Revenge and the Wild (20 page)

Westie scrubbed the dog in the tub. When she heard someone
pounding on the door downstairs, her back stiffened. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for escape. They’d come for her. She thought about fleeing out the window and shimmying down the lattice on the side of the house. Then she thought again how guilty that would make her look, and so she decided to stay and deny having anything to do with Olive’s death.

But what if they saw the manzanita tree, and the evidence of the dog? They’d find her bathing him and know she’d been at the scene.

She heard footsteps making their way upstairs. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tub. When the door to the washroom opened, she tried to remove any traces of guilt from her face.

She looked up to meet her accusers. But it wasn’t the mayor, or the Fairfields, or a firing squad.

“Costin?”

He leaned against the door, clad in black as usual, his glistening black hair falling over his shoulders. He wore a bowler hat with his lace shroud tucked into the brim.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not sure whether to feel relieved or suspicious.

He pushed off the door, gliding toward her. “The door was unlocked. I tried knocking, but no one answered.”

Westie glared at Jezebel, who’d been too infatuated with the dog to notice the intruder.

Costin looked at the dog. “I see you’ve picked up Nigel’s affinity for strays.”

“He was hurt.”

“I see that.”

Westie didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she scrubbed the dog even though he was clean.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked.

The edges of the cuts caused by the bramble thorns had wrinkled from being in the water. They were deep and would probably need stitches. “I was helping in the garden.”

He nodded but didn’t look convinced.

Costin knelt beside the tub, his skin as white as curd next to hers. He grabbed the bucket of fresh water to rinse the suds from the dog’s back. The dog instantly took to the vampire despite him being a predator, and wagged his tail, splashing Westie.

“Would you like to know what I was doing last night?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I was hired by the mayor to find evidence of foul play in the death of Olivia Fairfield.”

Westie sucked in a breath. “Well,” she said with a tremor in her voice she couldn’t help, “don’t leave me in suspense. Did you find anything?”

Costin looked like he was trying not to smile.

“What happened in the woods, Westie, with that little girl?” he asked.

She stopped breathing, mouth going dry.

“Can’t say I know what you mean. I was at the docks yesterday morning.”

“You know, the Native Americans get all the credit for their
tracking abilities, but I’m an excellent hunter myself. I see things clumsy men wouldn’t notice. That’s why the mayor asked for my help. I’m good at reading people too, and you, my love, are hiding something.”

Westie pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Twin tears raced down her cheeks.

Costin reached out, took her chin in his cold palm, and brushed away a tear with his thumb. The gesture was so foreign she forgot herself a moment and leaned into his touch. She nuzzled against his hand as Lucky had her leg—a wounded animal starved for affection.

He said, “I saw the hoofprints in the woods where Isabelle’s body was found.” Westie pulled away from him then. She leaned against the tub, mindlessly petting Lucky. “I also found a manzanita tree.”

Her machine, rapidly tapping the tub, kept time with her heart. The gears had begun to grind after being in water. She’d need to oil it soon. “Ain’t that something?” she said dumbly. “I thought all the manzanita in the forest burned up in the lightning fires. They burn hotter than other trees, you know.”

He went on, ignoring her babbling. “So many dead animals, and fresh dog feces, yet no dog.”

A miserable sound stumbled out of her mouth, barely audible. Her head swam with lies she could tell, but none that Costin would believe.

“I also found a bottle of Brave Maker at the scene. Your favorite brand—imagine that,” he said. Her heart blasted at her ribs. He was playing with her, she knew, waiting for her to break. She had never
been the type to balk under interrogation—and she had been interrogated a time or two in her day—but she was ready to break then. She wanted to tell Costin everything like she would a priest. “There was also a child’s hair clip in the field, expensive by the looks of it, and right next to the bottle. I thought it a funny thing seeing those two items beside each other. A little girl out in the field getting drunk and killing animals.” He shook his head. “Children these days.”

Westie raised her head to look at him. He was smiling. A cruel, amused smile. He enjoyed watching her squirm.

