“What if we need tools? We don’t have any. Even if we did, what do we know about them?”
Sylvie’s negativity grated Rhia’s nerves. “I got us here from Nebraska. I’m sure a little maintenance will prove easier than that. Let’s go inside.”
The door creaked when she forced it open, but light came through the long windows on either side of the building. Two rows of desks made a walkway down the center of the room. Aside from a lot of dust and cobwebs, the room looked serviceable. The blackboard needed a good wash in addition to the windows, but it wasn’t as bad as Rhia feared.
She straightened a desk as she walked up the aisle toward the blackboard. “Smallish, but Eban said there aren’t many children here, so it’s the right size. No one will feel too crowded.”
“I suppose a broom and mop are the worst tools we’ll need.” Sylvie wandered around the room, straightening books on a shelf and peering into cubbies used for holding lunch pails. “Maybe you can start teaching next week, if we work hard.”
Rhia nodded, picked up a piece of chalk and wrote her name on the board. Smiling, she backed up. Her mark was already on this place, whether Wystan liked it or not. She walked through a doorway, pleased to see living quarters. One sagging bed, a shelf for personal belongings, pegs on the wall for clothes, and a single small window covered by burlap curtains. But it was livable. She and Sylvie wouldn’t have to room with Beryl any longer.
Sylvie came to her side and made a face, but before she could say anything, Rhia cut in.
“It’s better than the wagon.”
“I guess. It could be worse. At least we don’t have to live with Mr. Butterman.”
Rhia clenched her teeth. The last person she wanted to talk about was the horrible Mr. Butterman, her previous answer to getting them out of a bad situation. Compared to him, Berner looked like paradise. “Thank heaven for small favors. Let’s never speak of it again.”
Sylvie nodded. “I forgot.”
Hoping to clear her reasons for leaving Nebraska from her mind, Rhia put her arm around Sylvie’s shoulders. “Just don’t mention it to Eban and we should be fine. Now, let’s go back to the wagon and get some supplies to clean this place up a little.”
Chapter Five
“Did you ask Eban why the town is empty?” Sylvie whispered.
After leaving the schoolhouse, they’d walked down the street where their wagon waited with Ponce and Hernando staked beside it. Relieved that the mules had come to no harm despite the howling last night, Rhia put her hand on Hernando’s neck. The mule nickered and bobbed his head.
“I didn’t think to.” She turned away from Sylvie when she lied, hoping it wouldn’t come through in her voice. Neither Eban nor Wystan were inclined to tell her what had happened to most of the citizens. In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She climbed inside the wagon and tossed a wooden bucket over the tailgate. The broom and a couple of rags followed. A sliver of soap the size of her pointer finger was all she had left. Their coins would have to go for buying food before other luxuries. She carefully lowered an ax over the wagon side. They’d need it to chop some wood. She couldn’t afford to buy any. Eban might know a place where she could cut a small tree no one would miss.
“Rhia.” Sylvie’s voice was high with alarm.
Rhia stuck her head out the back of the wagon, fully expecting Wystan wearing his hateful mask. Instead, she saw a man and a woman approaching. They were Asian, with dark hair and pale faces. A child peeked from behind the woman.
“Hello!” The man smiled and bowed. He pointed at himself, then his family. “I am Fang Yue. My wife Bao Jing and son, Thomas Jefferson.”
Rhia returned the man’s smile and nodded at his wife. “Just a moment.” She pulled the pins out of the tailgate and lowered it before sliding over the edge. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Rhia Duke. This is my sister, Sylvie.”
Friendly faces were another step in the right direction.
Fang’s smile faded a fraction. He pushed the boy forward for Rhia’s appraisal. “Dr. Eban say you open school again. We come to see if you allow Thomas Jefferson to sit with other children. He good boy. Very smart. Learn fast, like jackrabbit. Someday he do great things like President Thomas Jefferson.”
