“Things look bleak,” Sharlotte continued, “but what we have? It’s good. We’re alive. Not like Crete.”
I finally asked, “Are you going to tell us about Crete?” My heart felt peppered and pounded.
Sharlotte fell into sobs. She breathed through them to speak. “Crete wanted to come save you, Cavvy. I said no, but she insisted. I gave in. I swore I’d kept her safe. Mama had kept us safe through gunfights, and I thought I could be like her. Like Wren said, I was always so much like Mama. But I failed her. Crete’s dead. She was so young, and now she’s dead. ’Cause of me.”
My own tears streaked down my face. I tried to talk but couldn’t.
Wren could. And she said an amazing thing. “Mama did a good job of keeping us safe. She was incredible in a lot of ways. Not much of a mother, but we have to give her some credit. Thing is, Shar, she got lucky. A lot of fighting is stupid luck. Crete died ’cause it was her time. The end. No one is at fault. She knew the risks.”
“I was mean to her,” I said. Finally speaking that awful truth out loud felt so good.
Wren laughed. “Of course you were. We all were. Come on, she was a Macaby. Not a lot of sense in that family.”
“If she’s in heaven, do you think she forgives me?” Sharlotte asked.
“Hell, yes,” Wren said. And laughed again. “I mean, just plain yes. We’ve all done the best we could. And you know what? Our best is pretty jackin’ awesome.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Forgive me, Crete.
“Thank you, Wren. And thank you, Crete, wherever you are.” Sharlotte inhaled deeply. “You know, our best is pretty good. And Wren, I know you’re trying to change. What I said before was cruel. I know you’ll get back to being sober, and we’ll get out of this. Like Pilate says, we’re gonna live in faith, not fear. Can’t feel the two at the same time, and faith is so much easier. We’re gonna get out of here, we’ll get the reward money from Micaiah, and we won’t just save our ranch, but we’re gonna save the world. Think about that. It was our family, us Weller girls, who saved the world. And Crete? She helped with that.”
“Welcome back, Sharlotte Jeanne,” Wren said. “It’s good to have you back, saying sweet things. And you didn’t even curse me for talking about Mama.”
“Like you said, Mama did the best she could,” Sharlotte said. “I’m seeing that now. In the end, she salvaged everything, or tried to. She gave us the leftovers of her love, after all her working and worrying and ranching. Her love for us was broken, only worked half the time, but what she did give us was good.”
“Not with me,” Wren said. “Her love for me never worked. Not from the start.” She drew a breath and let it out.
“What happened between you and her?” I asked.
“Ancient history, Cavvy,” Wren said and changed the subject. “You brought us back to life, Sharlotte. You were a voice in the silence. It’s like when Pilate said Mass in Green River.”
Sharlotte finally laughed. “So Wren, did you insist on church for me or for you?”
“For both of us,” Wren said. “I knew we needed it then. Like we needed you talking now. You’re something, Sharlotte. I never really saw it, growing up like we did. But you were given a rotten job trying to raise me. Talk about thankless. So, since we’re handing out thank yous, here’s one for you. Thank you, Sharlotte, for being there for me. And I apologize for being so much trouble.” Her voice caught.
Never in my life did I ever think Wren would say all that.
“I accept your apology and your thank you, Wren.” Sharlotte didn’t call her Irene, but her nickname. And there in the darkness, the universe shifted under our feet. “Sometimes I feel sad I didn’t do better with you. I wish I’d had more patience, but I was so young. You said you’re sorry, and I’ll say mine. If I could take back all the times I hit you—”
“Forgiven,” Wren said quickly. “And I like you calling me Irene. It feels right. Like church felt right. You’ll always be my big sister, and I’ll always be your Irene.”
Such kindness in such an abyss, and such healing after so many years of torment. There were more tears, but every one added to my smile. We were ripping apart our family script.
The silence was gone, and God joined us as we chatted and came alive again. And it was Sharlotte who brought about our resurrection, my sister Sharlotte, the voice in the silence, the light in the darkness, the strongest of us all.
(iii)
Men with torches came for Wren.