His black eyes stayed on hers as he continued. “Then, when I saw two sets of footprints in the field heading toward the river, I realized the girl wasn’t alone. Olivia’s prints were easy. The other set was more confusing. Was the set of prints from an older child? Or were they from a little man? Imagine my surprise when I realized the larger set of prints had the boot heel of a woman’s shoe. Once I was closer to the river, I picked up on a scent I knew very well. . . .” Costin looked down at Westie and smiled.

“It was an accident. She fell into the river and I tried to save her.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “You have to believe me. As much as Olive deserved a good swat on the hide for what she did to those animals, I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” She slapped the water with the flat of her hand, getting soap in her eye. “Why are you smiling? A little girl is dead. That seems mean even for you.”

Costin tried to remove his smirk but failed. “Oh, I’m not smiling because a girl is dead. That really is tragic. But you humans, you
think those who are different from you, those you call
creatures
as though we’re some subspecies, are no better than animals. You think we kill for pleasure, that we are incapable of love. If I smile, it’s only because I enjoy watching humans behave badly.”

“I’m not behaving badly!”

He waved it off. “It’s of no concern to me. You know I’ll forgive you anything. But I doubt Nigel and Alistair will be as generous.”

Costin stood. He reached toward Westie. She thought he would take her face into his hand again. She would have let him. Instead he took the towel from her lap and dried his hands.

She was on the verge of hysterics. “I’m in trouble, Costin. Nigel will think I killed Olive when the mayor tells him about the bottle and the set of prints from a woman’s shoe. Once he learns the only thing missing from the store is the bottle of Brave Maker, my life is ruined.”

Costin gently moved the hair from Westie’s face. “They won’t find that bottle or the prints, or the manzanita tree. I’ve dealt with the evidence. And besides, a bottle of Brave Maker wasn’t the only thing missing from the store.”

“What? But—”

“Turns out the thief took many things: horse grain, bedrolls, cigarette makings. Things an outlaw would take. What’s peculiar is he left gold on the counter, enough to pay for the things he stole and the damage to the building.” He dropped the towel beside her. “Oh, by the way, the investigation came to a close this morning, and Olive’s death was ruled an accident,” he said before walking out.

The first day of autumn fell on the same day as Olive’s funeral service. Fall was a beautiful time of year in Rogue City, everything bright and full of color. The maple trees surrounding the church boneyard looked like paintings of fire.

The entire town—except for the creatures—showed up for the occasion, even though the Fairfields were strangers to most. Olive’s death had somehow made her everyone’s little girl.

Westie stood behind the crowd away from the others, observing. Nigel wore black. Alistair’s soft leather dress coat fit snugly to his form, a rebellion when the current men’s fashion could double as sacks to hold grain. He looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him before.

James and Lavina wore expensive clothes to mourn in, while Cain and Hubbard dressed as common as street folk.

James picked at his nails, staring at the ground. Hubbard fell apart, dissolved to tears, not caring what others might say. He made sucking noises, unable to catch his breath until eventually he dropped his head into his hands and buckled to his knees in the stinking mud.

Lavina was less theatrical, except for her dress, which was a production of its own, black lace ruffles and far more low-cut than most would find appropriate for a funeral. The tops of her breasts jiggled each time she moved, catching men’s eyes all around. Her face was pale from powder, yet the skin of her chest and the tops of her breasts were golden brown and looked like the leather skulls of Siamese twins fighting for air.

Not a tear was shed by Lavina for her daughter while in the
public eye. In fact, it was the public that cried. Other than James, Nigel, Alistair, and Westie, there was not a dry eye to be found.

All the sniffling, breathing, whimpers—the sounds of mourning—filled Westie’s ears. No one had cried for Westie’s family. No one had cried for the little girl who’d lost her arm.

Her head throbbed, whether with guilt or annoyance she didn’t know. What she did know was that she needed to leave before some mystery emotion spilled out of her in a public scene. She pulled the mourning lily the church had pinned to her bodice from her dress and stepped on it, twisting the toe of her boot until the white flower turned brown. No one noticed as she walked away.

