Make Me No Grave

by Hayley Stone

  “You want a neat summary?” she said. “I chased off the sheriff and his men, healed you, and dragged you back here…”

  “You chased off a posse of armed men?”

  “Yes.”

  “By yourself?”

  She ignored my disbelief and continued. “They’d have left you for dead. I should’ve left you for dead.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Before you go getting any ideas, it’s not because I like you. You did defend me, though, and I honor my debts.”

  “Thought there wasn’t supposed to be any honor among thieves.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Already was. “So how’d you get free?”

  She arched a dark eyebrow. “What do you mean, how’d I get free? You fixed the rope with a bullet. You shot me down. Don’t you remember? It was a hell of a shot.”

  A sour taste filled my mouth. Jed. “I was informed I’d missed.”

  “Well, you were misinformed. If you’d missed, neither of us would be here now.”

  “You said you…healed me.” One of my hands drifted to my side, visiting the empty site of the injury. “How’d you manage that?”

  Almena picked at the roots of her nails, idle-like, but I wasn’t fooled. Especially when she did it enough to make them bleed. Insanely, I thought about reaching out, taking her hands inside mine, stopping her from harming herself further. I repressed the instinct, knowing she wouldn’t take kindly to the contact, and I’d no right to initiate it. Finally, she threw her hands down into her lap. “Oh, what the hell. It’s not like half the town didn’t see me do it. Bruising. What I do, I call it bruising.”

  I frowned, not following. “That a scientific term?”

  “No, it’s not a scientific term. Here, it’ll be better if I just show you.”

  She moved on me, grabbing my wrist. With my free hand, I reached for my piece on the nightstand. I only realized I’d done it when I heard the hammer roll back, chilling in the silence. She froze in front of me, the muzzle inches from her belly. Her lips curled back from her teeth like an animal’s grin, more sneer than smile. “What? Still don’t trust me, Marshal?”

  “I’d like to, but your reputation ain’t exactly pearly. Trust’s not something I hand out freely these days.” Not anymore. “You want me to trust you, you’ve got to show me you’re worth trusting. Simple as that.”

  Guillory gave me a long-suffering look when I didn’t immediately back down. That look puzzled me with its familiarity. I remembered it belonging to a different face. “Look, Apostle, if I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Simple as that.”

  She had a point. If nothing else, she’d at least earned the benefit of the doubt. Hadn’t she?

  Fighting the tight lump of nausea in my gut, I set the gun aside.

  Her grip on my forearm eased, claws retracting into fingers again, not quite a lady’s touch but nearer to it.

  “How’s it work then?” I asked. “Bruising?”

  “Like this.”

  She snatched the pistol from the table and fired a shot into the ceiling that left my ears ringing. While the mouth of the gun was still hot, she pressed it to my chest. It burned like a son of a bitch, reminding me of the time I’d accidentally grabbed hold of the wrong end of a cattle prod. I yelped, half from the surprise, half from the pain.

  My body was still trying to respond when Almena casually discarded the pistol and pressed her hand to my naked shoulder. She winced, but otherwise never so much as blinked. I watched in wordless amazement as the red, blistering scorch mark that had only just bubbled to the surface of my skin started to disappear. Seconds later, the mark had vanished, along with any sensation of the wound.

  While I fumbled for something intelligent to say, Almena grabbed the collar of her blouse and tugged it down, revealing the same mark in the same place on her chest. After a moment, the mark disappeared. Like it was never there at all.

  I jerked to my feet, toppling my chair. Maybe Jed was right. Maybe she is a devil.

  I’d heard rumors during the war about men and women shrugging off bullets, tearing apart enemy soldiers with their bare hands, but I’d always taken them for hyperbole. Legends grown out of the senseless carnage of wartime. No one had ever proven the presence of witches at Gettysburg, nor that wizards—artificers, by a fancier name—had destroyed the Wrightsville Bridge. All that was just talk, soldiers letting off steam.

