Elders expect to learn from all this, I hope it’s worth it.”
A moment’s hesitation. Then she felt the heat from Simon’s body as he moved close to her, felt his lips press lightly against her temple, giving her the oddest sensation of pleasure.
“I hope so too,” he said.
• • •
Simon found Lieutenant Montgomery in Meat-n-Greens, drinking ice water and pretending to eat a small bowl of cottage cheese.
“No,” Steve said.
Frightened by the ferocity in that one word, Meg moved closer to Simon, who bared his teeth and snarled at the Intuit.
“Why?” she asked. “Sierra needs a safe place to live.”
“Not in Ferryman’s Landing. And not on the island. I watched her, Meg. I listened to her. And I had a feeling—a very bad feeling—that she would cause serious trouble for my people if I permitted her to relocate to Great Island.”
She hadn’t been prepared for an argument, hadn’t considered that Steve would put one of his feelings ahead of one of her prophecies, even if her prediction of the future had come from using the prophecy cards.
“She needs a safe place,” Meg insisted.
“Then you and Simon and her cop brother should help her relocate somewhere far away.”
Simon had narrowed his eyes at Steve and growled softly, but he wasn’t adding anything to her argument—which made her wonder if he actually agreed with Steve. Which made her angry.
“Give me one good reason for not allowing Sierra to live on Great Island,” Meg snapped.
“I can give you five,” Steve snapped back. “Six if you count Jean.”
She swayed as if he’d given her a hard slap.
Steve rammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m not saying Sierra would go after the girls and try to do them deliberate harm. I didn’t get that feeling. But everyone who lives in Ferryman’s Landing knows about the girls. Almost every business in the village is involved in building the new campus, and Lois Greene has begun printing a progress report in the Great Island Reporter. That we’re taking care of young blood prophets isn’t a secret—gods, I’m the one who sends out The Blood Prophets Guide e-mails—but there aren’t many people beyond Intuits and terra indigene who know about the girls in our care.” He hesitated, then looked directly at Simon. “Stavros Sanguinati knows. He dropped by to introduce himself, being the new leader in Talulah Falls. He said I could call him if I needed his kind of help.”
Meg looked at Steve, then at Simon. “What kind of help?” She’d met Stavros. He reminded her of Vlad, only more intense.
“Stavros was the Toland Courtyard’s problem solver,” Simon replied, focused on Steve. “He doesn’t offer his kind of help lightly.”
Steve nodded. “That was my impression.”
The skin around Meg’s spine buzzed. The pins-and-needles feeling prickled the skin above her collarbone. She wanted to cut, wanted to feel the relief and release. Wanted the euphoria that came from speaking prophecy. She’d been good for weeks and weeks, using the cards instead of the razor. Cards that might provide answers but not the pleasure.
“Meg?”
Simon’s hand, warm on the back of her neck.
“Sierra and Cyrus,” she said softly. “It’s like me and the razor, isn’t it?”
She didn’t hear the snarl; she felt the rumble of it through his hand.
“There’s no need for that,” Steve said, sounding upset.
No need except wanting something that harmed her and would eventually kill her.
She took the wooden box out of the drawer and spread the prophecy cards over the sorting room table. “Ask the question.”
Steve looked confused—or perhaps just unwilling.
“What would happen if the Sierra moved to Great Island?” Simon said. “Speak, prophet, and we will listen.”
Meg closed her eyes and let her fingers brush over the cards until she found the one that made her fingers burn, made her spine buzz and the skin around her collarbone prickle. She turned the card over before opening her eyes.
Hooded figure holding a scythe.
“Death,” Simon said grimly.
“We don’t know who will die,” Meg said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Steve replied. “It might be Sierra or one of the young blood prophets. It might be an Intuit or one of the terra indigene. If she lives among us, she’ll bring death.”
“Because she won’t be able to resist her own kind of razor,” Meg said. Hadn’t she been receiving that message in one form or another from Ruth and Merri Lee and Theral? “Sooner or later, Sierra would call Cyrus or leave some kind of clue of where to find her.”
“I’m no counselor, but that sounds about right,” Steve said. “Until she chooses not to make that call, there is no safe place for her to live, and I can’t agree to something that will put our most vulnerable citizens at risk.”
Meg nodded. You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want help. That was a hard, and bitter, life lesson.
“Well,” Steve said after an awkward silence. “I’d better go hear what Captain Burke has in mind.” He reached across the table and touched Meg’s hand. “Sorry I couldn’t help.” Giving Simon a nod, he left the Liaison’s Office.
Meg gathered up the cards and returned them to the box. “Whatever the Elders expect to learn from all this, I hope it’s worth it.”
A moment’s hesitation. Then she felt the heat from Simon’s body as he moved close to her, felt his lips press lightly against her temple, giving her the oddest sensation of pleasure.
“I hope so too,” he said.
• • •
Simon found Lieutenant Montgomery in Meat-n-Greens, drinking ice water and pretending to eat a small bowl of cottage cheese.