The bright smells of autumn faded the moment Westie stepped into the Tight Ship. The barkeep saw her and immediately reached for the bottle of Brave Maker.

“I’ll have a sarsaparilla,” she said.

He looked at her as though her marbles had fallen onto the floor, his hand hovering over the bottle of whiskey.

“Is my hearing going?” he said.

“Don’t give me sass, Heck. Not today,” she said, dejected.

“Suit yourself.” He poured her drink into a metal cup.

She sat at the bar. As she looked around, she noticed there were no creatures in the saloon except for a troll passed out on the floor.

“Where’s everyone at?” she asked.

“Seems to be a bug going around,” Heck said. His skin had a green tint to it. He didn’t look too good himself.

She took small sips to draw out her time. There was to be a potluck after the service. Westie had no intention of going.

When someone sat down beside her, she didn’t think anything of it until she heard the voice. Her back went as straight as if she’d been skewered.

“Red-eye,” Lavina said to the barkeep.

“That’s an awful strong drink for a proper lady,” Heck said.

“Pour me one too, bar-dog. Make it a double,” said Hubbard, his eyes still red and swollen from crying. He’d taken a seat on the other side of Westie while she’d been distracted by Lavina. Westie’s gaze darted around the mirror behind the bar, looking for escape routes.

“Believe me,” Lavina said, “I can handle it on a day like this one.”

The barkeep poured Lavina’s drink and slid it down the bar, where Lavina caught it before it bumped Westie’s cup.

“You left early,” she said to Westie.

Westie let go of her cup to find she’d dented the metal with her machine. She was suddenly in the mood for something stronger. “Didn’t think anyone was aware.”

“I’m very much aware of you, Westie.”

The way Lavina said it, like she knew all of Westie’s secrets, made her skin itch.

Hubbard made burping and hiccuping sounds beside her but didn’t speak. He could’ve sat next to his wife, but they chose to box her in. Westie flexed her metal fingers, not sure who she should be more worried about.

Lavina gazed around the room, letting the silence between them
simmer until it felt good and awkward before wrinkling her nose and saying, “It’s nice to come in here without creatures around. I don’t know how you can stomach sitting and drinking with all those filthy animals.”

Westie thought about Costin. He’d risked everything to hide the evidence of her thievery and her possible link as a witness to Olive’s death. Though Westie was guilty of prejudice herself when it came to creatures, it made her mad to hear it from Lavina.

Westie turned and looked Lavina straight in her flat brown eyes. “They’re not filthy animals. They have the right to be on this earth just like the rest of us. They lived on this land for thousands of years, minding their own business, not hurting anyone. It belonged to them and the natives. Most folks never even knew they existed. Settlers saw an opportunity and took everything, killing anything or anyone that got in their way. Finally the creatures got sick of it and fought back.”

Lavina took a sip of her whiskey and nodded slowly. “Yes, the creature war. But do you really think those beings are civilized?”

Westie wanted to hurl her drink at the woman.
Civilized.
Lavina didn’t know the meaning of the word. Civilized people didn’t hole up in cabins, preying on unsuspecting families in need.

“Banshees are so empathetic they can sense death before it ever happens, and they feel that pain so deep, so intense, that they can’t help but cry out. Werewolf daddies never leave their children, not for any reason. They mate for life and take care of their families. And trolls”—she looked over at the troll, flies buzzing around him, so drunk he’d shit himself—“okay, I reckon trolls don’t count. They’re
not much good for anything. But vampires, all they need is blood to survive. They don’t even need to kill to feed. How’s that for civilized? Can you say the same thing about yourself? If you ask me, the only real ‘creatures’ in this place are human.”

Lavina squeezed her lips together. In the hazy light her face looked like a rumpled shirt, drooping and creased.

“I know what you think of me—of us.” Lavina glanced at Hubbard. He had twisted in his chair to face Westie and was spinning the knife Heck had been using to cut limes on the bar. Westie kept her machine loose in case she needed to take it from him. “I was sad to hear such things, but you heard what the mayor said about Olivia finding those earrings in the forest where she played.”