“I believe you’re right, Mr. Yue. Thomas Jefferson looks like a bright boy. I’d be honored to have him in my class.” Rhia smiled and saw the relief on their faces. Two students were better than one and Sylvie wouldn’t complain about the work she had to do if she had someone to share it with.
Fang squeezed his son’s shoulder and said something to the boy in a language she guessed was Chinese. “Very good. When classes begin?”
“I’m hoping to open the school in a week or two.” Rhia straightened her spine, pleased that things were looking up.
“He will be there, no worries.” Fang bowed again, smiling like Rhia had given him the moon, and the trio left.
Sylvie squinted as they walked away. “How long have they been without a school?”
“Eban said fifteen years. Thomas Jefferson might be about ten or eleven. It would have shut down before he was old enough to attend. I hope other parents are as excited about educating their children as Fang and Bao Jing.”
“What if he doesn’t speak English? He didn’t say anything. You don’t know Chinese.”
Rhia suppressed a sigh. When had Sylvie gotten so pessimistic? She supposed it was her fault. If she’d taken better care of their finances, her sister might not see the negative side of everything.
“We’ll figure out something. Get the broom and bucket while I carry the ax. I don’t want you to slip and fall on it. We owe Eban enough as it is.” Maybe Sylvie’s glum attitude was rubbing off on her. A day filled with cleaning would help her see the bright side of things again.
When the Regulator clock on the jailhouse wall chimed noon, Wystan rose from the bunk in the cell where he sometimes slept, washed his face, and sought Rhia Duke. If she wasn’t already gone, he’d start packing for her.
He checked the vacant lot where Eban had generously offered to let the Dukes leave their wagon. The bigger mule brayed when it saw him. The other watched with mild interest. Neither was harnessed. They stood knee-deep in scraggly weeds, swishing their tails at flies.
The wagon hadn’t been moved even an inch. So tattered and faded it looked like it belonged in Berner even more than the road-weary mules. Wystan’s temper rose.
“Eban!”
The clinic door was open, allowing fresh air to flow into the building. Wystan’s brother stepped outside, shielding his eyes with his hand against the sun.
“Same old story. You want her to leave, she’s determined to stay. Even when I told her she had to go, she shrugged and pretended she hadn’t heard me. She was working on a master plan, something that made her eyes light up. If I were you, I wouldn’t bother.”
“I am bothering. You want people running all over this town, ending up as barghest fodder?” Wystan curled his hands around the hilt of his bowie knife. The wicked blade cut through the devil dogs’ necks easy as cutting hair, but that didn’t mean he wanted to kill them every night. “Where is she?”
Eban nodded down the street. “Schoolhouse.”
“Doing what?” Wystan wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. It was bound to be along the lines of she’d taken the notion to reopen it.
“Cleaning, I would imagine. Since she came back and got a bucket and a broom.”
“Don’t tell me you encouraged her.” He didn’t need to hear it to know the truth. Eban was odd, always had been. “What is it about her that makes your backbone shrivel up when she opens her mouth?”
A pretty mouth, but even more untrustworthy than the ugly ones. He tried not to think about the color of her eyes, those different shades of brown and green that swirled in her irises. The sway of her skirt when she�
��d left the jail yesterday. Or how terrified she’d looked when he killed the barghest. If he allowed himself to think of those things, next he’d be spouting poetry and wooing a woman. A human woman.
“I think we need a school. Fang came by earlier and I told him about it. Would you deny Thomas Jefferson the opportunity to get out of here someday, Wys?”
Eban’s disappointed tone made Wystan wince inside. TJ was a cute boy and smarter than most of the grown citizens. There wasn’t a book in town he hadn’t read. He could make it in the real world—provided his parents taught him what he’d need to survive out there.
“We could order more books for him.”
“Rhia is a teacher. She can do more for him than any of us.”
Wystan narrowed his eyes. “You did it.”
“What?” Eban looked up, confusion on his face.
“Put the ad in the paper. She showed it to me, but I didn’t do it.”
Eban grunted. “You’re suggesting I did? I like my head where it is, not shoved up my ass. There are other things at work here, you know.”
