by Holley Trent
How the hell was she going to replace that pane of glass?
“Five,” she murmured as gunshots exploded all around and men shouted insults at each other from down the street. Stupid arguments about things that weren’t worth lives.
But, if they wanted to die so badly, she could assist.
She’d just started walking toward the closest man who held one of those cowardly peashooters when she caught a glimpse of an ore-colored flash ahead.
Then another across the street.
And one more in her periphery she almost missed.
Looking all around her, she pulled in a revelatory gasp.
She knew that gold—that bird.
What the hell is he doing here?
She tapped the end of the saber against the ground and tuned in to the sounds around her. Fewer and fewer gunshots. Murmured curiosity from the courage-shy onlookers in the saloon. “What’s happening?” they were all asking.
“Maybe they ran,” someone said.
“Maybe so,” someone else said. “Heard Dean got him a big ol’ gun. They’re probably scared of it.”
If Lola wasn’t mistaken, one of Dean’s bullets had whirred past her head. She wondered if Dean knew, and if he did, whether or not he cared.
Probably not.
She rolled her eyes and stepped up onto the saloon’s low porch to examine her window. It’d been cracked during a bad storm but had been valiantly holding itself together for nine months.
She wasn’t going to be able to salvage it.
“Who’s that coming?” someone asked.
Lola didn’t turn. She already knew.
She squinted at the splinters around the hole in the glass. The whole thing would probably shatter within an hour. She was going to have to get that window boarded up before the end of the night. Fortunately, she’d held onto the wood from when the other window had been broken a year ago by the impact of a too-close lightning strike.
“Don’t know him,” one of the men said. “Would recognize one like that.”
“Lots headed west since the war. Guess I don’t blame ’em.”
Lola heard the dull thud of footsteps on the hardened ground behind her.
The parting of the saloon guests away from the door as the newcomer made the porch slats creak under his weight.
Lola sighed.
Turned.
Blinked.
And then again.
Angel.
Same one who annoyingly called her “Butterfly” and who seemed to have a knack for showing up wherever she was. She didn’t think that was coincidence anymore.
And his face wasn’t the same.
Or his skin coloring, but it was finally…right, somehow.
Without thinking, she reached up and pressed a fingertip against his unshaven cheek and waited for the magic to reveal the lie.
No lie. Just brown over all that gold the humans couldn’t see. His eyes were the same gold, though. Those eyes were unforgettable.
Vaguely, she registered volleys of gunfire starting up again down the street. Typical of those bastards. They never knew when to quit. She was too distracted by the spectacle in front of her to do anything about them, though.
What was he doing in front of her in that form—so large, so brazen, so unapologetic?
What is he doing? What does he want?
“Apparently, I missed a few,” the angel murmured.
“They will run out of bullets soon enough,” she said, looking away. “They are not so easy to replace here. Let them exhaust their reserves.” Looking back at him, she watched a corner of his wide mouth quirk upward and he folded his arms over his broad chest. He wasn’t in the finery she’d last seen him in, but even being dressed as the locals were in cowboy garb, he’d never blend in.
“Practical, aren’t you?” came his resonant murmur.
Lola was fortunate not to be subject to human aches and pains because staring up at the giant as she was would certainly cause distress to her neck over time.
He didn’t seem to care that he was so much larger than all the others, or that he wasn’t dressed particularly well, perhaps due in part to his size. His duster was too ragged. His pants were a touch short. Had anyone else appeared on her doorstep the way he looked, she would have assumed they were a vagrant.
Perhaps, that was why so many were ignoring him.
Some of the men by the door eased back into the saloon, likely eager to resume their gambling and carousing because their wives all expected them at home soon.
Others waited, probably curious about the stranger. She didn’t look at them.
She didn’t look at him, either.
She couldn’t afford to have people assuming she cared about anything or knew more than she let on. They’d find some way to use that information against her. That was what desperate people always did.
Not that she cared about the angel. He’d simply managed to pique her curiosity. Apparently, that was still possible.
“So, this is yours?” He canted his head toward the building, smiling cheekily. “This is how you make your way?”
“For now. What else is there here?”
“Why here?”
“Why not?”
“You like to stay put, then?” he asked.
“I think I’ve roamed for long enough. I believe I’d like to have an address for a while.”
“Never had one of those, myself.”
“You should try it,” she quipped.
“Are you recommending this place?”
“I’d recommend Siberia if I thought you’d go.”
His teeth stood out in pleasing contrast to the rich brown hue of his skin. She didn’t trust that smile. Creatures as aged as them rarely smiled for benign purposes.
She took a step back and fidgeted the corner of her shawl.
“I guess the mantilla I bought you has all but crumbled to dust now, hmm?” he said quietly. His gaze was fixed toward the sound of the flagging gunfight down the street, but she had no doubt the bulk of his focus was on her.
“I still have it,” she confessed. “Rarely worn.”
He turned back to her, smile half tempered.
Good.
“Changed your mind about it?”
