She Returns From War (22 page)

Victoria shivered as a thrill ran through her. Part fear and part excitement, it made her non-existent limbs prickle. Her mind spun as the implications of this ability began crashing into her, one after another. She could travel where she wanted at will, listen in on conversation without fear of discovery, and that was just what she knew. It might carry with it other possibilities, ones even more powerful. Surely this was what the skinwalker Anaba had meant when she said Victoria had the power of witches. If this ability was something a person as dangerous as Anaba feared, it must be formidable indeed.

But how had she done it? Returning for a moment to the present, Victoria frowned. There had been no sense of travel, no chanting of spells over a bubbling cauldron. If this was magic, it was apparently unconscious. One minute, she had been imagining the gamblers in the saloon, and the next, she had traveled there in spirit. The same had happened in the desert the first time: after imagining herself a fox, she had freed herself from her body and followed it through the desert. Perhaps it really was as simple as focusing her thoughts outside of herself.

Another question deepened her frown. Why now? She had imagined being in other places and times on many occasions without any such result. What had changed? Was it that she was now an orphan? Or did the desert have a role to play? Perhaps being so close to the magicks of the Navajo people somehow awakened this ability in her. The old singer would know. Before she left for home, she would be sure to stop by the Navajo village and ask him.

The sound of Cora's voice made her turn. The old hunter came striding out of the storeroom where they had their first altercation, her fingers through the loop of another clay jug. Her boots thumped right past Victoria, but her pace didn't slow. Lifting the jug onto the bar, she barked something at Robert and pulled out the stopper. Robert held two glasses out, and Cora filled them with dark liquid.

"Drinking our profits again," Robert muttered as he lifted the whiskey to his lips.

"Worth every drop," Cora said, refilling her glass. "Business partners ought to drink together, I say."

"No harm in sampling the stock, I guess."

"There you go." Cora tossed back the second drink. "Besides, this could be the last time we have the chance. Me and Vicky ride out tonight, and we might not ride back in. Reckon you'd like that just fine, though. You'd get the place all to yourself."

Robert laughed. "That would be a sight, me trying to handle this lot. No, I'll thank you to stick around awhile longer."

"Well, if you say so. Ain't the first spook I've settled, anyhow, so I don't see no reason it should be my last ride. Now that Vicky ain't like to shoot her own foot off, I reckon we got ourselves a fair shot at living through the night."

With that, Cora straightened. "Best be making tracks. Almost sundown, and I still got to wrangle them horses from the livery. Don't want to keep Miss Proper waiting."

The hunter started for the staircase that led up to her room. Victoria gave a thought to following her, then decided against it. She felt slightly guilty about eavesdropping on the conversation, and watching Cora prepare for the hunt without her knowledge would only worsen the feeling. Besides, she had to get ready herself. Her body must still be lying in the hotel room in her smallclothes, and she could hardly go riding out dressed in such a fashion.

Victoria was through the door and halfway to the hotel before she realized that she was moving without effort. Like that night in the desert, she seemed to float along the ground instead of walking on it. She gave a moment's thought to experimenting with the possibility of flight, then decided against it. There would be time enough for such exploration later. Best to get back to the room and prepare for the coming battle.

Victoria's horse stomped a hoof on the dusty street. The mare had once been black, but age had faded the luster from her coat. Victoria thought about patting the horse's neck but decided against it. The horses would be returning to the livery in the morning, so there was no point in getting attached.

Pale clouds floated in the purple sky above their heads. The sunset had set them awash in pink fire, but their glory had slipped away with the daylight. Victoria watched them drift along, wishing that a breeze would kick up to cool her face. Her wish wasn't granted. Turning toward Cora, she pantomimed a panting dog.

Cora grinned. "Give yourself a few months, you get used to it."

"God willing, I won't have the time," Victoria said. She looked up at the building looming against the evening sky. "Do you think this will work?"

"Ain't any more sure than I was this morning," Cora replied with a shrug. "Either it lights out for our boy, or it starts looking to fill its belly. Either way, we got to keep an eye out."

"What happened to the other body?"

"Lawmen hauled it out," Cora said. "Didn't do all like I said, but so long as the stiff was exposed to sunlight, it'll stay dead for good."

"One would think the constables might have done something about the people here," Victoria said, casting a dubious eye at the horses and people milling through the street. "I don't relish the thought of chasing a living corpse through this crowd."

Cora laughed. "Oh, I reckon they'll clear out right quick when they see that stiff running through town."

"Won't we lose it, though? I imagine it will blend in with the townsfolk."

"No worry about that," Cora replied. "Feller might still look human enough, but you can bet the rest of your fortune on that he won't just stroll about all casual-like. Ain't got it in him no more. He'll conduct himself just like them ones out at the farm, and he'll look like them with the teeth and all after a week or so. King George told me all about that process back in Leadville."

The mention of James Townsend stirred a sudden homesickness in Victoria. She pictured his round, jolly face as he sipped at his cider, and she could almost smell the inviting, intellectual scent of the many books lining his study. Victoria watched the townsfolk mull around her, wondering how many of them could even read. In all likelihood, some of them would live their entire lives in this dusty little town, never seeing a proper garden or a grove of trees garbed in the green of summer.

Whatever pity she felt for them evaporated when a familiar face emerged from the bustle. Wilson rode toward them at the head of a group of rough-looking men. A sneer bared his teeth when their eyes met, made all the more hideous by the swelling bruise on the cheek. Victoria touched Cora's wrist and nodded toward the approaching men.

"Howdy," Wilson said, tipping his hat. His posse spread out in a rough semi-circle, fencing the two women in against the row of buildings.

