“She’s not in trouble, is she?” Meg couldn’t think of anything Ruth—or Merri Lee or Theral, for that matter—could have done that might upset the Business Association.

“No one in the female pack is in trouble. At least, not with us.” Henry closed the drawer and came over to stand beside her. “No more packages arrived that we should know about? You would tell us if there were?”

She blinked at his fierce tone. “Why wouldn’t I tell you? We aren’t receiving many packages for individuals. I don’t think anyone in the Courtyard is ordering anything from catalogs right now, so that’s not unusual.”

“Nothing from that Jack Fillmore who is hunting Theral?”

Oh. That kind of package. “No. Nothing since those chocolates. Maybe he’s left Lakeside.”

“He has the scent of his prey, Meg.” Henry’s voice was a soft rumble. “He’ll keep hunting until he catches her—or we catch him.”

“Then I’ll keep watching.”

“Arroo!”

Meg looked through the doorway into the front room. “So will Nathan.”

Henry folded the paper with the measurements for the box and tucked it into his pocket.

“Henry?” Meg considered the wisdom of asking the question. “Never mind.”

Henry left the Liaison’s Office. Meg listened but didn’t hear the gate to his yard open. Must be going directly to his meeting with Ruth.

She took the supply notebook from the drawer that now held several notebooks covering a number of subjects—including The Blood Prophets Guide. No, there weren’t many packages coming in for individuals, but they had been receiving some of the supplies she had ordered in quantity. She’d have to talk to Simon and the rest of the Business Association about how those supplies would be distributed among the Courtyard’s residents, but that would have to wait.

She’d done as Vlad asked. She hadn’t turned on the TV news or the radio or tried to peek at the newspaper. It hadn’t been said, but it was understood between them that when the repercussions caused by the death of the Wolfgard in the Midwest and Northwest were concluded, Vlad would bring her the office copy of the Lakeside News.

She wondered if she would ever read a newspaper again—and as she wondered, she opened the drawer that held the prophecy cards and brushed her hand over the backs of the cards.

Don’t know enough about working with them, she argued with herself. No one knows if choosing some cards is really the same as prophecy. Blood prophets might be no better at seeing the future than Intuits are when they use these things.

But she felt a pins-and-needles prickle in the hand brushing the cards—a feeling that quickly turned into a buzz.

All right, then. Ask a question. “What are the repercussions from the humans killing the terra indigene?”