“What are you going to do?” Natasha asked.

Ilya tapped the return address on the envelope and smiled. “I’m going to ask the Sanguinati in Hubbney for any information they might have about these humans.”

He went into the office at the lodge, turned on the computer, and composed the e-mail he would send to the Sanguinati in Hubb NE. Then his hand hovered over the SEND button.

Human-controlled cities were watched by a collective of terra indigene living in a Courtyard. Here the humans had been watched by the residents of Silence Lodge. They had been a shadow that touched Sproing and Crystalton. But despite their fiercely human-centric educations, their training in how to speak and how to dress—even what vehicles to purchase—they had been isolated. And not just from the humans in Sproing who had thought they were mysterious, rich city dwellers slumming in the wild country. Their ability to be urban predators also had kept them apart from the rest of the terra indigene who lived around Lake Silence and the northern half of Crystal Lake. Even the ones who had some interest in human things were wary of the sleek beings who dressed in black and exuded a blended threat of human and Other.

Then things had changed in the Courtyard at Lakeside. Interesting things that had altered passive watching to interacting. And things changed even more because of the war between the Others and humans, followed by the Great Predation. New humans had arrived in Sproing—and a caretaker had arrived to restore The Jumble. Various forms of terra indigene wanted some knowledge of human things without too much human contact. More a Simple Life than city kind of knowledge.

It could happen now. Was happening now. And, he admitted to himself, he was no longer bored with his important assignment of being the leader of Silence Lodge.

Ilya sat back, the message still waiting to be sent. Last year he had envied Vladimir and the rest of the Sanguinati living in the Lakeside Courtyard. They had been at the center of events that had rippled through the whole of Thaisia. Did he want the tie clip club to be a serious threat because he wanted to be at the center of a new event that might create another, if significantly smaller, ripple? Was he already thinking too much like a human, wanting a problem to solve in order to garner attention and praise from the most powerful among the Sanguinati?

Did it matter? Someone was trying to force Victoria to leave The Jumble. Until she was safe and her position was secure again, even an innocuous-sounding organization could be an enemy.

Ilya sent the e-mail to the Sanguinati in Hubb NE. Then he sent an e-mail to the leader of the Sanguinati in Lakeside—a progress report on the status of The Jumble and his interactions with the caretaker.

CHAPTER 31

Vicki

Moonsday, Juin 19

Julian Farrow looked at my face and winced. I thought having the deep purple bruising above my eyebrow looked bad enough, but when the secondary bruises showed up yesterday, coloring the whole eye area, I decided purple wasn’t a bad look in comparison.

Two middle-aged women were browsing the shelves of used romances. In such a small community, you would think I would know everyone, at least by sight, but I didn’t know these two women beyond type—they were Sproing’s country club set, if Sproing was a place that could afford to build a country club for the handful of families that were too important to rub elbows with the rest of us. These were the women who wouldn’t think of going into Come and Get It for lunch or to the local clothing store unless they wanted everyone to know they were slumming. They were the kind who made a seasonal trip to Hubbney or Toland for a clothes-buying spree, which impressed no one except themselves.

My ex-mother-in-law had been like them, smiling and keeping her voice devastatingly pleasant while she listed my inadequacies and all the reasons Yorick could have done better if he’d thought with his head instead of letting his loins respond to a moment’s temptation, which was the only reason I had ensnared him into marriage. The fact that he didn’t have access to any of the family money when we got married and needed someone to help support him while he “grew into his potential” meant none of the posh girls would have been of any use to him since they, too, needed someone to support them while they grew into their potential.

At a party for our fifth anniversary, one of his friends asked him why he was holding on to his starter wife now that he was established. When Yorick just laughed, that should have told me something, but by then I believed him when he told me that no one else would want to screw, let alone marry, someone who looked dumpy even in the most expensive dress, and I was lucky that he still wanted to stay with me.

“Should expect something like that to happen when you live around brutes.”

I don’t know which woman said it, but I felt the punch behind the words. Easier to blame the woman for the black eye until it’s your eye. Then I saw the look on Julian’s face as he turned toward the women, and I leaped to stop him from doing or saying something he would regret.

“What do you think?” I said loudly, moving into his line of sight. “I’m trying it out for a friend who does stage makeup. The color is called Bruise Yellow.”

Julian studied me. Did he understand what I was trying to do? Would he play along?

“It looks real,” he said after a moment. “But why only do one eye?”

“To make it look realistic.”

He nodded as if that made sense.

A muttered remark from one of the women. I didn’t catch it, but that look filled Julian’s face again—a look that made me think he’d been other things in his life besides an amiable bookstore owner.

“You know what else my friend told me?” I asked Julian, once more pulling him away from a potential confrontation.

“What?”

“That there is a shade of red lipstick favored by women of mature years that has a special, very secret ingredient. Know what it is?”

“What?” he said again.

“Bull urine.”

He blinked. The women, who had their backs to us, gasped.

“What?” Julian said for the third time, making me wonder if something was wrong with him. He usually wasn’t so limited in his vocabulary.

“Bull urine. It’s the ingredient that adds that hint of yellow under the red. So instead of asking someone if he would kiss his mother with that mouth after he uses really bad swearwords, you should be asking if he’d want to be kissed by someone wearing that shade of red lipstick.” I looked at the two women and gave them a Sproinger happy face.

They stared at me as if I’d suddenly grown fangs. Which made me wonder if there were any of those costume shops left where you could buy things like fake teeth for Trickster Night. Might be fun to greet the Proud and the Huffy with a fanged happy face. But I wouldn’t want to insult my attorney, whose fangs were anything but fake.

One of the women lifted the books she had selected to make sure we were watching. Then she dropped them on the floor and sniffed at Julian. “If you’re going to let riffraff into your establishment, we’ll take our business elsewhere.”

“Do that,” Julian snapped. “And just so there are no misunderstandings in the future, if you do decide to purchase books here, I won’t accept any used books from you in exchange. The last time you brought books in, one had been dropped in dirty water and the other two smelled like cat piss. Any books you buy here from now on, you pay the going price.”

“Well!” the first woman huffed.

“I’m going to report you!” the other snipped.

“To whom? I own the place,” Julian said.

The second woman hesitated, then dropped her stack of used books on the floor in a show of solidarity. The first woman kicked a book out of her way as she marched to the door and out, her friend trailing behind her.

Julian came out from behind the island counter and began to pick up the books the women had dropped. When I took a step to help him, he snapped, “Don’t.” Then, more softly, “Bitches.”

Since I didn’t think any business in Sproing could afford to lose customers, I felt badly for him—and felt guilty because my coming into the store had contributed to his trouble with some of his customers.

I watched the women cross the street. “They’re going to the police station.” I turned and looked at him. “They’re going to report you to the police?”