Raising Kane

by Long, Heather

  She didn’t touch it. Hunger was the last thing on her mind. The tea helped, she supposed because Quanto brewed it with some kind of soothing herb. During one of his days spent hiking, he’d described the use of many of the herbs he grew or gathered on the mountain. Some were as simple as an analgesic for pain while others provided stomach quieting, blood strengtheners, and sleep agents. Every herb had a purpose and some could be combined to powerful effect.

  Fortunately—or maybe not so fortunately—her memory was accurate down to the finest detail. She could recall nearly every word spoken to her and every sight seen. During one long discourse with her father, they’d speculated the memory aspect had to be directly related to the ability to build and infuse illusions with life. If she’d seen it, read about it, and understood the details, she could bring it to life.

  A constant replay of images shuttered across her mind’s eye. The man’s horrible screams as the enormous animal struck, the way its claws ripped open his chest and the blood spurting from his throat. The gurgle of his last wheezing breath escaping…

  William’s hand cupped the back of her neck and the images shuddered to a halt, the horror lessening and she tilted her head back to look at him. Shadows writhed in the heart of his deep blue eyes and his pupils expanded. “Don’t,” she murmured to him. “You shouldn’t have to hurt.”

  “Neither should you.” He stroked his thumb against the curve of her neck. “You defended yourself. There is no shame in that, nothing for you to feel guilty about.”

  Guilt, she decided, was a distinctly subjective emotion. Being responsible for the death of another left a foul taste in her mouth, but she didn’t regret the action. Her mind, however? Her mind rejected it because the horrific moment had been borne in rage, grief, and blood. She’d buried the memory, buried it so deep she’d been unable to recall it no matter how hard they’d demanded it of her.

  Making William complicit in their plans should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. A worried frown deepened the lines between his eyes and she turned her head to rub against his arm. She could find no blame in her heart for his efforts in helping her to face that dark truth. He pushed her, to see and understand. When she had, he’d given her unflinching support—she’d felt what he’d done when the horror and the grief ripped her apart. He’d ridden the storm with her, braced her through it, and helped to bring her out on the other side.

  Only a fool would think he hadn’t suffered for her and she didn’t like to think of herself as a fool. “Stop hurting,” she told him and leaned forward after another caress. He acquiesced and let her go, but it didn’t take away the shadows. A second stark truth hit her in a blazing moment of clarity.

  No, that’s who I am. I feel other people. I am always going to feel them. I may control it better, I may be able to block it out some, but reading them, feeling what they’re feeling? Feeling what you’re feeling? That’s who I am. I need to know you understand that you really can’t lie to me.

  If she hurt, so would he. Flexing her fingers around the mug of tea, she lifted it for a long swallow. William had suffered for so many, let their emotions slice into him until he bled from a thousand cuts. Hers would not add another knife to his agony. One by one, the others sat down at the table, their food in front of them, and William took the chair to her right. He braced one foot on her chair, his closeness a promise and a warning.

  “Evelyn,” Quanto’s quiet authority demanded her attention and she pushed aside the dark thoughts spiraling inside of her. She had too much information to analyze and she needed to be calm to do it. Sipping the tea, she transferred her attention to the shaman. “How are you feeling?”

  “Exhausted.” It wasn’t a lie. The tired seemed to be bone deep, chaining her soul to the earth until even lifting her head seemed to take effort.

  The shaman nodded. “We want you to take the next few days to just be. You need the time to consider and to rest. No more conjuring, no more lessons for now.”

  Despite her fatigue, she shook her head, rejecting the plan. “I need better control. Firmer. There are still four men out there who participated in my father’s murder.” She felt more than saw William shift, his nearness a reminder, but he was safe at her back. It was the shaman and Wyatt she faced. They were the ones she needed to convince.

  “They are not here,” Wyatt’s inflexible tone held no sympathy. “What threat, if any, they pose is not immediate.”

