Revenge and the Wild (21 page)

Westie thought about Costin’s gray skin, the dark rings around his eyes. He’d saved her life more than once, and there was no way she would let him die over her vendetta against the Fairfields. If she hadn’t taken their gold, Nigel might have already had the investment money and the parts he needed to complete Emma by now.

She held on to the back of a rocking chair on the porch to keep
steady, but crushed it with her machine instead and stumbled backward. One of the Wintu men caught her before she could fall. It took all the fight in her to keep from crying.

“Then I’ll sell myself to the blood brothel to get the money. I’ll do anything. Just please save them.”

Nigel grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her until her eyes cleared. “You will do no such thing,” he said. When he saw the shocked expression on her face, he took a step back. “I’m sorry. But please, Westie, don’t go to the vampires. The Wintu have this under control. They plan to shorten the perimeters of the ward to exclude the lake and the crag. With the crag unprotected, people will stop mining. There are dwarves in those hills who were always attacking humans before the ward went up.”

“It’s too bad all the water creatures died off from pollutants,” Westie said bitterly. “Folks never would’ve survived the boat trip it took to get to the crag in the first place.”

“I don’t want you to worry,” Nigel said. “If things start looking dire, we’ll move the creatures north where there’s hardly any human presence and magic is dense. The north has a thriving creature population.”

“These aren’t wild creatures you’re talking about transplanting, Nigel. Some have been in Rogue City since the ward went up. They’re just as pampered as the rest of us. And what about the ones who can’t survive the colder climate in the north? The vamps will be fine, but elves are cold-blooded. There’s no way they’ll make it through the winter. I doubt many would even survive the journey there. Have you seen how weak they are?”

Nigel said, “You know I won’t let anything happen to the creatures. You leave their safety to me and leave the magic to the Wintu. Right now I just need you to stay out of the way. I don’t need to be worrying about you too.”

Westie tapped her foot, arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide the fact that it hurt her to know he thought of her as being in the way.

She nodded, tossing aside the remnants of the rocking chair still clutched in her metal grip, and walked away.

Jezebel and Lucky tore through the house to meet Westie at the door. She gave them each a pat on the head in greeting and went straight to her room to pack, stuffing her clothes into a saddlebag as she prepared to leave with the Wintu.

She had almost finished packing, feeling confident about her decision to leave, when she heard the door creak open and then closed behind her.

“What are you doing?” Alistair’s metal voice said.

Westie continued to pack garments while Alistair stood beside her, pulling clothes out of her bag and putting them back into her wardrobe.

“Stop that.” She swatted his hand away, her face shades of red when he refused to let go of her knickers.

“I’ll stop when you answer me.”

She tossed her extra stockings to the bed. “I’m going to go stay with Bena.”

“Why?” Alistair asked.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Then I suppose you don’t want these back.”

He held her knickers to his front as if he were sizing them.

She let out a mortified squeal. “Give those back.”

“No.” He jumped onto her bed and over it, his boots landing hard on the wood floor.

“Alistair . . .” The metal in her knuckles ground together when she made a fist.

“An answer to my question would be lovely.” He made her knickers dance, which only deepened her humiliation.

She sighed, finally giving in to his taunting. “I’m going to leave with the Wintu and say I’m staying with Bena.”

“Where are you really going?”

“To keep an eye on the Fairfields. Nigel wants me to sit at home, doing nothing so he doesn’t have to worry about me, but I can’t do that. I need to be out from under his eye.”

Alistair tossed her knickers into a corner. “How will I find you if I need you?”

“I’ll check in from time to time.” She lifted her saddlebag, hoisting it over her shoulder. If she left now, she could get to the Wintu before they left. Nigel wouldn’t make a scene of her leaving in front of Bena and Big Fish.

His eyes were full of an emotion she couldn’t place, the mask
making a whistling sound when he took a breath. “Please don’t go.”

She’d imagined him saying those very words every time she left to go hunt cannibals. The power they held was almost enough to make her stay. But it was too late. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Alley. I have to.”

