Revenge and the Wild (26 page)

Something about his lips, the small white scar through the bottom lip that was invisible until he smiled, brought back a memory so sharp it severed her words. It was a memory nearly covered and forgotten beneath the layers of time: Westie having a tea party with her Clementine doll on the porch of their home in Kansas, Tripp slopping through the mud in the yard. She hadn’t been paying attention to him until she heard his screams and looked up just in time to see one of the Undying grab hold of his foot. Westie had leaped from the porch and played tug-of-war with the prairie-sick man for her brother’s life until he lost his grip, flinging Westie and Tripp into the steps, where her brother busted his lip clean open.

The humor drained from his smile. “I’m hurt it took you this long to recognize your own brother.”

“No. No. You’re not Tripp.” The circus of emotions cartwheeling through her made it hard to stand still. She didn’t know if she would laugh or cry or simply implode. “Tripp had red hair, not black. That’s not something you just grow out of.”

“Come on, haven’t you noticed the grease in my hair? Cain wears it too. Surely you’ve noticed his hair change colors.”

She had, but she hadn’t put too much thought into it. Westie rubbed her eyes with her flesh hand, trying to push away the pressure building behind them. With her machine arm she tapped her parasol against her leg.

“Tripp’s dead,” she said, blinking back the tears that blurred her vision. “I saw his leg on the butcher block next to a pot of stew.”

Lavina said, “That was the last of the stragglers from your caravan. Tripp was locked up in the back.”

Westie tugged at a strand of her hair to keep from reaching over and ripping Lavina’s throat out.

“But how, and why?” Westie turned to Lavina. “Why would you kill my folks and try to kill me, but keep Tripp alive?”

If Lavina felt any remorse at all, she did a good job of hiding it. “I never planned to keep your brother alive, but at the time he was too sick to feed us. Hubbard wanted to kill him and throw him out to the chupacabras, but I felt it was in our best interest to nurse him back to health just in case we needed to feed on our way to the valley.”

Westie looked at James, but he remained unperturbed by Lavina’s admission. “Then Olivia got attached to him. He was so frail and weak. I think he reminded her of one of her dolls. We decided to keep him and raise him as one of our own. It’s a good thing, or we would’ve had to keep the real James Lovett Junior alive. I’d never been around such an annoying child in all my life.”

Westie continued to stare at James, his green eyes, the spatter of freckles on his slim nose and cheeks, and watched as Tripp’s features slowly leaked through James’s cocky facade. Part of her wanted to take him in her arms and hold the boy she’d loved so dearly as a child. It wasn’t his fault he was a monster. His mind had been twisted by Lavina’s deception.

A tear slipped down her cheek. Whether it was his fault or not, he was already ruined, she knew. Once you kill your own kind and eat their flesh, there’s no going back.

Westie shook her head. “God, Tripp, how could you stay with these people? They killed our parents.”

His smile wavered, then fell from his lips. “We do what we need to do to survive. You should know that better than anyone, since it was you who left me back at the cabin to be eaten.”

The more Westie looked at James, the more he took on the features of her brother. But he didn’t look exactly as she remembered. What she saw in his eyes was not the kindhearted little boy she had once loved, but something else, something dark and evil.

“This isn’t you, Tripp. You were a good boy, a sweet, loving—” Her voice got trapped behind the wall of emotion building in her throat.

“I’m not Tripp any longer. I’m James now.”

“So everything you’ve told me about your life has been a lie.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Enough of this.” The mayor’s voice exploded in the night, startling everyone. “You’ve had your family reunion, now let’s find some copper and get on with the business at hand. That machine won’t finish building itself.”

Lavina nodded. Westie felt her fear and desperation rise up again when she looked at Cain with his knife at Alistair’s jugular.

“What do you care about Emma?” Westie asked the mayor, hoping to keep him talking while she thought of something, anything, to get them out of the mess they were in. She was sure when Emma was up and running there would be no need for the Fairfields to keep her family around. “I know you’re not a cannibal. I saw you in the mine—by the way your face turned green when you looked at the sheriff, your last meal was fixing to come back up for a greeting.”

“Heavens no, I’m not a cannibal,” the mayor said, flexing his face into a cringe. “I’m just in it for the money. Co-inheriting the Lovett fortune has helped my station plenty, but selling a machine like Emma will help build my empire.”

“Aren’t you forgetting you need magic for that? There’s no way the Wintu will help the likes of you.”