  “I’m not afraid of them.” Fury seeped up from the cracks of her weariness. “They murdered him. They murdered the marshal. They should not be allowed to simply return to their lives as if nothing happened.”

  “Evelyn…” William began, but Wyatt shook his head in a sharp negative, his hard, mismatched colored eyes flicking between them as if telegraphing a message with his gaze.

  “This is not open for discussion or debate. We’re not asking you.” Wyatt’s voice cracked like a whip in the silence. “We’re telling you. You’ve had a shock. You need time to recover. Do not use your gift. Do not push. Do not endanger everyone around you by deciding you know better than anyone else.”

  “Leave her alone.” William’s hand covered hers and his voice took on a cool, tone she’d never heard before, as hard, and damn near inflexible as Wyatt’s. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet and the two men stared at each other, tension expanding to fill all the available space between them.

  “A compromise,” Quanto suggested solemnly and the strain ratcheted down a notch. “Evelyn, rest for two days. Walk. Breathe. Let your mind process what you have learned and then we will all sit down and discuss what must be done next.”

  The reasonable, well thought request held appeal because it purchased her time. Time to plan. If she read all of their body language correctly, they had no intention of allowing her to deal with her father’s murderers and if William did… She cut off the thought because of the worry flooding her. He was too attuned to her not to pick it up. Accepting Quanto’s offer with a gracious nod, she concentrated on her exhaustion and readiness to end the argument. “I will take the two days, thank you.”

  William and Wyatt continued their staredown for a heartbeat longer before the latter nodded, seemingly satisfied. One by one the others dug into their food and William nudged her. “You need to eat,” he said in a low voice. “Even if it’s only a little.”

  “I’m not really that hungry,” she demurred. Frankly, she might be ill if she tried to eat anything. All she could see was blood and hear the man’s gurgling screams. She needed time to discipline her mind, to close out those thoughts. Raising her voice, she glanced around the table. “Would you all be terribly offended if I excused myself for the evening?”

  Unsurprisingly, William rose immediately and held her chair with gentle solicitation. The world did a little sideslip as she stood, but she braced her weight against her fingers resting on the table. “You should stay and eat,” she told him firmly.

  “I don’t mind walking you up.” No, he wouldn’t because he wanted to take care of her and she loved him all the more for it. Waiting until they’d reached the stairs, she put a hand on his arm and turned to face him.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I would like to be alone for a little while.” She didn’t mind touching him, none of what she said was a lie. Hurting him was the last thing she desired.

  “Are you sure?” Though he disliked the idea, he bent his forehead to hers and studied her expression. “You don’t have to be alone.”

  Tears filled her eyes and his face wavered through the fresh onslaught of emotion. “I know, but I think I need some time.”

  “I’m sorry I had to do that to you.” Regret thickened his voice.

  Her heart broke, understanding he believed her request to be a rejection. No matter her plans, no matter the realization of what she needed to do, she refused to let him blame himself or believe she blamed him. Cupping his face in her hands, she let all of her faith and trust in him rise to the surface. “No,
you never have to apologize. I’m stubborn and I didn’t even know how much I held inside. I know they tried to get me to show it and I think that’s why Quanto wanted me to conjure my father.” A fresh bite of grief on her soul. “I am not angry with you…but I am sad.” The tears slipped down her face and she sniffed hard, She thought she’d finished shedding them. “And I think I just want to be sad for a while. I think I need to be.”

  The grooves around his mouth deepened. He didn’t want her to be in pain. Stroking her thumbs against his lips, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat because she was about to dance very close to the fine edge of a lie. “If you’re with me, you’ll be hurting, too. That makes my hurt so much worse because I don’t want you to suffer for me.”

  “I’d suffer anything for you.” He covered her hands with his, offering her his strength. “It is not a burden. You do not have to be alone.”

  “I know and I love you for it, but I need this little while. Give me time to do what I must. Please?” She saw his capitulation at the final word and burrowed into his arms when he hugged her close.