She turned her back on him and headed for the door. Just as she was about to grip the handle, something flashed in the corner of her eye, nearly missing her head as it struck the door. She yelped and jumped back, looking around at the floor to see what it was.

“Did you just throw something at—” Her voice snagged in her throat when she saw the metal mask at her feet. She took a step back and slowly turned to face him. Her steady heartbeat became a stutter.

Alistair stood before her barefaced. She stared, ogling him exactly the way he hated from others. She knew it was him and yet she had to focus, collecting his features and putting them together like puzzle pieces. When it all came together and she saw the Alley she remembered, the Alley she’d thought was gone forever, her heart started with a sudden wrench like one of Nigel’s rusted inventions after being oiled.

He looked just as she remembered, as if he’d been kept frozen beneath the mask for the last three years. She dropped her bag and went to him, reached out with tentative fingers, touching his skin, his cheeks, chin, lips. No, he wasn’t exactly the same, she realized. The line of his jaw was more pronounced. He’d lost that soft, childlike skin and replaced it with tougher adult skin. She could feel a hint of stubble. He was a man now.

He’d tried to grow a beard a time or two when he was younger, but it had looked more like molded tufts on a block of cheese. He could wear a proper beard if he wanted to now. She moved away from his whiskers to explore the rest of his face. She touched the lines of his scars, raised silver dots from stitch marks. He smiled, exposing his teeth. His mouth had been her favorite part of him. He had beautiful teeth, with the slightest overlap in the very front that made his lips look fuller.

“Alley!” She touched the scars on his neck, his jawbone, ears. He grabbed her wrists, holding her hands in front of him. She could’ve easily slipped out of his grip, but the way he looked at her, his lips parted, eyes focused, made her want to be exactly where she was. She thought he was trying to speak. Then the most unexpected thing happened.

He kissed her.

She had imagined what kissing Alistair would be like a million times since abandoning the notion that boys were wretched, smelly things. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the truth of it.

His touch on the side of her cheek was all the persuasion needed for her lips to fall apart and let him in. Her eyes melted shut as he twisted his fingers in her hair and the fabric of her dress, tugging and soothing with the violent tenderness of a long-awaited kiss. They took turns stealing the breath from each other and giving it back.

With each touch of his lips, her dead heart was galvanized as though being woken from centuries of black sleep. His kiss was alchemy, for she felt golden, illuminated. When they finally parted,
she was left boneless and gasping.

She felt dizzy and half out of her mind. Her body swayed, and yet she wanted more. She wondered how she could ever have mistaken a vampire’s bite for love.

He watched her, expecting something, so she said, “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

His smile was enough to knock her down. She was glad when he pulled her back into his arms, holding her up. She felt a difference in their second kiss, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. She knew she could go too far. She wanted to go too far. But Alistair stopped her. She wasn’t ready for it to be over when he finally pulled away.

She sighed when his eyes steadied on hers, and his lips flattened, becoming somber. She wanted to forget all seriousness and go back to kissing. She wanted to crack the safety barrier between them, claw at his chest, and crawl beneath his skin and wear him like a suit. It was only when they kissed that she could hear his true voice.

When Alistair lifted his right hand, folded his fingers, and put them on his heart, she realized some things were better than kissing.

I love you,
his sign said. His hooded eyes, his loopy half smile with lips as soft as a puppy’s tummy, matched the gesture.

“I love you too, Alley.” A tear trickled down her cheek. She swatted at it like she would a fly. “I’ve always loved you.”

She wanted to live in that moment with him for all eternity, away from the Fairfields, away from her memories. For the first time since arriving in the West, she felt like she could finally abandon the past and live for the day and even plan for the future.

Creaking floorboards outside her door roused her from her thoughts.

“Did you hear that?” she said.

Alistair nodded.
“I’m sure it was a maid,”
he signed.

“All the maids have left.”

