The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  “Before the longest night of the year.” Less than a month. Noah’s heart sank.

  They didn’t have time for games. “Lena and I had an argument, and she is strong-willed and determined to set her own course. I cannot fault her. She lost a fiancé before. The man who was to have been her husband and she is a couple of years older than I. She feels all of these things…and she is not sure she can love a man who does not have a care with himself and doesn’t put her before his patients.”

  “And your affection for men had no bearing on her decision?”

  “I’m loyal to whomever I’m with, she knows that.” Lena was the only woman he’d ever confessed his proclivities. While she’d been surprised, she’d also been generous and kind in her questions. Accepting him for who he was—except for his nearly killing himself healing others.

  She couldn’t seem to quite forgive his choice to put other lives ahead of his own.

  “Noah,” Quanto reminded him he was there. “What troubles you?”

  “A great deal, but they are my troubles Father and I will resolve them.” He didn’t want to burden his father. “Did you know we have witches in Dorado?”

  Interest filled his father’s eyes. “Truly? Tell me.”

  So he did.

  Juliana, Dorado

  Perched on the top step, she listened to Mitchell pacing the first floor from one side of the house to the other. He never paused to glance up at her, never slowed from his steady, monotonous—and endless pacing. The front door opened, and Kent—Royce, she would never get used to their new names—ducked in from the rain. He stomped his feet and shook the water from his hat. Closing the door as silently as he’d opened it, he caught sight of their brother then raised his gaze to meet hers.

  “How long?” He asked.

  “Since we came in from the livery, about an hour ago.” The last time Mitchell behaved as he did they’d had to leave Virginia.

  Sighing, Royce set his hat on the stand and added his damp coat to it.

  “You went to the Flying K?” He’d discussed it with Mitchell earlier, not her, only Mitchell as they liked to discuss every major decision—without her.

  “You know I did.” Royce climbed the stairs and took a seat on the step below hers. “I met with their healer, a man named Noah. He’s negro, surprised me.”

  Surprised her as well, though she’d seen him about in town. Few commented on him and no one seemed to treat him as the negros were treated in Virginia. “He’s one of the brothers?” The Morning Stars, Scarlett had explained during the length of the grueling dinner, were all adopted. A family by choice. She claimed all of her brothers.

  Royce nodded. “A Morning Star.”

  “Oh.” Propping her chin in her hand, she studied him. “You didn’t tell them did you?” Until that night at dinner, they’d never heard of Scarlett’s family name before she became a Kane and had no idea of the extensive reach of the family in the town. No one referred to them as Morning Stars—only by their given names of Cody or Buck, neither of whom had been present at the dinner.

  “No,” Royce loosened the button at his collar then rolled up his sleeves. Both of his arms were tattooed with strange sigils. Marks he’d carried since birth. From time to time the markings changed and he said he could read them now and then. She suspected he could read them all the time, though he refused to admit it.

  “Kent—”

  “He’s dead, Jenny and we need to leave him there.”

  Resisting the urge to thump him, she settled for making a face. “Fine, Royce.” Names had power and their names had to stay hidden, perhaps even more so with the Kanes being aware of their nature. “Everything in me says we should stay.”

  “Everything in you is what got us into this mess in the first place,” Mitchell declared from the bottom step.

  “Be nice,” Royce snapped. “It wasn’t Jenny’s fault. She didn’t invite them to hunt her.”

  “No, but she couldn’t leave well enough alone. She had to get involved.” Anger flashed in his eyes, if not for the worry and very real fear for her accompanied the fury, she might have taken offense.

  “The woman would have died. I couldn’t let her and her baby die, Mitchell. You know I couldn’t. I had no idea it was a plan to lure me out. What kind of a man was her husband to let her get into such dire straits just to see if I would do something?” She could still see the blood all over the sheets and hear the woman’s screams. The baby hadn’t turned, the husband had waited too long to go for a midwife and Julianna did everything she could. Magic had been her final resort, she had to save the baby and the mother—she’d been successful and nearly died for the effort.

  Royce covered her hand with his. “You know we’re on your side.”

  “He’s right,” Mitchell relented. “I didn’t expect any of this, and you may be the reason why we had to run, but I’d do it again until there was no breath in my body if it meant keeping you out of the hunter’s hands.”

  Witch hunters. The arrival of so many into the mountains had startled them all. If Mitchell hadn’t scryed to find her after she failed to return home…she shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “That was then,” she swallowed. Avert dark thoughts and memories, haunt me no more. “What about today?”

  “I spent the morning scrying.” The admission surprised her, but Royce stiffened.

  “You said you were turning your back on it all.”

  “Yes, well you say you can’t read the changing messages on your arms, too.” Unperturbed by his younger brother’s outburst, he stayed ever calm. “What was your assessment of the Morning Star?”