  “I’ll be down the hall or in the barn if you need me,” he murmured against her hair.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she savored the contact, memorizing it. She wanted to forget nothing about William, absolutely nothing. “Thank you.”

  Another soft kiss to her forehead and he let her go, despite his reluctance, and stayed at the bottom of the steps. She felt his gaze through her long ascent and she held the feeling of his comfort and her tiredness at the forefront. He tried so hard not to read her—she knew this and yet, still she had to attempt the deception and fool him. Recognizing the fact didn’t change her mind, however. Once inside the safety of her room, she sagged against the door.

  William would never agree to her plan. He would insist on going with her and she knew without asking that he would help her claim justice against the men who took her father. But what would it do to him, to feel the deaths of others? She’d heard the quiet agony in his voice when he recounted the story of the ambush and the pain he’d endured for Cody.

  No, he’d gone through enough. And what if she couldn’t protect him? She’d failed her father. No, failing William wasn’t an option. Better for her to vanish, to descend the mountain and take the task on herself. His anger she could bear. His death…her gorge threatened to rise at the concept.

  Two days.

  She had two days to consider a plan and make it work because seeing the conjure come to life, remembering all that happened, reminded her of one truly dangerous fact—

  Her father’s murderers had seen her.

  They could be hunting her already.

  Kid, The Barn

  He hated leaving her alone, but she’d asked for time and he refused to force anything more on her than he’d already had. Splitting logs for firewood gave him a direction for the excess energy vibrating through him. He’d barely slept the night before, particularly since she slept just a dozen feet down the hall. It took everything he possessed to return to the table, finish his dinner, and make nice with Wyatt.

  The man’s harsh attitude toward Evelyn rubbed him raw. It didn’t matter if he’d been right, he still didn’t need to talk to her that way. He tossed the quartered log onto the stack. They had several stashes and a large amount of wood quartered here on the mountain. It made sense, considering their much longer winters. Chopping wood served to keep him distracted because maintaining his distance from Evelyn for very long would prove impossible.

  “You did what had to be done,” Wyatt’s voice punctuated his next swing and Kid spared him a glance. The other had settled against the side of the lean to, an apple in one hand and a knife in the other.

  “I know.” It didn’t alleviate the bitter taste in his mouth or the kernel of guilt for being the one to push her out of the dark safety of denial. He reset a half log on the block and split it. “But she’s hurting.”

  “It’s always harder when we care and I expect it will be harder on you than most.” He cored the apple and began to slice it. “But you have to develop a thicker skin, particularly with those you who are closest to you.”

  “I’m never going to be you, Wyatt.” Kid continued to split the logs, every control swing adding a burn to his shoulders. “I cannot go cold and shut them out.”

  “Agreed. So what other methods can you use?” Apparently they were turning this into another lesson. It suited Kid’s need for distraction.

  “What I’ve always done. I can soothe, I can talk, I can engage. If anything—” He traded out logs and tossed the cut pieces onto the pile. “I’ve learned sometimes talking does immeasurably more than just taking the pain. Helping them acknowledge it, face what they’re afraid of or, conversely, what is infuriating them. Be supportive.”

  The other man crunched the apple, his neutral expression going thoughtful. “Those all work for the people you help. What helps you to do that?”

  Pausing to wipe the sweat off his face, Kid shrugged. “Letting their pain go. Not hoarding it and not feeding off of it. Everyone gives off a lot of low-level everyday emotion, even your ugly mug.” The last part earned him a faint smile that looked more like bared teeth. “I need some of it, but I don’t need to consume the negativity in full. I can mute it, let them keep their own emotions, and soften it if necessary.”

  Ben came to mind. The young cougar’s struggles and loneliness were a memory of keen sharpness. Helping him meant softening the horror, easing him to trust and simply being there. Holding Evelyn while she cried, her tempest of fury and grief and horror swirling around him, had been similar. He’d pulled from her, but he’d also fed it back to her.