He crossed the room and reached for his mask, fussing with the clasps behind his head while she went to investigate.

Opening the door to an empty hallway, Westie looked both ways. There was no one.

That night Westie sat beneath the stars on a flat patch of sand next to the river. It was one of the Wintu’s most sacred sites. A bonfire was built, its flames reaching up toward the dome, pointing light at all its flaws. The men wore eagle-feather bustles, beaded breechclouts, and headpieces called roaches in the shape of Mohawks, made of porcupine quills and deer-tail hair.

There was drumming and singing. Some voices were a low chant, while others reached a high, desperate pitch, giving Westie chills down her arms. She watched in awe as beautiful broad faces and bronze bodies moved in ways steeped in thousands of years of tradition.

She’d been to only one other healing ceremony before, when Bena had found her in the woods after she’d escaped from the cabin. The stump of her arm had been infected, and she’d lost a lot of blood.
Big Fish, clad in full regalia, had used a fan made of feathers, blown smoke in her face, and used words Westie didn’t understand to bless the ceremony. When the music had started, she’d felt the pain in her arm move into the center of her body. She’d screamed as it tried to force itself through her rib cage, as if something above her had reached into her chest to grab it.

The agony had caused her to pass out not long after, but the next day her fever had broken, the pain was gone, and her arm had started to mend. She had been welcomed into the tribe after that.

Other native tribes in the surrounding areas had joined tonight’s ceremony. With magic disappearing, the Wintu needed all the help they could get. Big Fish was the only one who could control the amount of magic needed to build a ward, but such a concentrated amount of magic required a full tribe to lift her request to the spirits.

Several men from the other tribes walked past Westie wearing dangerous frowns. She fought the urge to give one right back. Instead she looked past them, at the fire, knowing how difficult it must be for them to see anything beyond her white skin; the same skin as those who’d cut their tribe numbers in half.

The dancing stopped and the song fizzled into a low murmur as Big Fish entered the circle. After blessing the ceremony, she began the ritual. Back before settlers brought their violence and illness to the Americas, magic had been limitless. It was said that early Wintu could read minds, conjure fire from the air, and even fly. Now that there were so few people left in the tribe and magic was weak, they
could only perform smaller feats like bringing rain to a drought, creating wards, and healing, in addition to their individual talents of talking to the earth—which Westie realized they could no longer do after seeing the dead plant in the foyer of Nigel’s house.

Others in the tribe began to chant their prayers. Westie prayed too. She prayed mostly for forgiveness in the hopes that the spirits wouldn’t hold her being there against the Wintu.

After the prayer, Bena sat beside her. She wore a basket cap and a beaded tunic, but nothing as elaborate as the rest of her tribe. They watched the ceremony in silence until the dancing resumed.

“What is your next plan?” Bena asked her.

“Concerning the Fairfields? I don’t know. For now I’m just going to keep an eye out, make sure they don’t hurt anyone. Nigel told me to stay out of the way.”

“You are going to listen to him?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Westie said, folding her knees to her chin. Now that it was cold out, she wished she’d worn the hunting attire Bena had given her after all. She hadn’t wanted to offend anyone from the other tribes, so she’d worn a simple dress instead. The breeze coming off the river had found its way beneath her skirts, making her shiver, and she was too far away from the fire to feel its warmth. “I’ve made a mess of things. Maybe it’s time to let Nigel figure it out. He’s a brilliant man. I’m sure whatever he comes up with won’t end up blowing up our faces.”

Bena nodded without conviction. “He doesn’t have your fire. You may not make the best decisions all the time, but at least you make
them.” Westie smiled. It was no wonder she and Bena had become such good friends over the years. They both shared an impulsive mind. “Nigel thinks we should be patient and wait for the Fairfields to slip up, but we are out of time,” Bena continued. “He says people with secrets can’t keep them hidden forever.”

Bena’s words triggered a memory. “No, they can’t, can they?” Westie said. She stood up, brushing the dirt off the back of her dress. “Not unless they’re keeping those secrets in an iron safe with three locks on it.”