  But maybe it wasn’t. And if it were true, even in part…

  God help me, I’ve rescued a flesh witch from the noose.

  Except devils didn’t use their powers to save lives. And Almena Guillory had surely saved mine. Regardless of my beliefs, seemed mighty uncharitable to think badly of her.

  “You’re wondering if it’s witchcraft, right?” Almena guessed. She stood and approached me, and it took every ounce of willpower to react as she got closer. Her lips broke into a smile at my discomfort. “Oh, don’t look so concerned. It doesn’t involve pagan rituals or anything that might upset your dainty sensibilities.”

  My hands were shaking. I planted them on my hips to try and stow my nervous energy. “How’s it work?”

  “How do you remember the words to a hymn or know to close your eyes against a glare? How do you catch yourself when falling? It comes naturally, like living. It’s almost a reflex more than anything else.”

  “So it ain’t magic.”

  “I didn’t say that. I sure as hell don’t have a better word for it.”

  I considered that. “Can you start and stop it?”

  “It’s not a beer tap, Marshal. But if you’re asking if I can control it, then yes. To an extent. I don’t take any injury I don’t want, and my body heals most injuries I can’t survive, unless I interfere. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?”

  Before I could respond, the door slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges. Twin barrels preceded Dorothy as she pushed inside, shotgun in hand.

  “What the blazes is going on up here?” she demanded.

  “Everything’s fine,” I assured her.

  Dorothy frowned, looking top-heavy with that shotgun. “I heard a gunshot.”

  “Just an accidental discharge,” I said, lapsing into my Marshal’s Voice; that careful mix of coolness and professional calm. My wife had given it the name, though it was usually in the context of don’t you do that, don’t you dare use your Marshal’s Voice on me. “As you can see, nothing to worry about. No need for the gun.”

  Dorothy lowered the shotgun so now if she fired it would only blow away Almena’s feet, instead of her head. “I’ll be having no funny business from you,” she warned the other woman. “If you start giving him any trouble—“

  “Thank you, Dorothy,” I interrupted, “but I think I have things covered here.”

  With a little more encouragement, and my repeated reassurance that the hole in the ceiling would be compensated for, Dorothy retreated. She gave Almena the evil eye the whole time as she backed out of the room.

  “I like her,” Almena said, soon as Dorothy was gone.

  I gave her an odd look.

  “I mean it,” she said. “I admire a woman who’s willing to risk life and limb for the ones she cares about. That’s a woman unafraid to defend her own. Good for her.” She looked away sharply, as if embarrassed by her own sentimentality, then waved her hand impatiently. “Go ahead and ask the rest of your questions, Marshal. You look ready to burst.”

  She was right about my interest. Like a man discovering the stars, I wanted to know more. “Does it work on every sort of injury?”

  “Most. There are exceptions.”

  “Like what?” Only by her incredulous look did I realize I’d asked something personal and inappropriate. I’d crossed a line. “All right then. Does it hurt you to do it?”

  She crossed her arms low, shielding her abdomen. “Of course, it hurts.”

  What kind of ability could look and act like magic without having any of the perks? I wonder
ed. After all, wouldn’t true magic prevent any harm to its user? The anatomy of her gift confused me, but in the pleasant manner of a puzzle. I was probably risking eternal damnation prying into Almena’s dark art, but I swear the devil himself would’ve been curious.

  “Providing you can—wait, is it healing or bruising? What’s the term for when you’re healing yourself?”

  “They’re two sides of the same coin. Call it whichever you like.”

  “All right. Providing you can heal yourself like you do, why didn’t you get rid of those cuts and bruises on your face after we first tangled? Couldn’t you have healed yourself right quick back in the hotel?”

  She shrugged and swung herself down onto the bed, fiddling with the chamber gate on my pistol. Each time it closed with a hefty snap. “I could have. But wouldn’t you have found it strange if I didn’t have a mark on me?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Besides, it’s far easier to simply pass the injury on to someone else. I guess you might say I was saving them for a rainy day.”