At some point after our healing talk, not sure when, not sure the time of the day, but the door opened, and men filed in—a dozen or so—and took Wren out, blinking in the torchlight and on trembling legs. They then slammed the door shut, blocking out the flickering torchlight.
Was it time for her to fight Aces? Was it another battle for us? There was no way to know.
“What’s gonna happen to us, Shar?” I asked in a weak voice.
“God will provide,” she whispered back. “Faith. Not fear.”
But I couldn’t feel faith. I felt damned in the darkness with nothing to hold onto except my big sister’s hand.
(iv)
Hours later—or days, hard to tell—more big, stinking men, came for me and Sharlotte. They took us out of the basement and marched us up a staircase, up floor after floor, up and up and up—the return trip of our imprisonment—until they pushed us through a door and into a hallway. Carpet covered the floor. Numbered doors went by. We’d been in the Colorado Hotel the entire time, in a dungeon under Ace’s throne room.
After sitting in the dark all that time, even the little light in the hallway from the outside windows made my eyes ache, and I had to squint to see.
“What are you going to do with us?” Sharlotte asked. She was back in charge, and I could be a teenager again, just barely seventeen, not a leader but a scared girl, young and uncertain.
But not Sharlotte. She was proud, tall, and strong. She’d found the other side of her pain, and I was glad to be next to her. I held her hand, she held mine, and we were both sisters and best friends.
The men didn’t answer any of Sharlotte’s questions.
They stopped us outside of a room. I felt how full of lust and hate they were. My mouth went dry, and I shrank next to Sharlotte, who only seemed to grow stronger.
“Did our sister lose the fight with Aces?” Sharlotte asked in an even voice.
One of the men sneered. “Not yet, Miss Weller.”
My skin went cold. They knew.
The man continued talking. “Aces is fighting for all you Wellers. He beats Wren, and you all become his wives. So get in there. Get clean and pretty. Aces will want you smelling nice later on tonight. He’ll win. Ain’t no skanky-ass kutia going to walk away from Aces. Your sister don’t know it, but he spent ten years in the Delta Force, killing in the Sino. What’s one more skank to him? Nothin’. But he won’t kill your sister. No, he’ll let her live, and she’ll become another one of his many brides. Part of me feels sorry for y’all. Aces is one perverted son of a bitch.”
Every word got meaner and uglier until that last word, a word no one used anymore.
They shoved me and Sharlotte into the room, slammed the door, and locked it. Peering through the peephole, I saw them standing at attention, assault rifles ready.
I came apart. “They know who we are. They’re breaking their own rules ’cause Wren already fought for us and won. You and I belong to Micaiah, so this isn’t fair.”
Sharlotte shrugged, and then a slow grin spread across her face. “All that might be true, but I have a bigger problem. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you really are a little smelly.”
She had a good, sarcastic smirk on her face. Smelly or not, I hugged her. But I had a new batch of fears to throw on the pile. What if Wren lost? How could I survive what Aces would do to me?
Sharlotte sensed my terror. “Now, Cavatica Ann Weller, you don’t go there. We both know Irene won’t lose. Her entire life has been leading to th
is moment, and she really is the best there is. She is going to rip Aces apart. And we’re going to find a way to get to Nikola and the Stanleys. Then we’ll wreak havoc on this city of evil.”
“Burn his thistle throne to the ground,” I whispered.
“And we don’t want to do that smelling to high heaven. So get clean, get ready, and let’s go out there like we’re Abigail Weller’s daughters.”
We showered, we braided each other’s hair, and we got ready to do battle, ’cause the fight was coming. They’d left my Moto-Moto watch where I could find it. I was glad to have it back, and I still had Wren’s .45 caliber bullet, which now felt like a lucky charm.
We put on their dresses, which were cut low, to show enough cleavage that made me almost die of embarrassment. I found a little pocket of fabric, a mistake in the seam on my hip, but it was big enough for Wren’s bullet, which was good, real good. I guess the veil and scarf were for after we were claimed. Until then, we’d be paraded around as bare as possible.
We were only pretty trophies of flesh to them.
