Marked In Flesh (The Others #4) - Anne Bishop Page 0,145

“Get inside, all of you.”

“The BOW,” Meg said, finally realizing the little vehicle could be seriously damaged.

“I’ll deal with it. And the Wolfgard,” Jester muttered as he got in the BOW.

“Get inside, Meg,” Air said. “What is coming does not like humans. But you’ll be safe with our ponies.”

“Thank you. Come on, Sam. Come on, Skippy. Let’s get inside.”

She rushed into the barn, the two Wolves right behind her.

Jester returned a minute later and scowled at her. “I know you’re human, but I would swear you have some Coyote blood. Only one of my kind could cause this much trouble so easily.”

Before she could apologize or explain, Jester was conferring with Mist and fetching a harness that had baskets with flaps that kept mail dry in bad weather. As soon as the pony was fitted out, he trotted off, heading toward the Market Square.

“That stall has fresh straw,” Jester said. “We can all curl up there and keep an eye on things.”

“Okay. Jester . . .”

The Coyote waved off her apology before she could say it. He glanced at Sam and Skippy, then at her. “Good thing Simon is going to be busy most of the day. I don’t imagine Blair will be able to get here either for at least a few hours.”

Meg spread blankets over the straw, then sat down with Sam while Skippy explored the Pony Barn.

“Did you run away too?” she asked Sam.

Sam looked up at her. “Arroo.”

She sighed. “We’re going to be in soooo much trouble.”

“Roo.”

As she put an arm around Sam, she realized all the prickles and buzzes beneath her skin had stopped.

For now, at least, everyone around her was where they were supposed to be.

• • •

“Stay, Daddy. Please stay.”

Monty hugged his daughter. “I can’t, Lizzy girl. The police have to help the people who might be in trouble during the storm.”

“We’ll be fine.” Twyla put her hands on Lizzy’s shoulders. “We’re as ready as anyone can be, and we’ll be just fine.”

“Have you told Simon Wolfgard he’s not in charge anymore?” Monty asked.

“Huh.” Twyla smiled. “Eve Denby and I told him the women had things in hand to look after the people coming here for shelter, and he had the sense to go off and take care of his own business.”

It felt a little forced, but Monty returned the smile. “Yes, ma’am. Message received.”

Her smile faded. “We’ll be fine here, Crispin.”

He touched Lizzy’s hair. “You mind Grandma Twyla, you hear?”

“Yes, Daddy. I hear.”

Being the newest members of the female pack, Twyla and Sierra were assigned the care of the children—a practical choice since three of the five were family. They were tucked in the efficiency apartment that would be turned into the school. It had drinking water and plumbing, was easily reached by the adults, both human and terra indigene, who would be looking after the Courtyard’s businesses, and had a television, a movie disc player, and a sufficient supply of movies to keep the youngsters occupied, not to mention the games, books, and changes of clothing. The kitchen was packed with food. Everything that could be done to protect the young had been done.

As he hurried down the stairs and turned toward the back door of Howling Good Reads, where his team was meeting Burke to receive their orders, he wondered where Sam Wolfgard and Meg Corbyn were going to wait out the storm.

Gods, Monty thought as lightning scarred a dark sky and the wind knocked him sideways a step. This area behind the stores was sheltered on all sides. If wind gusts were this bad here, what were they going to be like out in the open?

As he fought with the wind for possession of the door and finally got it closed, he heard Kowalski’s voice coming from the stacks on his left.

“Dad, I know what they’re saying on the radio. I’ve been listening to the freaking weather reports too. But I’m telling you, this is going to be a bad storm. Bad enough that the families of police officers are being offered shelter at the stations. You, Mom, and Tim can . . . Gods above and below! Those people are finished. Can’t you see that? Let me talk to Mom. Dad? Dad!”

A defeated sigh and a soft, “Fuck.” Then Kowalski squeezed through the stacks of books and other supplies, blushing when he saw Monty.

“Is your family going to take shelter at the station?” Monty asked quietly.

Kowalski shook his head. “‘I lived through the storm of blah-di-blah-blah, and I’m