“Yes.” That came out sounding too tart, and for no good reason. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Smoothed down her oiled hair. Rubbed off what she could of her smeared lipstick. Sighed. Yaotl had once told her that she didn’t have to make everyone she encountered an enemy. She’d thought that was a naive way of thinking. After all, he was still so young, but perhaps she could concede that there was nothing wrong with forging neutral connections. She had that with Elizabeth and some of the other female Cougars. There was nothing wrong with having allies.
She simply couldn’t let them get closer. She wouldn’t dare let any of the gods from her waning pantheon or any other think that she had assets for them to exploit. Yaotl may have refused to hide in her shadow and instead took his chances on his own, but she couldn’t give others the same choice.
“I meant that I changed my mind about wearing it,” she said. “It was too fine. I worried it would rip.”
“Ah. Well, you could get another. You could send away for one.”
She shook her head. “Too expensive. And it wouldn’t be the same.”
Her lip curled. That had almost sounded sentimental.
“Perhaps in my travels, I’ll come across another one as fine and I’ll—”
He must have processed the sound of the gunshot and guessed the trajectory of the bullet at an alarmingly efficient speed that even she didn’t possess. By the time she heard the scream of the lead nearing, he was moving her gently out of the way.
Even through the layers of her shawl, dress, and chemise, his touch unsettled her. She didn’t understand his energy. Didn’t understand what he was made of or if he was poison to a creature like her. Even world-weary goddesses feared their mortality on occasion.
He was
slow in pulling his hands from her shoulders. She thought he must have liked her in that subdued, confused state. He didn’t let go until Elizabeth shouted, “Mister, there’s a hole in your shoulder!”
His brow creased. He looked behind him the best he could and then down. There was a wound. A discontented sound vibrated in his chest.
As quietly as she could, Lola said, “You should pretend you are hurt.”
“Oh.” He adjusted his posture and let out a fairly convincing groan of discomfort. “I’ve been shot. Gracious, I’ve been shot.”
Lola couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. His acting was a weak, in her opinion, but she was certainly no critic.
“Clear the way,” she said, shooing the ladies off the porch and sending the drunks scattering. “I need to get this…man to a room.”
“Should I go get the doctor?” Elizabeth asked.
She must have been too far from him to sense the edge of his power. There wasn’t a magical creature on Earth that would have missed it unless they’d been born with deficient senses. Elizabeth certainly hadn’t been. She’d pegged Lola as an oddity the moment they’d met.
“Await further instructions,” Lola said, hustling the big angel through the doorway. She bumped against what must have been a wing. She couldn’t see it, but it was in the way. It’d flattened her nose when she turned her head. Fortunately, she didn’t think anyone else saw.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around the amount of power he must have had. She could make herself disappear, but not selected parts of herself. She didn’t know anyone who could do that.
“Can’t afford the doctor this month,” Lola said. “Money’s tight.” To the angel’s back, she whispered, “Up the stairs and to the left. Can you put on a good show or do I need to get two men for you to lean on?”
There was no blood coming out of the hole in his shoulder. She quickly tossed her shawl over it and pretended to be applying pressure.
“I’ll manage,” he said.
He made his way up the stairs, groaning all the way, gripping the spindly railing for all it was worth, which wasn’t much.
The gamblers and lushes down below stared at the procession with unabashed curiosity because perhaps that was easier than doing something useful like rounding up a posse to go collect the guns from those men outside. They all likely figured that next time they might be the ones swept up in the uncontrollable mob, so it was best if they turn a blind eye.
Oh, she’d have something for those cowards soon.
Despicable bastards.
She hurried around the angel and opened the door to the room she’d thought was clean and unoccupied, and quickly closed it.
A view of Fred Cahill’s freckled backside was exactly the sort of bon-bon of nastiness she didn’t need at the end of a stressful day. She was going to shake him down for some extra coins as hazard pay. Whoever he was tupping through all that racket would be sure to have earned them.
The next room had a long-term lodger, as did the next. She gave up at the end of the hall and pointed the angel through the only door remaining. She rarely allowed strangers into her inner sanctum, but she didn’t see where they had a choice.
She relit the lantern that must have gone out, shut the door, and gestured for him to turn around. “Let me see it.”
The creature made a low, chuckling sound as he obeyed, making her ears itch.
“Stop doing that,” she snapped.
“Doing what?”
“That thing with your voice. My ears don’t like it.” She yanked her shawl away and stood on her toes for a better look at that bullet hole.
Not tall enough.
She’d need to get a chair—either for her to stand on or for him to sit on.
Do angels sit? she pondered as she lit another lamp.
He moved about her bedroom-office, shedding his greatcoat as he went. She watched in thrall, noting the careful movements.
Left arm out first. He gripped the collar and carefully lifted the heavy garment up, flexing his shoulders oddly. The fabric shuddered and rippled in places where nothing touched. He grimaced as he pulled it the rest of the way around and extracted the right arm.