  “And that scar?” I glanced down at her arm.

  Almena snapped the cylinder closed again. “We all need reminders.”

  I grabbed my chair and righted it, leaning on the back. “Almena, mind my asking why you’re still here? I’m grateful for your help and all, but you know I’m still duty-bound to turn you in.”

  She snorted. “I’d like to see you try. And since when are we on a first-name basis?”

  “You’re carrying my bullet wound; I’d argue that makes us fairly close.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my first.”

  I started to say something, but cut off at the sound of someone racing up the stairs.

  The next instant Dorothy appeared in the doorway, breathless and huffing. She wasn’t holding the large-barreled shotgun this time, though my relief at that was short-lived.

  “Sheriff’s back,” Dorothy announced.

  Almena rushed to the window, opening the curtain with a single crooked finger. “Brought some more men with him, too,” she observed.

  Dorothy looked at me, and I swore it was the same way my wife used to look at a meal just starting to burn—sadly, but with some hope of rescuing it still. “Maybe now is a good time for you to acquaint yourself with my attic, Marshal.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because he’s telling everyone you conspired to free Miss Guillory there because she’s your woman”—Almena made an unladylike noise—“and that’s why his boy shot you. In short, he’s calling you a Judas. And if he finds you’re still alive, I think he’s going to try and kill you.”

  Chapter Five

  Dorothy herded us into a storage room on the second floor, quietly shutting the door behind her once we’d all filed in. It was dark and windowless, but once my eyes adjusted, I could make out crates and barrels. Like much of the hotel, the room held the reassuring smell of aged wood.

  It would’ve been a tight fit for two people, let alone three, and while I did my ample best to give Almena some personal space, as Dorothy jostled her way to the back of the room, there was no helping us bumping up against one another like cattle in a pen.

  I lifted my head, casting my gaze toward the ceiling to avoid noticing how close mine and Almena’s faces were to one another. Her freshly laundered clothes couldn’t hide the smell of the day on her—a hard mixture of dirt, blood, gunpowder, and sweat—merely covered it some like a thin doily laid atop a set stain. I knew I couldn’t have smelled rosy myself and was grateful for her lack of comment on it. Maybe she appreciated the dire situation we were in, or maybe we were finally starting to get on, but whatever the reason, she kept quiet while we waited for Dorothy’s instruction.

  “Given what I’m risking to help you both, I trust you two’ll be discreet about what you’re about to see,” Dorothy said, and I wasn’t sure what she meant until she drew a small match from her pocket and struck it.

  She held the tiny flame up, and it quickly ate through a false image of the ceiling like a spark shooting through a spigot of gas, revealing a scuttle hole and string. Dorothy tugged on the string, the panel opened, and a ladder followed.

  It wasn’t the strangest thing I’d seen today, but it wasn’t nothing neither. Between Almena’s fleshcraft and Dorothy’s illusion, I had to wonder if everyone in Kansas wasn’t hiding a little magic.

  “Well,” I said, “ain’t that something.”

  Almena stared at Dorothy, almost as if she were seeing her for the first time, and when she spoke, her voice held newfound appreciation. “I haven’t seen that trick since before the war. Were you part of the coalition?”

  “No,” Dorothy said as she ushered us up the ladder. I went first, letting Almena finish her conversation, but only because I also wanted to hear Dorothy’s explanation. “My momma was a Blesser, though, worked as a conductor back before the war. Never lost a ticket.”

  I was barely following now. I guessed the conductor and ticket had something to do with the Underground Railroad, but the rest shot straight over my head. “Blesser?”

  “A witches’ coven mostly consisting of abolitionists committed to helping slaves escape the South before the war,” Almena explained. How she knew that was beyond me. I’d only just learned a year ago about the spirituals used to signal slaves to escape.