“The Wintu aren’t the only ones with magic. I know a fine shaman in the valley willing to help us out. He has a taste for the firewater, you see, and has made some poor choices in life that only a mayor can help him with—for a favor, of course,” he said with a grin.

Westie looked at Nigel. The sadness in his eyes bled into her heart.

Their situation was bleak, and it was all up to her to fix it. Her reputation for mangling past endeavors didn’t leave much space for hope to set up camp, but she refused to give up.

“Enough chewing the fat already,” James said. “Let’s deal with this machine so we can be on our way.”

“That’s it?” Westie said. “After the machine is built, you’ll just let us go?”

His smirk said that wasn’t the plan. They had no intention of leaving witnesses behind.

Westie’s voice sounded more frightened than she wanted it to when she said, “If you plan to kill us anyway, there’s no point in Nigel finishing it now, is there?”

“There is, actually. You have two options. Either Nigel can finish the machine, and you can all die together quick and painless as a family, or Nigel can sit there while I kill you and Alistair, slowly and
painfully.” His eyes grew big and so did his smile.

A string of curses erupted from Westie so foul even James blushed.

“Cain,” James said. A look passed between the false cousins that Westie understood enough to spew apologies.

“No, please. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” she begged. “I won’t say another word, honest I won’t.”

Nigel roared beneath his gag, thrashing in his chair, trying to rid himself of his restraints when Cain pressed his knife against Alistair’s neck, hard enough to draw out a line of small blood droplets.

“No!” Westie cried. She tilted her parasol so the tip of her gun faced Cain. It wouldn’t misfire again, for Alistair had fixed it and he didn’t make guns that failed.

The cut on Alistair’s throat wouldn’t kill him, but just a few more pounds of pressure would mean his life.

“You don’t think I’ll have Cain do it, do you?” James said in a teasing voice.

“I do.” Tears poured down Westie’s face. “Don’t hurt him, please. I believe you.”

James brought his finger to his chin, twisted his face in thought. “No,” he said, drawing the word out, “I don’t think you do. Cain, please do the honors. I’d like to show Nigel we mean business so he will see what I can do to his precious daughter if he fails to provide our machine.” James winked at Westie. “And I’ve been wanting to watch that prick bleed since I arrived. After all, he’s not good enough for my big sister.”

Westie screamed when more blood spilled from Alistair’s
wound. She pulled the trigger. The gun Alistair had fixed for her didn’t fail. Unfortunately, her aim did. With a painful howl Cain dropped the knife on the ground and brought his hand to the side of his face, where blood leaked down his cheek and onto his shoulder. Everyone was frozen, waiting for something to happen, to see how badly he was hurt. Westie looked at Alistair. He was wild-eyed and stiff, but alive.

When Cain moved his hand, part of his ear was missing. He screamed, a loud and ferocious siren that sent chills up Westie’s spine. Cain bent for his knife again and put it to Alistair’s neck, but before he could do anything further, he was yanked off his feet. Westie gasped. She was in too much shock to scream, or move, or do anything at all. It took a moment to register what had happened, but when it finally did, she wept.

Costin held Cain against a tree by his neck with one hand. No one had seen or heard his approach. Thunder cracked from above, and the wind rustled the trees. Costin’s long hair whipped like a horse’s tail behind him. He was slight compared to Cain, but vampires were stronger than humans and faster than they had any right to be. Cain clawed at Costin’s gloved hands. For the first time since Westie had met Costin, she saw his aloof mask crack to reveal the threat that he was. He was more snake than bear in his predatory ways, tall and poised to strike.

No one spoke or made a sound at first. Cain’s eyes had bloomed with fear, but they soon creased and a smile moved his lips. “What are you going to do?” he taunted. “Oh, right, nothing. If you kill me,
you’ll melt under the Wintu spell.”

Westie looked at Lavina and Hubbard. Their frightened stares and slack mouths showed they weren’t as confident in their son’s safety as he was. The vein protruding from Costin’s forehead led Westie to the same conclusion.

Westie finally found her voice through the confusion. “Don’t do it,” she shouted at Costin above a crack of thunder. He whirled around to face her, fangs bared. She reeled back. Though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, the look on his face frightened her all the same. “If you kill him, you’re as good as dead.”

The malice in Costin’s eyes softened only a little.

