Jasper Mountain (20 page)

First, she flipped over the one signifying her. She gasped.

“This cannot be,” she said and looked down at the priestess of the Old Religion. She shook her head, incredulous. This card, meant to signify her, encompassed all the faith and power of a
shuv’hani:
healing powers and wisdom without end. A woman able to walk on this earth as well as through the Otherworld. One with strength enough to bring significant and meaningful change to the world around her. All the things she admired in her ancestresses. All the things she searched to find. All the things she was not.

She jumped at a rap on her door. She knocked the table and her cards fluttered, landing facedown. Only one landed faceup.

The card of death mocked her from the floor.

Miners lined up at the platform like they did every morning, but this was hardly every morning. With Mouse practically glued to his side, Jack searched for Digger, his stomach in a ball of nerves. Shift boss plus damned petition, and Digger hadn’t shown up for work. Perhaps he merely ran late. Jack watched anxiously while the miners gathered. Rolf lumbered up toward the headframe. But no Digger.

So much for friendship.

Rolf glared at Jack and took a spot in the center of the platform. Men fell in around him. Jack forced his feet onto the hanging wood floor, Mouse following. Others crowded close, but the platform seemed empty. No Digger. As usual, no one said a word. No matter who left, who came, who was fired, or who died, this moment never changed.

Jack gulped back the slightly nauseous feeling that rose when the lift lurched, then dropped. He reminded himself he was responsible for a team, their leader now. Time to start acting like one. They plunged past a lighted working tunnel. He closed his eyes, determined to settle his stomach. There were better ways to start his illustrious career as shift boss than puking all over his men.

They jerked to a stop. The men dismounted, the platform shaking with every step. They congregated in the cavern, hanging lunch pails and taking turns lighting the candles in their hats. One glow spread into many. Together they made enough light to see, barely, in the murk. Uncanny silence folded around them. Faces looked to Jack. Some interested, a few angry. Most uncaring. Mouse watched Jack with rapt attention. Pete and Rolf glared. Jack swallowed. Hell, what to say?

“Gentlemen,” he began, because the men were never called that. Dirt-hound, moles, tugger heads. There were scores of names for the miners, none carrying respect or dignity. Well, the lack of respect for miners ended today. He continued, “You all know what needs to be done. You all have your posts for the day.”

“If you’re takin’ Jory’s place, we’ll find you at Sam’s?” a voice asked. A few men laughed, a few sniggered. Pete grimaced.

“I’ll still be blasting, and if anyone is interested in being trained for the position, let me know.”

“Trained?” Rolf asked. “Ain’t that for dogs?” Other murmurs rumbled beneath the question. Jack wondered if Victor hired the big Swede with the intention of complicating Jack’s life. Who knew what other moves the Chess Master had in store for him. Well, he was up to any challenge. He hoped.

He answered Rolf’s defiant question as honestly as he could. “No, Rolf, training is for men. Skilled men. From this moment on, no one will start work until he understands the job, inside and out. At least, not on our shift. Especially in a position as dangerous as a blaster. Someone will take my place, but not until I’m convinced he knows what he’s doing.”

“Who’ll take Tom’s place?” Pete asked.

Silence filled the cavern. Jack banished it. “No one can, Pete. I haven’t forgotten. We’ll find him.” Grumbles rose and Pete crossed his arms, looking skeptical in the back of the group. He hoped his shift boss speech wouldn’t end with a hanging. His.

“Well, gentlemen, we have a quota to reach. Let’s get to work.”

No need for more words. The men needed every penny of their pay. If they failed to reach quota, well, Jack didn’t want to face this pack under those circumstances. He hoisted his sledgehammer onto his shoulder and gestured for Mouse to follow. They headed down the tunnel, Jack acutely aware of who was missing. Digger.

Jack stopped, panic a twisting knot in his chest. They’d lost Tom. Surely, Digger was playing hooky. He’d done it before, almost to the point of being fired. Damn it all anyway, Jack was shift boss. He couldn’t very well leave his team the first day, running after a truant worker.

Mouse looked up at Jack, eyes huge in the murk.

Jack decided on the side of responsibility. These men needed him. Digger was probably playing poker or drinking.

“Come on, kid. We’ve got a job to do.”

Still, panic squeezed a bit tighter.

The card of death grinned at Milena from the floor.

The rap repeated. “Milena?” Beth’s voice asked, muffled through the door.

Death screeches, the sound splitting sanity. Ruination of fire engulfs the landscape. Flames flicker and dance and devour. The skeletal figure in its tattered cloak raises its face to her. It reaches out. Beckoning. Mesmerizing. Holds open its arms of bone to embrace her in a lover’s grasp.

Milena backed away from the vision. Her chair fell over.

“Milena!” Again, banging on the door.

She dropped to her knees and gathered up the cards, saying a quick prayer before she touched the card of death. The knob rattled against the bolt holding the door in place. Milena rose, slid the cards into her bag, and flung the door open.

“Are you all right?” Beth’s eyes were wild with worry.

“Yes.”

Beth looked like she didn’t quite believe the answer. Milena concentrated on bringing her breathing back to normal, but her heart pounded in her ears.

“Miss Isabella requests for you to join us for breakfast.” The young woman, wearing a beige cotton dress, looked more like a schoolgirl than a fancy lady primed for men’s pleasure. “Milena, are you positive you’re all right?” Beth asked again.

Milena nodded her head, closed the door behind her, and followed Beth down the long staircase. She contemplated the card of death. Sometimes it simply meant change, but her vision, the face turning to her, the flames devouring everything …

Isabella rose when they entered the dining room. “Ah, Milena, welcome.”