  “He’s a good man, a kind one. We can trust him.” The vote of confidence comforted her. “But he’s not of the Blood. From what I can tell most of these Morning Stars were adopted. He’s circumspect about discussing his brothers. Not all of them are here.”

  “Scarlett wasn’t, she’s definitely Fevered. You saw the fire.” The living flames dancing on her fingers hadn’t scorched or singed her skin. It had the most beautiful and terrifying sight in the same breath. “Will we really know one who is of the Blood when we meet them? It’s possible they’ve died out.”

  “No,” Mitchell said with a shake of his head. “The scrying still tells me to stay here.”

  “Here in Dorado?” Royce clarified and at his brother’s nod, he grinned. “Good. I like this town.”

  The level of enthusiasm was new, of the three of them, Royce had been the most dour about their prospects here and stayed only because Mitchell insisted.

  “The one we need to find will come here or is here. So we stay.” Their eldest brother had spoken and since he led their coven of three, he made the call.

  “Then I want to work with the Kanes,” Julianna stated, and waited for him to deny her.

  Instead of an immediate negative, Mitchell glanced at Royce. “You said Olivia could be trusted.”

  “Her yes, her husband? I don’t know— man is seriously dark and more than a little scary.”

  “But he loves her,” Julianna interrupted. The affection between the two and the very real bond they shared couldn’t be fabricated.

  “If you say so, that’s more your line than mine.” Royce rubbed his jaw. “Noah is trustworthy, too. He’s got a tortured soul. Too giving, the kind gives until it has nothing left. I’ll work with him.”

  Mitchell frowned. “You have to be careful here, brother. This isn’t back east, folks here aren’t likely to look the other way.”

  “Peace, Mitchell. I like him, but I only plan to talk to him. To help forge the bridge—if the Morning Star we want is coming here, we need to be ready and we will need them. They are a force to be reckoned with. The number of Fevered on the ranch…did you count them?”

  “No.” It was a lie, and they all knew it. Mitchell would have sensed them as well as she and Royce did, but unlike their leaning, Mitchell in particular was a gifted foreseer and scryer. If Mitchell went on the hunt, no one would be able to h
ide from him. “I’m not worried about the Fevered. They have their own problems. We have to find the blooded Morning Stars if they are still out there. Only a few of the quickened are left. Warning them may be all that keeps them alive.”

  Chapter 19

  Jimmy, Hell

  Pain jabbing his side dragged him mercilessly from unconsciousness. His head throbbed. His vision went blurry as he managed to crack one eye, then the other open. Feeling didn’t exist in his fingers or his feet, but his wrists screamed in protest. Dragging in a breath of air proved to be agony.

  “Hello sleeping beauty,” a too-familiar voice greeted him. Pushing past the agony lancing his skull, he lifted his head to face his tormenter only to stare into a twisted reflection of his own eyes. “I thought maybe I hit you too hard.”

  His face was sticky and tight all along his left side and cheek. He hung over the back of a horse, roped to the saddle. The leather jabbed his side and the ropes burned. Flexing his fingers created a fresh wave of agony, but it was the hard in rush of air, which left him gasping.

  Sickness hit him in waves, and he fought to stay conscious. The old woman had been the doppelganger all along. He should have trusted his instincts and left her behind. Only thoughts of Blue and Shane kept him awake.

  A knife cutting through the rope dragged his attention to his current predicament. The ground rushed up to meet him and he blacked out when he struck. Hours—or maybe it was only seconds—later pain twisted his arms. Surfacing, he endured the white hot agony of being dragged over uneven ground. With one boot, the doppelganger shoved Jimmy onto his side and pulled his booted feet toward his bound wrists and he lashed the two together. Fresh hell opened beneath him, and it took all of his concentration to breathe and stay conscious.

  Getting his eyes to focus merely dropped him further into the pit. Laying on her side, face slack and eyes closed was Blue. Fury pumped through his veins sanding the edge of pain slicing through his thoughts. Fighting the waves of agony stabbing through his mind, he forced his swollen eye open further and tried to turn his head.

  Blue’s unnatural stillness and pallor squeezed his heart until he finally saw her chest rise and fall. She’s still alive. The doppelganger could have a quick death then. The horses stomped their feet and with care, Jimmy twisted to identify their location. Rocks, grass, and wood blocked his line of sight.

  Closing his eyes, he concentrated on calming his breathing. Anger surged through him, slithering like a nest of angry snakes to leave him roiling. Focus. Breathe. Contain. Calm. See.

  A boot slammed into his side, jarring every part of him with a fresh wash of torment and the pain shredded his thoughts. The groan escaping him infuriated him further and he forgot how to breathe.

  Breath is life.