“Divine intervention? That damned angel statue came to life and typed up an ad for a teacher?” Wystan shook his head. “You sound like a lunatic when you talk about ghosts.”
“I never said ghosts, but stranger things have happened. She’s here. We may as well let her teach. You can pay her a little something so her and the girl don’t starve.” Eban picked at his fingernails, a sure sign he was worried Wystan wouldn’t take the suggestion well.
Just to watch his brother fidget, Wystan sneered. “I could, if I wanted either of them here.”
“It’ll be good for the town.” Eban shoved his hands in his pockets.
Wystan glanced toward the angel statue. He pictured his mother sitting on the edge of the fountain, blowing dandelion fluff into the air. “I don’t think the words good and Berner belong in the same sentence. Anything good died out a long time ago.”
“Maybe we didn’t try hard enough. We’ve settled into a routine and if something changes, we destroy it before it can make things better.” Eban’s voice was low, his gaze far away. “We’re all guilty of it.”
“How’s it supposed to get better when there are barghests and changesteeds crawling all over the place?” Wystan clenched his fists. “We’ve done good to reform the ones we could and slay the rest. One of these days, Astaroth is going to send something worse. It’s going to take everything we’ve got to hold it back. One of those seals breaks, we’re doomed. Not just us, but the whole damned world. So far we’ve been lucky. You want to put more humans in immediate danger?”
“I think you hate her because she’s pretty,” Eban muttered.
Wystan laughed. “Is that what this is? I’m jealous because you saw her first? It hasn’t been like that since we were boys.”
“If Tell were here, he’d disagree. Besides, I think he’ll like her too. We need something fresh in town. Give her six weeks and if Rhia hasn’t accomplished anything, then we’ll tell her to leave.” Eban raised his gaze.
“Six weeks?” Wystan rubbed his chin. A month and a half seemed like a long time to wait to boot someone out of town. “Will her friend be better by then?”
Eban nodded. “I think so. Markedly improved, anyway.”
“All right, but if any of them gets eaten, it’s on you.” Wystan hated giving in. There was a good chance he could avoid Rhia by hiding away in his office. The positions of mayor and sheriff didn’t have much to do with teaching.
“There’s one other thing you should know.” Worry lines creased Eban’s forehead.
“What?”
“I don’t think Miss Brookshier is entirely human.”
“What is she?” Wystan asked.
A sheen of sweat stood out on Eban’s face. “She looks human, has all the correct parts, but she gives off an aura. I think you should meet her, and Tell too, if he comes back soon. He’d know better than any of us what she might be.”
“When the hell did you plan to mention it?” This was why he didn’t want strangers in town. “Dammit, Eban. ‘Let’s take in strangers of questionable origin and put them up. Please, come right in. Start a school, make friends with our hellspawn neighbors, infect their young with whatever diseases you’re carrying’—which, for all we know, are parasite imps. We could be infected right now and neither of us would know it!”
Eban cleared his throat and nodded behind Wystan. “Miss Brookshier doesn’t have parasite imps. I checked, but you might lower your voice. The Dukes are coming.”
Wystan looked over his shoulder. Dirty smudges stained the girls’ faces and clothes. For all appearances, they were normal humans returning from a morning of hard labor.
“Did you by chance check them?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Let me check behind your ears for nodules, seemingly healthy human woman’?” All pretenses of a well-educated, charming young doctor faded from Eban’s manner. He mimicked Wystan’s tone. “‘You might have parasite imps, and if that’s the case, I’ll have to behead you. Hold still, it will only hurt for a second.’ Jesus, Wys.”
“You’re not a veterinarian taking in sick puppies. There’s nothing adorable about parasite imp–infected humans. These are lives we’re talking about. Zaïre and Mila, the Yues, Heng, Lois, Tell.” He grimaced. “Even Meacham.”
“I know.” Eban’s jaw tightened. “What do I tell her?”