“Is it the bullet? It hurts you?”
“No.” He draped the coat over the back of her chair.
Immediately, she went to examine the fabric. There were slits in the back panel. They hadn’t been visible when he’d been wearing the coat, but once removed from his body, the coat appeared to be the way human eyes would have seen it.
“What kind of trickery is that?”
“Nothing special. Those like me who roam here have ways of disguising ourselves from human eyes.”
“I am not human.”
He put on that untrustworthy smile again. “I know. I’m working very hard to confuse you.”
“Why bother?”
The smile went bigger, all the way to his eyes. “Because I have to take my amusements wherever I can find them.”
She groaned with annoyance and set down the coat. “Go away. Perhaps through the window.”
“Window looks small. Kind offer, but I’ll pass.” He gave his shoulders another odd flex. His smile waned. “Catch that, will you?”
“Catch what?”
He turned.
She noticed the bullet falling from his flesh right in time to snatch it from the air.
He hadn’t bled, but there was blood on it.
And it was a big bullet.
She held the exploded, sickening thing up to the light.
Humans and their filthy toys.
“There. That feels much better.” He reached for his coat, but she pressed her hand down on it.
“What about the hole?” she asked.
“It’ll heal.”
“How quickly?
Grinning, he turned and knelt a bit for her.
Bastard.
The hole was gone.
She poked at it tentatively and found the skin unmarred, perfectly resistant.
“As long as I can remove the shrapnel, I heal instantly.”
“Are you always able to remove the pieces?”
“No.”
Interesting.
She filed the information away, not that she thought she’d be able to use it, but one never knew when knowing a creature’s weakness would serve her well.
“Give me your shirt, and I will have one of the girls repair the hole, unless you do not generally bother. Perhaps you would rather replace the thing.”
He started working at the buttons, big hands clumsily fidgeting the tiny pips. “I try not to spend my hard-earned money needlessly.”
“So, you do earn it?”
“As opposed to what? Simply taking it?”
Lola watched him shrug out of the shirt, repeating the same process as he did with the coat, grimacing at the exact same stage. “That is how many make their ways.”
“I assure you that if I take anything…” He handed her the shirt and refastened the fall of his trousers. “The person I took it from deserved the loss.”
“Who gets to decide that?”
“I do.”
To him, that logic probably made sense and she didn’t feel like arguing. He was already too much of a distraction. She had a business to run and he was keeping her from doing that.
“Twenty minutes for the repair,” she said. “Perhaps thirty. You will have to find your own solution for the coat.”
She hadn’t quite made it to the door when she heard high-pitched chatter and footsteps on approach.
Cougars.
She sighed and put her hand on the knob right as Elizabeth knocked.
Casting a warning glare over her shoulder, she found that the angel had already affected an injured draping pose across her chaise and had covered his back with his coat. His booted foot dangled comically off the end.
She opened the door.
Elizabeth stood on her toes and tried to see through the gap over Lola’s head. “Everything all ri
ght?”
“Fine.” She handed the shirt out to her. “There is a hole. Find a girl who’s good with a needle.”
Elizabeth scrunched her nose. “How come there’s no blood on it?
Lola stared at her, saying nothing.
“Oh. Okay. Tell me later, then.” Elizabeth tried to peer inside again. “He need anything? Hot water? Whiskey? Bandages.”
“Not at the moment. Did Fred leave?”
“Not yet.”
“As soon as he does, find the maid and have her clean the room so we can relocate our guest.”
“Oh. Okay. Does our guest have a name?”
Lola didn’t think it mattered if he had a name. He was leaving as soon as he could walk out without the crowd thinking too hard about his miraculous recovery. She was about to tell Elizabeth some variant of that logic, but the creature called over—weakly—“My name is Tarik.”
Odd name.
Elizabeth hitched her glasses up and frowned. “Never heard that one before. Where’s it from?”
Lola closed the door lest Elizabeth volunteer any further distraction.
“All right, then,” Elizabeth said through the wood. “I’ll just go and…do all that stuff, then.”
“Fine,” Lola told her.
Elizabeth padded away after a few seconds, taking her tagalong with her.
When Lola turned, the creature called Tarik had rolled onto his back and was smiling at her like the fuss was all so amusing.
Have your fun now, she thought as she examined the slits on the back of his coat again. It won’t last long.
CHAPTER SIX
The following morning, Tarik would have preferred to remain in Lola’s office and watch the comings and goings of her curious staff, but he was summarily evicted.
Lola couldn’t manhandle him, even being the magical creature that she was, but he was sure she could whip the humans up into a frenzy if she needed to make a fuss. He didn’t want that, so he bundled himself up in his coat and the coarse blanket from the chaise and lurched down the hall.
The saloon was empty, save for the Cougars down below scrubbing floors and cleaning the bar.
They both looked up at him at the railing, wide-eyed.
He saluted them. “Morning.”
“Keep moving,” Lola said. “Do not disturb my staff. They do not get paid nearly enough.”
