Ruthie and Theral rode off on bicycles. Meg and Merri Lee drove off in the BOW.

Simon looked at Kowalski, who was usually at work by now.

“Where are you going to put them?” Kowalski asked, nodding at the bison.

“Why?”

“Out of sight, out of mind. If they’re around where the girls see them every day, they’ll end up with names, and I don’t think the girls will forgive you if you put a platter of Fred or Henrietta on the table.”

Jerry nodded. “Oh, yeah. What he said.”

Simon thought this over. The Wolves wouldn’t be serving up their bison on any platters, but some of the meat would be sold at the butcher shop in the Market Square for the humans to buy. How would they know which bison had become a roast? Would it matter?

Humans were no end of trouble even before they did anything.

“Right,” he said. “Don’t name the food.”

“Jackson said males and females remain separate most of the time,” Nyx said. “We can keep the females in the Chambers. It’s fenced.”

It was also off-limits to everyone but the Sanguinati—not the best choice to establish the bison where they couldn’t be hunted. Then again, deer were plentiful, so there was no reason to hunt bison for another year or two, and the land inside the Chambers offered plenty of grazing and fresh water.

“Will Erebus agree to this?” Simon asked. “Bison aren’t dainty when they poop.”

Vlad shrugged. “Deer roam inside the Chambers. I don’t see . . .” One of the bison lifted its tail and demonstrated not being dainty. “Ah.”

“It will be fine,” Nyx said.

“I’d best be getting back,” Jerry said. “Anything you want me to deliver to Ferryman’s Landing?”

Simon shook his head. “Not today.”

The bison wandered across the road and began to graze.

“Anyone want a lift to the exit?” Jerry asked.

“Sure,” Kowalski replied. “It’s time for me to head out to work.”

“I’ll walk,” Simon said.

Nyx shifted to smoke and flowed in the direction of the Chambers.

Vlad set out with Simon, heading for the Market Square, where Blair and Jackson would meet them with the van, since two of the juvenile Wolves from the Addirondak packs were coming with them to the River Road Community.

“Wouldn’t a few cattle be easier to manage if you’d wanted something . . . exotic?” Vlad asked.

“We have access to beef and to dairy foods from terra indigene farms,” Simon replied. “Don’t need cows here. Besides, bison don’t need tending as long as they have food and water. And in another year, one of them can feed the whole Courtyard for days.”

“You think humans in Lakeside are going to continue to let earth native trucks reach the Courtyard to supply us with beef, eggs, and milk?”

“You think this city will survive if they don’t allow those trucks to reach us?” Simon countered.

“No. Fortunately, there are those in the Lakeside police who understand that too.”

They didn’t speak for a minute. Then Simon said, “You’ll keep an eye on Meg?”

Vlad nodded. “Henry is working in his studio—or, more precisely, he says he’s sanding a piece and is working in his yard. With the sorting room window open, he’ll hear enough of what Meg and the other girls are saying about the decks of cards Jackson brought—and what they think of the sketches Hope made for Meg.”

Blair passed them but didn’t stop, giving Simon a few more minutes before he reached the Market Square and had to deal with the next task.

• • •

Meg opened one deck and laid the cards on the sorting room table in rows.

“Lovely artwork on these fortune-telling cards,” Ruth said. “It’s almost like the illustrations make up an entire fantasy world.”

“Lovely, yes, but not realistic,” Meg replied.

“The art is supposed to be symbolic of what the cards represent, not realistic.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Merri Lee said, watching Meg. “You’re not going to see visions about people or events in that fantasy world, so you need a picture of fire, not a picture of a dragon that represents fire.”

“Yes,” Meg said. “And we need to call the cards by a different name because saying we’re telling fortunes sounds like a kind of entertainment, and we’re trying to use the cards as a tool for prophecy.”

“Then that’s what we’ll call them—prophecy cards.” Merri Lee swept the rows of cards into stacks, her movements hampered by the splint on the left index finger.

“How much longer?” Ruth asked, pointing at Merri Lee’s hand.

“Hopefully the splint comes off tomorrow after Dr. Lorenzo checks the finger. Gods, I’ll be glad to have both hands to wash my hair.”

“At least it was a simple break. It looked . . .”

“Like the bone was sticking through the skin. Lucky for me it was a shard of bone china from all the dishes that had broken during the fight at the stall market. Sure looked like bone, especially since my finger hurt.” Merri Lee blew out a breath. “Most of us were lucky.”

Meg didn’t say anything. Girls had come and gone in the compound where she’d been raised and used, but she hadn’t known any of them well enough to feel the loss—not the way she felt the loss of Lawrence MacDonald and Crystal Crowgard. They had been friends.