Lies!
Westie wanted to shout, but Lavina couldn’t know Olive had admitted the Fairfields were killers, or she’d have to admit she’d been with the girl before her death.

Lavina continued, “I do fear that accusation has tainted our reputation with the sheriff. He’s been nosing about our business.”

“Why don’t you just go on and leave, then?”

“I’ve spent too much time with Emma. I want to see it through. Nigel may not like us, or even trust us, but he needs our money. I’ve seen that desperate hunger in his eyes.”

Westie wondered how Lavina planned to invest without money. They must’ve discovered their missing fortune by now. Olive knew; she would’ve told them. Or maybe she’d been telling the truth when she said she hadn’t told them. Westie couldn’t be certain.

While she chewed it over in her head, Lavina said, “You remind
me of someone I used to know. Doesn’t she remind you of someone we used to know, Hubbard?”

“Can’t say I remember her too much,” he said.

Westie tensed, biting the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Hubbard picked at his teeth with the knife.

Westie mashed her face into a scowl. “How exactly do I remind you of this person you used to know?” she asked Lavina.

Lavina chuckled, though her laughter quickly faded. “She was clever. She was a fighter, that girl.” She reached out and touched Westie’s hair. “The resemblance is astonishing. You even have the same color hair and eyes as her.”

The muscles in Westie’s neck tightened. She wanted to swat the woman’s hand away. Instead she continued to crush her cup with her machine until liquid spilled out and it was no more than a twisted piece of metal.

The suspicion in Lavina’s voice left no doubt that she knew exactly who Westie was. Westie looked into Lavina’s eyes again and saw the recognition, though neither was willing to out herself. “What ended up happening to the girl you used to know?” Westie asked.

Lavina turned back to her drink. “Oh, I don’t know. She’d lost her family, and her mind, I suppose. I’d like to think she found a new family . . . a better family.” She slid a look at Westie from the corner of her eyes. “I’d like to think she moved on to enjoy the rest of her life and left the past behind her.”

Westie tossed the metal remains of her cup over the bar into the trash bin. “Well, if the girl is anything like me, I imagine moving on
with her life isn’t likely.” She stood and put her coin on the bar. “And anyone who crosses her ought to be scared,” she said, and walked out.

Westie kicked at rocks as she headed toward the livery yard to get her horse, the conversation she’d just had with Lavina replaying in her head. The Fairfields obviously knew who she was, so there was no sense in pretending anymore. She could’ve told Lavina and Hubbard exactly what she thought about them, or maybe even asked questions. Being that her hands were tied and there was nothing she could’ve done to have them arrested, they might’ve even given her answers.

A knot of voices grew louder the closer she got to the livery yard. Turning the corner, she saw a line of creatures waiting outside Doc Flannigan’s office. Fae were the only known healers in the creature world, but they were extinct, and since creatures and the Native Americans rarely got along, the doctor was their only option.

On the opposite side of the street, humans gathered in buildings, still in their mourning clothes, watching the creatures from windows.

Westie followed the line of creatures. Children wilted in their mothers’ arms, the color drained from their faces. The sheriff was out there too, in the muck of it. She’d always heard him talk about how creatures and humans had no business living together, but there he was, helping an elderly warg lady to the front of the line.

Vampires milled around without their shrouds due to the overcast day. There was one in front of her bent at the waist, vomiting blood into the street. Westie recognized him as one of Costin’s guards, the big vamp with the lazy eye who she’d choked with her machine.

“Hey,” she said to him.

His eyes sprang open and he took a step backward.

She held her hands up. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just looking for Costin is all.”

Tight-lipped and wary, he pointed toward the end of the line.

Westie headed in that direction but stopped when she saw the werewolf innkeeper, her pup draped across her arms like a wet shirt. When Westie approached, the wolf woman growled.

“It’s all right,” Westie said, slowly pulling her last gold coin from her pocket. “I just want to show him something.”

The innkeeper’s face was taut with suspicion, but her shoulders relaxed and she gave Westie a curt nod.

“Want to see a trick?” Westie said to the boy. His face was flushed, but his lips were pale as bone. He looked at her without turning his head.

