Etched in Bone (The Others, #5)

by Anne Bishop

“You don’t have to eat them. And I promise I won’t try to sneak any of them on your plate and trick you into eating them.” He looked at her and laughed. “You get finicky about bits of meat, but you’ll eat that yogurt stuff?”

Giving the tip of her nose a quick lick, Simon walked out of the sorting room. He looked back when he reached the door. Meg was sorting the mail, but she kept glancing at the box. Feeling lighter, as if they’d had a few minutes of playtime, he wondered how many pieces of mail the ponies would have to redeliver because he’d found the right distraction.

Whether she had anything for him or not, she stopped at his home in the Chambers, stood on one side of the gate in the black, wrought-iron fence, and chatted with the old Sanguinati for a few minutes. With the Elementals and

was about letting them see she was all right—and about sharing news that wasn’t written down.

He was outside staring at the closed door before he realized Meg hadn’t given him a chance to play the pester game. That was so unfair, but at least he’d gotten a cookie, a scritch, a hug, and a couple of licks out of it. He could live with that kind of unfair.

They continued to prowl around the cluster of buildings, finally ending up at the back door of the not-Wolf’s working den. How did the not-Wolf know when to supply the tasty for the Wolves? How did the not-Wolf know what to bring to the smaller shifters when she got into her box and did the baby-bunny scoot around the Courtyard?

Meg opened the back door and scanned the surrounding area. Returning to the sorting room, she studied the scrap of paper that had been slipped under the door sometime before she’d arrived that morning. want cukkies

Meg opened the back door, then stepped on the scrap of paper that almost fluttered away. She picked it up. want cukkies! “Oh, you do, do you?” Sure that whoever had left the paper was watching nearby, Meg stepped outside and shook her finger. “When someone makes a request for a treat, that person should say please. That’s the polite thing to do.” She waited, sure that the puppies or juveniles who had left the paper would come slinking out of their hiding places with their heads down and their tails tucked. But there was nothing but an odd silence that made her feel strange. Feeling uncertain but refusing to act like a scared bunny, she shook her finger again and shouted, “You are being bad puppies!” “Meg?” She looked up at Pete, who stood on the upstairs landing. “Just setting boundaries,” she said, going back inside.

It felt like she’d waited a week, but she was pretty sure it was only a minute before he returned and handed her another scrap of paper. want cukkies pleeze

Blair reached the corner. He looked at a woman standing near the crosswalk, then pointed a front paw at the “walk” button on the pole and made a sound. Meg wasn’t sure what the sound was supposed to mean, since Blair had a mouthful of turkey neck, but the woman pushed the crosswalk button and received a milder sound in response. The light changed. The crossing sign lit up, and Blair and the turkey trotted across the street and turned down Crowfield Avenue.

“Miss Twyla . . . ,”Simon tried again. “No.” The word was said quietly and courteously—and made it clear that there would be no arguing and no discussing. Miss Twyla gave Simon a long look. “You think I don’t understand what happened here, and why? Trying takes courage. How many of you got it right the first time?” Most of the terra indigene who tried the form never managed to shift all the way, so they couldn’t pass for human. But they also didn’t try to sit at a table with humans and eat. “Anyone who has a problem with this is welcome to fix a plate and eat elsewhere,” Miss Twyla said. “And that includes you.”