Bena frowned. “What are you talking about? You have that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“That terrifying glow you get when you have a plan.”

“I saw Lavina put something in a safe at the mayor’s office when we had our meeting. The safe had three locks. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“No,” Bena said. “This is wild country and bandits aren’t unheard of.”

“If folks have something valuable, they keep it at the bank—Lavina should know that better than anyone after having her gold stolen. When you have a safe with three locks, that means you’re hiding something. I need to get into that office.”

“That’s more like it,” Bena said with one of her rare smiles.

The next morning Westie stood with Alistair in the great room of Nigel’s house. The clank of metal echoed off the walls as Alistair
rifled though Nigel’s tools looking for something that could pry a lock from a safe.

“You do realize it’s schemes like these that get you into trouble,” Alistair said.

“I don’t see how I could possibly mess things up worse than I already have.”

He tossed a hammer to the side. “None of these will work. I’ll go check Nigel’s office.”

“I’ll go get the horses ready.”

Westie went down to the barn. She was glad for the chore, needing to spend some of her nervous energy. She didn’t like keeping secrets from Nigel, especially after what had happened when she took the Fairfields’ gold. Perhaps he would have approved of them breaking into the mayor’s office and might’ve even offered to help. On the off chance that he would forbid it, she thought it best they go alone. Besides, his faulty leg would only slow them down. What really worried her most was the uncertainty of what they’d find in the safe. What if it were just money? She pushed the thought aside and tried not to get her hopes up. The disappointment of such a discovery might be the last thread to break her.

She was lost in her own head when she heard the shuffling of feet on the ground behind her. Old habits got their grip on her and she spun around, expecting to see the Undying at her back with their grabby hands and snappy teeth. She relaxed when she saw it was only James.

“What are you doing here?” she said, trying to keep the pity she
felt for him from showing on her face.

He wore a sloppy grin and held a bottle of Heck’s moonshine in his hand. His hair stuck out at all angles. She almost didn’t recognize him without his slick hair and expensive suits. Instead, he wore brown trousers, a rancher’s plaid shirt, and scuffed boots.

“I come to help with the chores.” Each word slurred into the next until it became a jumbled heap of sounds.

“What are you talking about? Or better yet, what in blazes are you wearing?”

“Oh, this?” he said, pointing to his shirt. One of his eyelids was so heavy he looked as if he were winking. “Trying on poverty to see how it fits.”

He spun around in a slow circle so she could get a better look, but lost his footing and stumbled into her. She caught him before they both took a tumble.

“Sit. You’re drunk.” If she hadn’t known the pain he was in, she might’ve laughed at him.

“I can’t sit. I don’t have that sort of leisure time anymore,” he said with dramatic flair as if he were on a stage. “I have to get a job!”

Westie wondered if the concept of work was so confusing that he had to get into character to make sense of it.

The act fell away and he looked at her with sad eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“Haven’t you heard?” He flopped down on a bale of hay. “I’m broke.”

She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. If he thought he suffered now, he had another think coming. Eventually James would learn that not only was he broke, but his entire family were cannibals.

“I hadn’t heard,” she lied. “What happened?”

He looked ready to cry. Westie hoped he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t know what to do with a crying man.

“I told Lavina not to keep our gold at the inn. There were all sorts of feral people going in and out of that place. It was only a matter of time before someone broke into our rooms and stole it.”

Westie squeezed his hand. He looked so much like a young boy sitting there in his crumpled state. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that his money was safely hidden away beneath a loose floorboard under her bed and he would get it back soon.

“There anything I can do?” she asked.

He looked up at her through glassy eyes. “You can help me forget.”

“All right. How?”

He leaned over and kissed her. She sat there a moment, her eyes wide, too stunned to move. She was afraid to push him away at first, afraid to crush his fragile heart. She used her machine to put an arm’s length of distance between them, gently so as not to bruise his ego.

“I can’t,” she said.