(iv)
Outside in the evening, snowflakes swirled down through the air—a wet, fall snow. The air wasn’t so cold, but the snowflakes convinced me it should be. Half-dressed, I wrapped my arms around myself. The snowflakes tumbled down onto my skin then onto the ground.
Sharlotte walked steadily on her peg-leg. Her dress covered it, but she had pulled up the hem to show off the table leg I’d carved for her. It was a badge of honor for her now, one more scar she’d carry, and one she’d carry regally.
Sharlotte Weller was back and walking like a Juniper queen.
Torchlight lit the Glenwood pool arena below, and every man in the city seemed to be there. This was the main event. Men had fought all day long for women, but it was merely a prologue to the main story: Micaiah’s weapon versus Aces, a Delta Force soldier who’d killed and killed again overseas in the worst war in the history of humankind on Earth.
There was still no sign of Micaiah. Only grunting, smiling, wicked men, bearded and big. Grizzly bears would’ve been preferable to the thugs who surrounded us. Prolly would’ve smelled better too.
We were taken up to the balcony. Micaiah stood there, leaning against the guardrail. Another of Aces’s men stood there as well, Walter from the previous fight. While Wren’s burns and bruises had healed, Walter still sported the fading marks of the beating he’d taken. It seemed he was second in command.
Micaiah nodded at me. I nodded back.
Around his own wrist was the red and white wire and grass bracelet. Made me sad to see it. Then mad at our whole run of bad luck.
I fisted my hands but didn’t do nothing else ’cause there was someone else on the balcony with us, a stranger. He was tall, dark-skinned, dark-haired, Hindu and something else. He was strikingly handsome, someone you couldn’t look at once, and then never long enough. Gunslinger holsters, strapped low, hugged the hips of his jeans; his fancy leather jacket was replete with metal studs and fringe. In his arms, he held a swatch of deer skin bundled around something.
He caught me staring. “Hello, Cavatica.”
Like everyone else, he knew my real name. I didn’t even try to argue. But how he said it was strange, like he knew all about me.
He greeted my sister. “Hello, Sharlotte.”
My eyes went down to the butts of his pistols, cherrywood grips, Colt Terminators. Just like Wren’s, but not quite. On the wood was a stylized “D.”
A name drifted through my mind, someone Pilate had teased Wren about. Someone my sister had mentioned only recently.
“Dutch Malhotra.” I said his name in a hushed voice.
He smiled, showing straight, gleaming white teeth. “Very nice to finally meet you, Cavatica. Your sister always did say you were the quick one.”
“That’s enough, Dutch,” Walter said. He turned to the crowd. “Are you ready for the main event?”
The crowd of men roared.
“Aces, you fight for the right to own all of the Weller sisters. Is that right?”
Aces nodded. “That is correct.”
“Very well.” Then Walter laid it on thick, playing the announcer. “From Burlington, Colorado, weighing in at, well, a lady wouldn’t want us to know, right? From Burlington, we have Michael Carlsbad’s champion, the most famous gunslinger in the Juniper—and shame on us for not recognizing her right away—give it up for Wren Weller!”
People booed my sister as she came forward, walking with a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She was back in her jeans, cowgirl shirt, and leather vest, all cleaned and patched. Better yet, she was back in her attitude, even with greasy hair, a face thin with hate, and half-drunk besides.
“She’s been drinking.” The words tasted foul in my mouth. Wren held our life in her hands, and she couldn’t stay sober a day. One good thing, Walter referred to Micaiah as Michael, so they still had no clue who he really was. Otherwise, it would’ve all turned out very differently.
“It’ll be okay,” Sharlotte said. “Drunk or sober, Irene won’t lose this one.”
Wren dropped to the bottom of the pool and threw the bottle against the side. “That’s me, Irene Marie Weller, you worthless bunch of monkeys. You can call me Wren. So if I kill Aces, do I get to be leader? Seems only fair to me.”
She glanced up at us, smirking, triumphant.
Then she saw Dutch. Her smirk slid off her face. Her mouth fell open. She took a step back. My sister, retreating.