“Make something up. Some disease. I don’t want to hear about you going soft either. If you find so much as a bump, you use that saber, do you understand?” Wystan jabbed his finger into Eban’s chest. “No matter how pretty you think she is.”
Eban pushed him away. “I know.”
“Because, Eban, I swear to God, one of those wormy little bastards shows up in this town and I’m beheading you.” Wystan let the weight of his words sink in.
“Like Sandra?”
If those two words had been nails, they’d have pierced Wystan’s heart. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. “Go to hell.”
“I’m about as close as anyone can get.” There wasn’t any anger in Eban’s voice. Pity, sorrow, even some regret.
“Go join Astaroth. He’d probably love to have a Heckmaster in his hands.” Wystan’s vision was red, his body coiled so tightly that he wanted to hit his brother. The Dukes were drawing closer, walking slowly because they no doubt sensed the animosity in the air.
“Wys, I’m sorry. That was cruel.”
Eban moved forward, reaching out, but Wystan jerked away. The saloon called, wooing him with whiskey and the promise of helping him forget the way he’d taken Sandra’s head off. Maybe tonight it would help him forget how her big blue eyes had reflected candlelight that burned until she fell asleep. The way she’d come at him in the dead of night with a parasite demon inside her head, determined to kill him or drag him back to Astaroth’s lair. Wystan choked on his next breath, staggered away from the clinic, and gave a wide berth to Rhia and her sister.
“Sheriff?” Rhia reached for him, but he waved her away.
He wasn’t certain he was capable of speech, not when loss sank talons sharper than barghest claws into his soul.
Chapter Six
Rhia held Beryl’s cold hand between hers. Fever flushed her gaunt cheeks and she shivered under three blankets.
“I wish I could see the schoolhouse. I feel useless lying here.”
“You’re not useless. One morning you’ll wake up feeling brand new and we won’t be able to keep you sitting down for all the things you’ll want to do.” Rhia smiled and squeezed her hand.
Beryl hadn’t said much about her past, so Rhia had no idea what she’d done before they met. A round of coughing shook her friend’s frame. She drew the topmost quilt over Beryl’s shoulders and stepped back.
“Rest. Sylvie and I will stay tonight to make
sure you’re all right.”
She hoped the treatment Eban had prescribed would help Beryl’s illness. Almost as though she’d summoned him with her thoughts, he appeared, holding a steaming kettle of water.
His dark hair fell over his forehead and he looked flushed. “I heard her coughing down the hall. The steam will loosen the mucus.”
“Good. Is Sylvie still reading in the study?” Rhia moved away from the bed so he could settle the container on a stool close to Beryl.
“I think so. She’s engrossed in a book about Lewis and Clark.” Eban looked up and smiled. “Thomas Jefferson is used to being the smartest kid in town. He won’t know what to think about Sylvie.”
Glad her sister was occupied, Rhia drew in a breath. “Is everything all right between you and Wystan? He seemed awfully angry when he left.”
Eban avoided her gaze. “Can you sit up a little, Miss Brookshier? We’ll rearrange some pillows.” He glanced at Rhia. “It wasn’t about you this time. I said something I shouldn’t have. It’s nothing to worry about.”
It hadn’t seemed like nothing, but she didn’t want to argue.
He straightened and met her gaze. “I need to discuss something with you that doesn’t have to do with the school.”
Dread knotted in her chest. He wanted money, or Beryl wasn’t going to get better. Rhia’s heart pounded inside her chest. “What is it?”
He fluffed a trio of pillows and helped Beryl recline against them. “There’s been an outbreak reported. I need to check you and Sylvie for symptoms.”
“Of what?”
He seemed nervous, picking at his cuticles on one hand. “It causes little nodules behind the ears, a sore throat, and sometimes strange behavior.”
Rhia lifted her hand to her throat. It felt normal—if a little dry inside—and she was tired, but didn’t feel ill. Another sickness to worry about, although Sylvie hadn’t complained of feeling poorly either. “I’m sure if it was just brought to your attention, we haven’t been exposed.”
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