"Didn't figure you'd show your face on the street after getting it whipped by a sprout of a girl," Cora said. Drawing on the hunter's confidence, Victoria straightened up in the saddle and met Wilson's gaze.

Wilson raised a hand to his injured cheek. "This ain't nothing but a whore's love tap." His men chuckled. "I just reckoned I ought to return the favor, seeing as how she's so keen on me and all."

Despite her fear, Victoria laughed. "You bring half a dozen men to administer this retribution? Such courage."

"Ain't you just stuffed full of guts?" Wilson said. "Best keep that tongue in your head, or somebody might get a notion to pull all them guts out and see what they look like. If I wasn't such a gentleman my own self, I might have already had myself a look. Some of these fellers, though, they ain't so mannered."

The ruffian to Wilson's left spat in the dirt. Another piped up, his voice like muddy gravel. "I reckon that one's got a few things I'd have a gander at afore taking her guts out."

A roll of wanton laughter rolled through the group. It made Victoria's skin crawl. She stole a look at Cora. The hunter might have been watching a cow scratching its hindquarters, her face was so indifferent. Her casual demeanor only worsened Victoria's apprehension. They had taken Wilson and his friend by surprise in the saloon, but they were outnumbered three to one here. None of the grizzled faces leering at her would think twice about raping her and shooting her in the head when they were done. Victoria's mind jumped to the revolver at her belt, but she knew she wasn't fast enough to draw on all of them at once. They were gunfighters of the American West; she was just the daughter of a British aristocrat.

"So that's your game, then?" Cora asked. "You're just going to take her right here in the street, right in full view of the town and the law?"

Wilson's puffy cheek plumped up even more as he sneered. "We ain't so stupid as all that," he said. "No, we aim to take you two someplace nice and private for what we got planned. You ladies is going to come without a peep if you know what's good for you, too."

"And if we don't?" Victoria asked.

"Well, then," Wilson said, "the both of you is going to be right sorry for it. My boys'll see to that, don't you worry none. We got ways, see?"

"All right, you got yourselves a deal," Cora said.

Victoria's blue eyes went wide. "What?"

"I said they got themselves a deal," Cora said. Her face was unreadable, a stone carving staring back at Victoria's incredulous gaping. "Ain't no point in fighting now, is there? They got us outmatched, and I'd rather not make it worse than it's got to be. Should go easier for you, too."

"How can you-"

"Cause I know these fellers, and I know their type. Ain't no good comes from making a fuss when you're outgunned, plain and simple. Just makes the rotten things they got in mind go more rotten. We go along quiet-like, they go easy on us." She turned to Wilson, whose grin had transformed his cheek into a ripe plum. "Ain't that right, boy?"

"Sure is," the man replied. "Listen to the old bitch, little missie. She's got enough sense to save you both a world of hurt."

Cora reached out and covered Victoria's hands with her own. "Don't fret none. Ain't so bad as all that, you'll see."

Victoria fought back tears. Whatever else they would do to her tonight, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her blue eyes filled with rage and pain at Cora's betrayal, and she directed all of it at the old hunter. How could she just go along with this? Surely Cora knew what men like this would do to a young woman like her. Even as sheltered as she had been in Oxford, Victoria still knew enough to stay away from the roughnecks in the pubs when she was running errands by herself. Fat lot of good her precaution had done her now.

The thought of using her newfound power to escape came to her, but she dismissed it almost as quickly. Her spirit might be able to flee, but her body would remain behind, and that would be enough for monsters such as these. Besides, if they killed her while her spirit was away, she wasn't sure what would happen to her. God might not welcome her if she came to His threshold by way of witchcraft. No, it was better to remain inside her body and prepare her spirit for eternity.

Victoria lowered her head as the weight of her fate settled on her. After everything Cora had told her about the dangers of the American frontier, it was the old hunter herself who would sell her into the hands of bandits just to make things easier on herself. So much for the great loyalty of companions who have shared the horrors of war. It was just another romantic illusion that this God-forsaken place had seen fit to dismantle.

Cora must have taken her bowed head for acquiescence. "Knew you'd come around," she said. Her brown eyes squinted at Wilson. "See, now? We ain't going to give you no trouble."

"Glad to see you ain't put your sense out to pasture after all," Wilson said. "Now then, about time we got a move on. Don't want to be wasting any precious time we have with you ladies."

Cora's gaze shifted pointedly to the streets around them. "Right this minute? Ain't sure that's the best time for it, seeing as how you still got a lot of witnesses wandering about. Maybe we ought to wait a spell, give ourselves more dark for cover before we ride out."

"My boys is impatient," Wilson said. "Ain't no good comes out of them waiting any longer than they need to."

"Ain't no good comes out of getting caught by Morgan and his posse, neither. You want to have your fun or rot in his jail?"

Wilson made a show of rolling his eyes. "That sheriff ain't got the wits God gave a turnip. He sees us riding through the streets, he'll reckon my boys is making sure you ladies get to where you is going safe and sound, like the proper gentlemen we is."

Spurring his horse forward, he rode between the two women. His fingers clamped onto Victoria's arm. Startled, she looked into his swollen, filthy face for only a moment before her rage exploded. Her palm smashed into his bruised cheek with a wet smack, sending fresh drops of blood sailing through the air. The blow nearly knocked Wilson from his saddle. He recovered quickly, his free hand pulling the revolver from his belt. Other guns flashed into view, and Victoria found herself looking down four different barrels. Her own was pointed at the bridge of Wilson's nose.

"Well, now," Cora said, "ain't this awkward?"

Before anyone could reply, something shattered above their heads. Shards of glass rained down on the group. It felt like someone had tossed a handful of pebbles on them. As one, they all ducked and pulled their hats low, shielding themselves from the myriad of sharp fragments.