“I don’t get it,” Cain said, his teasing tone warring with the nervous twitching of his lips. “Here I was, about to cut Alistair’s throat. It’s obvious how you feel about Westie. You could’ve had her all to yourself.” Cain’s grin fell flat. “And now you have nothing.”

Costin looked back at Cain, considering the young man a moment. “Which, I suppose, means I have nothing to live for.”

Costin opened his mouth, lips curling away from his fangs.

“Costin, no!” Westie yelled at him.

Cain screamed. His mother and father joined in to form a trio. Costin sank his teeth into Cain’s neck in a frenzy of violence, slashing at skin, snapping vessels, tearing tendons, crushing bone, exposing the inner workings of his neck.

Cain fell from Costin’s grip and crumpled on the ground, eyes open but vacant.

Westie watched Costin through a glimmering fall of tears. He
stood proud, looking back at her, his chest out, chin up, lips pinched together, but he couldn’t hold it for long. As the skin of his face began to smoke and bubble, a scream punctured his lips. He fell to the ground and writhed in the dirt, kicking at the rocks around him.

Westie was screaming, frantic. The Fairfields, the mayor, and her long-lost brother were temporarily forgotten as she ran to Costin and dropped to her knees beside him. She tried to soothe him, but his pain had gone beyond hearing words. In her desperation she looked for Alistair. He’d been helping in Nigel’s surgical rooms for years. Maybe he could tell her a way to stop Costin’s agony. She knew, of course, the only way to do that was to put him out of his misery. But she also knew, after being in the same position before with Alistair, that she didn’t have what it took to be humane.

She found Alistair right where he’d been standing when Cain had nearly cut his throat, also staring at Costin. He had the same bewildered look she’d had moments before, as if trying to comprehend what had happened.

“Alistair,” she called to him. His eyes met hers when he heard her voice. “We need to—”

Her words stopped when Lavina stepped up behind him, knife in hand. “Look out!” Westie shouted.

Lavina raised the knife, the blade catching the last of the day’s light, underscoring its sharpness. Without thinking, without breathing, Westie reached for her sword, heard the hiss as she unsheathed it from her scabbard. Using all the strength of her machine, she flung it sideways, letting go when her arm was extended. The sword spun two
full revolutions before it reached Lavina, severing her head from her shoulders. The head hit the ground and rolled to a stop at Hubbard’s feet, looking up at him. Lavina’s body swayed a moment before it fell.

Hubbard Fairfield looked at his dead wife’s head. He didn’t fall to his knees or sob like he had at Olive’s funeral. Instead he turned to Westie and calmly picked up the knife that had belonged to Lavina.

Alistair saw Hubbard heading toward Westie. Alistair jumped onto Hubbard’s back, but he was no match for the giant man. Hubbard flicked him off like a stubborn bug and continued his path of rage.

Westie felt a rush of fear sweep her away, back to her childhood, into the cabin in the woods where she had first come face-to-face with the emotional void of Hubbard’s stare. She had been a scared child back then, but she wasn’t that helpless little girl any longer. No matter how frightened she was, she would not run from him again.

He charged toward her, the knife ready to strike. She lifted her arm just as she once had to defend herself, but before the blade could meet her machine, an arrow with bright-red feathers at its end pierced his eye and sank into his skull, killing him instantly.

Westie gasped and whipped around to see Bena still poised with bow in hand. Alistair came up beside Westie, worrying over her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

He had a deep gash above his eye after being thrown from Hubbard’s back. She should’ve been asking him the same thing. “I’m fine.” After a quick study of her surroundings, she decided all threats had been eliminated. The mayor was gone. She looked over just in time
to see James and the torch he was carrying disappear into the woods. “You have to help Costin,” she said to Alistair. “Whatever it takes to stop his pain, you have to do it, you hear?”

She wanted to stay with Costin, to say good-bye, but she couldn’t let James escape. She had seen the evil inside him and knew there was more to come.

Alistair nodded. Westie started to leave, but he grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To get James.”

“No, Westie, please.”

She reached out, touched his hair, remembering the silky feel of it. “I have to. You know I do.”

He looked ready to protest further but sighed and let her go.

Despite Nigel’s frantic mumbling beneath his gag when she walked past him, Westie took off after James, leaving Bena and Alistair to help Costin and untie Nigel. Westie chased the sphere of light through the forest. Even with fresh mud on the ground, she had gained on him far quicker than she imagined until she was right on him. The light stopped behind a copse of trees. Her mouth was dry and it was hard to breathe, but there was no time to rest.