  Dorothy nodded. “She was no Moses, only made a few trips, but she did what she could to help any fugitive slave come her way. Even once the war was won, she was afraid the peace wouldn’t last, and our people would be put back in chains, so she taught me a few tricks like this one. Useful for hiding, if hiding’s what’s needed. Now get yourselves settled up there and stay quiet. I’ll come fetch you when it’s safe.”

  Almena finally joined me, but not before turning back to Dorothy. “Your mother was a brave woman.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Dorothy said, but there was a note of pride in her voice.

  “Fleshcrafters and abolitionist witches,” I said, soon as Dorothy left. I shook my head with an incredulous smile. “Next you’re going to tell me all them sewing circles up North are made of ladies practicing the dark arts.”

  Almena smiled. “Not all of them.”

  She looked like she might say more, but just then I heard Jed’s gravelly voice, muffled but distinct, barking orders to his new posse. I held a finger to my lips. We both listened as men shuffled around on the second floor below, and I found myself holding my breath whenever it seemed they were right beneath our feet.

  Almena, on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed. She had chosen to sit across from me, back against the wall, legs extended and crossed at the ankles. While we waited, she licked her thumb and attempted to rub out a small dirt smudge on the waist of her borrowed shirt. Every now and again, the sound of furniture screeching against the floor made her flinch, but otherwise, she minded herself well, just biding her time.

  I sat on my haunches, holding on to a low crossbeam for balance, anxious to move around but knowing I needed to stay quiet. Almena glanced up at me once and shook her head. Guessing she had a lot more experience with this sort of thing than I did; normally, I was the one stomping around downstairs, not hiding in a crawlspace.

  Eventually, the sounds died off. That was when Almena tensed.

  After another few minutes, we heard steps.

  The small scuttle hole opened with another puff of brown dust, joined by the sharp smell of a burnt match. I held a hand out to Almena. She bent beneath the low ceiling, looking ready to—I don’t know what. Pounce was the word that came to mind. Whatever she planned to do, I can’t imagine it’ve been gentle none.

  Dorothy peeked her head inside. “All right, y'all come down now. They’ve gone.”

  “What did you tell them?” Almena asked, hanging back.

  “Told them I was hiding an outlaw and a disgraced marshal in my attic. What do you think I told them?”

  Almena grinned. I couldn’t help thinking these t
wo women could’ve been friends under different circumstances.

  “I said you’d split,” Dorothy continued, “and he’d gone after you. Again. And if anyone else comes around asking, that’s what I’ll tell them, too.” She looked at me, a promise in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Dorothy.” I grasped her hand. “I owe you.”

  She nodded, looking half embarrassed by the gratitude. “Owe me for the ceiling and the sheets, too,” she said.

  “I’ll make good on it. You have my word.”

  “Where are they heading next?” Almena asked as we climbed down from the attic. “Which direction did you point them in?”

  “They asked me which way y’all went, and I said I didn’t know, what with it being night and my eyesight what it is, but that I might’ve heard you talking about trying for Ellis. It was the first town I could think of.”

  “Ellis,” Almena repeated with a nod as if this conformed nicely to her plans.

  Made me nervous thinking she had a plan at all.

  We headed down the creaking stairs, gathering in the back kitchen. Without being asked, Dorothy started the hearth, blowing the embers into living flame, not for warmth but a little light. She also lit a few wax candles. Our shadows made hard, starved figures on the walls, their edges shivering whenever we passed too close to a flame.

  At my request, Dorothy went to fetch my coat and badge. I had a sense I’d be needing them both sooner rather than later.

  “I hope you’re not getting any ideas,” I warned Almena, who stood a little too close to a butcher’s cleaver. I sat perched on a stool nearby, checking my revolver with some intention of cleaning it. That was when I discovered I was plum out of bullets. Whether Almena knew it at the time, she had used the last of my ammunition with her little presentation back in the room. On the off chance she didn’t realize I was at her mercy, well…I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.