Taking the coin in her machine, Westie began rolling it across the knuckles of her metal fingers, back and forth in both directions, faster and faster. The boy sat up, mesmerized by the trick, a smile forming on his dry, peeling lips.

Westie smiled too, smoothing down the sweaty hair that stuck out in all directions on his head, and handed the coin to him. She wasn’t sure if there was magic left in the gold, or if that was even how it worked, but it was worth a try. “That’s a lucky coin. Keep it close now, you hear? Don’t ever let it go.”

When Westie turned to go look for Costin, she found him only feet away, watching her.

“What’s happening?” she asked as she approached him. His skin was the color of stone, his face and hair wet with perspiration.

“A brief illness. Creatures get sick too, you know.” It was true, but they never got sick all at once. Every species of creature was built differently, and each had their own afflictions. Westie couldn’t think of a single illness that affected them all the same—until now.

She looked up into the sky, her gaze sailing across the dome. There were several large holes in the membrane where the sky seemed to shine brighter.

“But there are rumors going around,” Costin said, “about the Wintu spirits being angry and letting the dome collapse. Humans are afraid. One of my guards heard some men in the saloon talking about how they should start killing off creatures before we have the chance to kill them. Some of my fellow creatures believe the humans have found a way to poison us.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh? Do you know something I don’t?”

Westie didn’t want to tell him the truth about magic disappearing. If that information found its way to the wrong ears, it could have devastating consequences. She had to make people believe the Wintu were still in control.

“Spread your own rumors. People already know that settlers once made a deal with the Wintu. Tell them as long as folks stayed out of the Wintu’s sacred sites, the Wintu would protect this town from creatures.” Costin rolled his eyes and started to speak, but Westie pressed on. “People aren’t keeping up their end of the bargain.
Convince them to stop mining and leave Devil’s Crag, and I’ll make sure the Wintu keep the dome up.”

“Is that the truth?” he asked.

No,
she thought,
but it should buy enough time for Nigel to get Emma up and running before magic disappears for good.

Westie tried to roll her emotions in a ball and put them away. If Costin saw the anguish she felt, he’d know she was hiding something. She pulled the handkerchief from her bodice to wipe his forehead. “Yes,” she said.

“Careful.” Costin took her by the hand, caressing her fingers before kissing her knuckles. “You don’t want to get too close.”

“I’m not worried about falling ill,” she said.

Everything about him moved slowly from sickness, even his smile. “Perhaps not, but you should be worried about falling in love.”

Westie laughed for a brief moment before sadness choked off the sound. “I need to go.” She put a hand to his face and wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek. He was warm to the touch. “You take care now.”

In front of Nigel’s mansion, Wintu horses stood lipping at the tall grass in the yard. Their riders were clustered beneath trees. The Wintu were a stoic people, but their faces looked more serious than she’d ever seen them before.

They nodded as she passed. Bena and Big Fish stood with Nigel on the porch, deep in conversation. They stopped talking when they saw her.

“The magic, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?” she asked.

Bena touched Westie’s hair, twisting at her locks. It was a tactic she’d used to soothe her as a child, but it wasn’t working. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” Bena assured her.

Westie looked at Big Fish for a second opinion, but it was difficult to read her expression through her wrinkled flesh.

“It seems pretty damn bad to me,” Westie said. “Have you seen the creatures lately? They’re sick. And now rumors are being spread. There’s talk of an attack. Folks might start killing off creatures first if magic doesn’t get around to it. We need to find a way to fix the dome.”

Nigel didn’t look too good either, but Westie knew it was because of worry and lack of sleep. “With all the mining in the iron hills and the prospectors taking gold from Devil’s Crag, magic is a little scarce in this area at the moment. We’ll find a way to get it back,” he said.

Panic filled Westie until she felt as if she might suffocate in it. “You need to use the Fairfields’ gold to buy the parts you need to finish Emma.”

Nigel shook his head. “Everyone selling copper knows that I’m broke. I’ve traded off everything I had of any value. And the authorities know the Fairfields’ gold has been stolen. They’ll be looking for anyone making large purchases with raw gold.”