The faces around the table did not echo Isabella’s greeting. A few watched her suspiciously, a few, guarded. Milena took the seat Isabella gestured for her to claim. Beth took a seat at the far end.

“Time for formal introductions, now that the gentlemen are gone and we may indulge ourselves with some honest discussion.” A few ladies giggled. “Milena, may I present Suzanne, Pearl, Gay, Claire, Estelle, Cassandra, Mimi, Frances, and you already know Beth.”

As Isabella spoke each name, a head bowed and eyelashes fluttered. In the light of day the women were tired, worn. Hardly the sparkling specters of the night. Milena noted Isabella used extra face paint under a slightly swollen lip. The table of lovely women was really a gathering of the battle-worn and weary.

“Ah you really a Gypsy?” the one named Suzanne asked with an accent the same as Jack Buchanan, “because you look ever so much like you might have some Negrah blood. You show up at my daddy’s estate, he’d put y’all to work scrubbin’ pots.”

“I am Romani,” Milena answered. Suzanne’s eyes narrowed in an immediate challenge.

“Leave her alone, Suzanne,” another woman said, one with intelligent brown eyes and hair pulled back in a simple braid. Milena searched her memory to recall the name of this woman. Claire? She smiled at Milena. “Suzanne hasn’t been anything other than rude since the South lost the war.”

“We didn’t lose. We succumbed to Yankee treachery,” Suzanne said, her face pulled taught by a too-tight bun as she glared at Claire.

A thin scrap of a man with limp white hair entered the dining room. He carried a tray piled high with eggs and sausages. The portly cook followed, with bowls of steaming gravy, and a mound of biscuits. Milena realized she was starving. The man and woman served each lady, and Milena caught the proprietress observing her.

“Suzanne,” Claire said, “didn’t they allow you fluttering belles any education at all? I read all about Gypsies in school. They are wandering bands of Egyptians. You see, gypsy, Egyptian. That’s why her hair and eyes are black.” Claire delicately scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“Is it true, Milena?” Beth leaned forward. “Are you Egyptian?”

“I am Romani,” Milena repeated. “A traveler.” She shrugged, not willing to share her history with this group of
gaujos.
Information became a weapon turned easily upon the giver. Milena had no intention of trusting these strangers.

“Can you really tell fortunes?” another asked, a raven-haired young woman whose round pale face supported a mass of dark hair.

“Of course she can’t; it’s all for show, Cassandra,” Suzanne answered. Milena took note that Cassandra’s mystic name fit her lunar beauty perfectly.

“I can tell anyone’s future,” Milena answered for herself and silence fell, all faces at the table turning to her. She observed Isabella, who leaned back in her seat. The proprietress did not interfere, but watched.

“That’s the most ridiculous statement I do believe I’ve ever heard,” Suzanne said. “Then again, I did gasp in delight last night when Mister Barger lowered his britches. I told him he was in possession of the mightiest man-piece I’d ever laid eyes upon. I do suppose that was a bit more absurd.” She stabbed her fork into a small sausage and held it up. “Yes, I do believe this is about right.” She bit the end off.

“How did you keep from laughing, Suzanne?” Claire asked. “I never can.”

“Perhaps that’s why he never asks for you, Claire. I almost lost my voice moaning with delight. Can you even imagine?”

The ladies giggled and a few laughed outright. Shock silenced Milena as she listened. Did the men know of such discussion? Surely not, for what man would give himself over to this humiliation? She thought of the strict rules governing her people, and the most important rule of all, not allowing Romani to mix with
gaujos
and their corruption. She reminded herself she sat at a table full of women like her. Women with no choice.

“She really can,” Beth said. “Tell fortunes. She did for me.”

“And whatever did she see in your future? A sapphire necklace?” Claire asked. “It is such a lovely piece of jewelry. You’re so lucky.”

Milena thought Beth was not at all lucky. The price of the bauble was to couple with the King of the Jackals.

“Don’t be envious, Claire,” Suzanne said. “Perhaps you’ll get a necklace of your own soon. Once y’all learn how to please a man.”

“Will you tell my fortune, Milena?” Cassandra asked. Milena nodded her head and smiled. “I will be happy to do this.”

Cassandra returned the smile and blushed.

“Well, I suppose you can tell mine, too, Gypsy,” Suzanne proclaimed. “Although I do doubt I’ll believe a word of it. Oh!” she said, bolting upright in her chair. “I don’t have to actually touch you, do I?”

Milena wondered when this woman grew picky over what she touched.

During the remainder of breakfast conversation, the ladies discussed all manner of topics, including their clients. Milena noticed not once did Beth mention Victor Creely. Nor did the proprietress bring up his name. Milena clearly sensed his influence although no one mentioned him. The King of the Jackals ruled even when absent.

“Milena, fortunes are a marvelous idea. And don’t forget, ladies, Dr. Kline will pay us a visit this afternoon,” Isabella announced after the breakfast dishes were cleared. “Milena, every month the doctor comes to make certain we are all in the best of health. So please, ladies, be sure you are available by late morning. He hates to be kept waiting.”

Anxiety bolted through Milena. What new horror was this? A
gaujo
doctor? A man to practice his sorcery and potions upon her?

“Ambrose is no one to be frightened of, Milena.” Isabella smiled in understanding. “He is quite kind. Gentle.”

“Who will pay him this time around?” Cassandra asked, hopefulness laced through her question. “I will be glad to.” The pale moon waned no longer, but flushed with emotion.