  Even the pleasure they’d shared, and he’d given freely, hadn’t been about the need to feed his gift and, oddly, it was an area he’d never felt straining his control. His gift seemed to recognize his need to protect her and while it didn’t block his ability to read her or help her, it didn’t gorge on her either.

  “But you’re still going to be shouldering a lot of pain. Most people are in pain. Doubts, resentments, jealousy—even the best of people have issues.” The hard assessment didn’t surprise Kid and he met Wyatt’s gaze head on.

  “They do. Not going to lie. There are a lot of petty people out there, people who only think about themselves, but those moments don’t dominate. It can be as momentary as I wish Wyatt would stop talking to me so I can work to I hate Wyatt, he’s cruel and difficult even when he doesn’t have to be.” The dry explanation earned him another smile. “Pain is living, as is joy. So are friendship, brotherhood, and family. I’ll take all the pain in the world to feel the rush Sam experienced when he held Molly, or the wonder of Cody when he watches Mariska, or even the bittersweet memory of love Pa feels when he thinks about Ma. People aren’t all terrible. They aren’t all one thing or another.”

  He considered withholding the next sentence, but set the axe into the wood with a chop and stretched the muscles in his arm. “Not even you. No matter how hard a face you show the rest of the world, you feel things. I think you feel them even more deeply than others because you refuse to share them.”

  All emotion drained away from Wyatt’s expression and a very familiar impassive mask settled into place. “Don’t.”

  “I’m not. But you’ve had months to dig around inside of me and pull out all the ugliness, make me face, own, and control it. That gave me months to get to know you, too.” A wry half-grin stretched his lips. “You may be a son of a bitch, but you’re not a monster.”

  “That sounds a great deal like a challenge.” Even the chill in his tone, one that threatened to leave a mark on Kid’s soul, didn’t sway his opinion.

  “Not biting.” He reached for the axe again. “What do we do about the fact that they saw her?” He didn’t pretend to think Wyatt hadn’t seen. The man promised to let Kid handle it, but he’d also been close enough to intervene if Evelyn’s gift went out of control.

  “Nothing. Even if they are sear
ching for her, where are they going to look?” Wyatt’s caution made sense. “Better to concentrate on her and deal with them later.”

  “How?” They knew Harlow’s name and that he was from Tennessee. The two details alone wouldn’t get them far.

  The other man shrugged and finished the last of his apple. “When she’s ready, when she’s calmer, she can show them to Quanto again. He knows the one man’s name and he can track him in dreams.”

  Kid stared. “Even if he hasn’t met him?”

  Wyatt’s smile was less than friendly. “Everyone dreams. Tracking in a dream is harder than in life, but he can cover far greater distances. He won’t do it until he has all the information. It’s dangerous work and hard on him.”

  He didn’t need to remind Kid of Quanto’s age and health, a distinct concern. “Can Buck do it?”

  “Not with Quanto’s accuracy though, with practice, he could shadow his father.” With those words, Kid understood the other reason they waited.

  “He’s training him to do that now.” It wasn’t a question.

  Wyatt nodded. “For a few weeks, since he emerged from his seclusion with the siren. He’ll be ready before the snows fall again, strong enough to shadow step with his father and guard him.”

  “Any other plans you haven’t told me about?”

  “Probably.” He pitched his apple core into the woods with one good hard fling and walked away.

  “Are you going to tell me?” Kid called after him, amused in spite of the topic, because Quanto and Wyatt had already begun to take steps to protect Evelyn and avenge her father.

  “When you need to know.” Came the enigmatic response.

  “Bastard.” He muttered, but grinned all the same.

  “So you keep saying…” Only his voice sounded further away and Kid laughed. It would work out. Evelyn would get her gift under control, she could mourn and, when the time was right, he’d take her home and introduce her to the chaos of the Flying K.