He sighed, turning back into a sad boy. “Is it because I’m broke?”

“No, it’s not because of stupid money. It’s because I’m with Alistair.”

“The mute?” he said with disgust.

Her eyes shrank into a glare. “And because you’re an ass.”

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I
am
an ass and everyone knows it. You’re the only one brave enough to say it.” He leaned his head against her shoulder and promptly began snoring.

She laughed, nudging him awake.

“Come on, let’s put you to bed.” Westie helped him into the house and up the stairs to her bed. The oil from his hair made a black smear against her pillow.

Alistair stepped into her room, holding several glass bottles from the collection in Nigel’s office.

“Are you—” His voice cut off when he saw James. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s not feeling well. Just found out he’s broke and went on a bender.”

Alistair glanced ruefully at the boy before looking away. “Oh, I see.”

“He’s going need a safe place to stay.”

“Yes, of course.”

“What are those?” she asked, pointing at the bottles.

“Rust, aluminum powder, and magnesium strips” was all he said.

“Well, what are they for?”

His eyes turned to slivers when he smiled beneath the mask. “You’ll see. We should be on our way.”

They punched the breeze to get to town. Once they made it, they tied their horses up in front of the general store, slinking among the parade of vendors and prospectors to get to the mayor’s office.

Alistair and Westie slipped into the alley behind the mayor’s office and found a window. Alistair hoisted her onto his shoulders so she could look inside.

“He’s gone,” she said.

She tried to climb off his shoulders but got her foot caught up in his holsters and toppled to the ground with a grunt despite Alistair’s best efforts to catch her.

Alistair’s metallic laughter bit at her patience. He tried to help her stand, but she pushed him away.

She cleared the web of hair from her face. “Let’s get on with it.”

They snuck through the back door. Once inside Alistair busied himself with the bottles he’d brought with him while Westie kept vigil. She imagined the things they would find in the safe, perhaps keepsakes from victims. She was sure the mayor knew about the Fairfields’ particular tastes. It was possible the mayor was also a cannibal. Maybe they would find the bones of victims, stuffed heads like the animals on his walls, or some macabre trophy inside—something they could take right to the sheriff.

They needed to find something to incriminate the Fairfields as well as the mayor. It wasn’t just about revenge for Isabelle and the family Westie had lost in that cabin anymore. The fate of the Wintu and the creatures depended on getting Emma up and running. For that, they needed copper. To get copper, they needed to be able to spend that gold. When people realized the gold was stolen from cannibals, they’d stop looking for the thieves. She was certain it would all work out if only the Fairfields were behind bars.

There was a burst of light and a searing sound when Alistair ignited the powder mixture. Within seconds the locks were off. “I’m in,” he said.

Westie rushed over to him, heart hitting her ribs like a bedpost in a brothel hitting the wall on payday. When she knelt beside Alistair and saw the single item inside, her excitement withered away.

“That can’t be it,” she said.

Alistair picked up the piece of paper with the list of names on it. Some of the names had been crossed out. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, what’s it say?”

Alistair read the names to her. On the list were the Fairfields’ and the entire Lovett family’s names, written small and neat in black ink. Beside them were the names of Westie, Alistair, Nigel, and Amos Little, written in sloppy slashes of red.

“Amos Little?” she said.

“He’s a banker in Sacramento. I recognize the name.”

“I remember him,” Westie said. “We met at the ball. There seemed to be some sort of grudge between him and the mayor.”

She leaned over. “Why do you suppose the Fairfields’ and Lovetts’ names are crossed out?”

“I’m more concerned why
our
names are on this list.”

“Maybe it’s about Emma.”

“Maybe. If it is, why hide it? And why are some of the names crossed out?”

“I don’t know, but we should probably find out.” Westie groaned. “We’ll have to tell Nigel.” She wasn’t looking forward to telling him
she’d been snooping around again behind his back.

“I’m afraid so. And I think we’ll need to have a chat with Amos Little too.”

“All right. Let’s get on with it.”