Dutch threw out a wave. “You get ’em, darling. You beat Aces, you might not get to be leader, but I did make him swear to give you your guns back.” He lifted the deer-skin bundle. With his free hand, he touched his head. “And remember, right between the eyes, baby. Right between the eyes.”
I shoved Dutch out of the way. “Wren, just fight. Don’t think about him or anything. Just fight like you always do.”
Dutch laughed. “She can’t not think about me, darling. Wren’s my pretty baby ... always has been, always will be.”
Yes, he was handsome, but underneath? Like Wren had said, he was a snake in boots.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “You been hiding out? Did you tell them who we really are?”
Walter answered for him. “No, we finally figured that part out for ourselves, and given your reputation, Aces wasn’t going to chance an escape. As for Dutch, he’s been here before. He brought us news about the army that came through, looking for you. Seems they are on their way back and in a hurry. Well, let them come. We’ll perfect the Stanleys, we’ll protect our city, and once Aces defeats your sister, you will be safe in his care.”
“Safe?” Sharlotte said quietly, “I’d use another word if I were you.”
Walter hadn’t mentioned the chalkdrive. Good, maybe we got lucky there.
Walter turned and went back to his job as announcer. He shouted across the crowd. “And the challenger? Weighing in at two-hundred and thirty American pounds, our very own Master Sergeant Adam “Aces” McHenry, a decorated veteran with a hundred and six confirmed kills in the great Sino-American War. He’s never lost a fight. He’s killed four men in the arena. He is our leader because he is the very best of men!”
A hundred and six kills, that explained the tattoo on the back of his left hand.
I wanted Wren to yell out something snarky to show she wasn’t afraid, but she stood there, looking up at Dutch with some kind of emotion on her face, not quite fright, not quite adoration, but something in between.
Dutch continued to smile that wretched, come-and-kiss-me grin, which seemed to weaken Wren somehow. If Pilate had been there, he surely would’ve made some quip about Dutch being Wren’s very own smiley piece of Kryptonite.
Aces slid down into the arena. He wasn’t strutting. He moved like a panther in the night. Around his neck was the metal necklace, and on the necklace, the cure for the Sterility Epidemic.
For a minute, both Aces and Wren were lost in the mist from the boiling water of the aren
a’s pool and the fat snowflakes drifting down.
Walter dropped his hand and said what Aces had said before. “Fight until the victor is clear.”
Aces leapt on my sister and drove a fist into her face. She hit the concrete—first knees, then hands, then head.
The victor seemed clear.
Chapter Nineteen
My pretty baby, my pretty baby, oh
She’s going out, but not comin’ back
She’s gone downtown there, to where
They don’t drink whiskey, they drink blood
And they’ll drink a girl down
Like gin, like gin, like Mama’s freezer gin
They’ll drink a girl down
— LeAnna Wright
(i)
“GET UP!” I SCREAMED.
Wren staggered to her feet, but her bell had been rung. She swayed as she took a defensive stance.
In her first fight, Wren had demolished Myer in seconds.
In the second fight, Walter had gone down the hard way, but it had been dramatic and quite a spectacle.
With Aces, there was no showmanship, no entertainment, only the bad business of Aces using his superior reach, his weight, and his strength. This was his office. Wren was only paperwork.
Aces danced nimbly on his feet, relaxed, a hundred and five kilograms of Delta Force meat but as nimble as a ballerina.
After weeks in a hole, barely eating, Wren looked thin and fragile. Sure. Keep her starved and shut in, and then give her a bottle. Aces couldn’t beat her fair and square, so he hit her where she was the most vulnerable—her alcoholism. She was a hope-to-die drunk, thirsty for something this world could never give her.
Wren went for him, and Aces punched her square in the nose. He didn’t follow it up right away, no, but stepped back, battered her some more with his reach and waited for her fury to get the better of her.
Which it did. Which it always would. With a scream, she hurled herself at him. He hit her again, an uppercut that threw her blood across the pool-bottom.
When she tried to kick him, he stepped back and let her miss, then went in and punched her in the jaw. She went down again.
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