  So was the white-hot pain gouging him with each inhale until he almost fought against his body’s natural need for air. His ribs were broken. Years before he’d discovered the torment of broken ribs. They’d been cracked during a mad battle to save Buck’s life from a group of thugs planning to hang the damn dirty injun—some days Jimmy hated all people. Hate is not productive, Quanto would say. Jimmy believed his father held faith with those thoughts, but hate fueled by a vicious need to survive had saved his brother. He and Buck had walked—well limped away—the dozen men trying to kill him hadn’t. He and Blue would walk away from this bastard, too.

  “Breath is life,” Wyatt told him. “Every time you pick up a weapon, you freeze. Fear rips into your guts and you choke. If you cannot master your gift, it will master you. Breathe. Think between the heartbeats. Contain your fear. Calm your mind. See your target. Decide what you want to do.”

  The lesson drilled into him over and over one hideous year after he’d killed a man he hadn’t meant to kill. The action left his soul bleeding, but Wyatt’s relentless lesson had paid off. Jimmy learned it was he, not the weapon that was deadly. He could control the weapon if he controlled his temper.

  His heart thundered in his ears, the blood rushing to every source of his agony. He was still alive. Blue was alive. Survival is possible.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at a twisted version of his own face. The doppelganger had worn him once, used his form to try and attack Cody after he’d shot Sam. A shudder rippled up his spine. Pain came in waves, sometimes crashing over a body and other times lapping at it in a series of concentrated bursts. Jimmy focused on the quiet moments in between.

  “Are you with me yet?” The doppelganger—Ryan—asked, the words came out almost garbled and slurred. The left side of his mouth pulled downward as though he suffered a palsy. Mrs. Davis’ mouth had the same affliction.

  She limped, too. Letting his eyes close, he let his ears tell him what the other man did. He didn’t want to stare into the muddied reflection of himself.

  Ryan crouched closer. Harsh fingers dug into the swollen injury around Jimmy’s eye and jerked it open. “I know you’re awake.”

  Even hogtied, he could move a little and he embraced the pain by thrusting himself at the bastard. His aim was good, he managed to drive a knee into the doppelganger’s left leg. He howled and slammed his fist into the side of Jimmy’s head. After the ringing in his ears abated, he pushed past the pain.

  “The body has a great capacity,” Noah reminded him. “Pain tells us something is wrong. Too much pain and the mind will try to block what the body tells it. Sometimes the cure for pain is more pain.”

  Spitting blood from his mouth, he focused on the man writhing on the ground. Blood speckled his leg. He was injured. Blue had been right about the information. His injury had slowed him down, but not prevented him from using his tricks to get too close. Hating himself for failing to trust his instincts where the old woman was concerned, Jimmy considered how to free his hands from the bonds. If he could loosen even one knot…

  Another blow filled his mouth with blood.

  “You bastards couldn’t let me go, I knew one of you could come after me. I really hoped it would be the wolf or the firestarter—MacPherson wants them. But you’ll have to do.” Another blow to punctuate his disdain.

  Dazed, Jimmy held onto the pain. It cleared his mind and eased the hell raging in his arms and legs. “Glad we don’t disappoint.”

  “So brave,” Ryan wheezed. Using his good leg, he kicked Jimmy. The action forced all of the air out of his lungs and hurt like hell, but he pushed past the pain. “But you might be what I need to get my daughter back.”

  “You act like I care if you get what you want.” No child deserved to suffer for This Man’s transgressions, but he also couldn’t be believed. If a child did need rescuing—fine, they would go for her. Ryan didn’t need to be alive to see it happen.

  The doppelganger was on his feet. “Maybe you don’t now, but I also have something you want. I saw how you looked at her, held her?” He glanced past Jimmy and a fresh rage burned in Jimmy’s gut. “Good night Jimmy.” The boot struck his head and the world went black.

  Hours later, he woke, hanging over a horse again. The animal’s jarring pace rattled his teeth and every bruise, scrape and wound on his body. Bile coated the back of his throat—at some point he’d vomited. Hopefully on Ryan.

  Where is Shane? He’d never spotted the kid during the first stop. Turning his head, he could see Blue on the horse behind him. Like Jimmy, she’d been strung over the saddle and tied onto the horse. Nothing about her moved, and his heart wanted to pause. Why was she still unconscious? Had she woken after the doppelganger kicked him?

  Did he hurt her?

  The day dragged with the constant motion of the horse. Time ceased to have real meaning and he fought to stay awake, to study the trail. Where the hell were they going? Once before he passed out again, he registered the cold. Blue had no blanket over her.

  She would freeze to death.

  * * *

  The next time he woke, dark had fallen, a fire crackled and heat stung his fingertips. Blinking slowly, he brought the world back to focus. No wind howled around t
hem. The dirt beneath his cheek wasn’t hard or frozen. Easing onto his side, he chanced a glance upward. A straw ceiling.

  They were in a house or a cabin or something.

  Movement scraped over the floor. Still limping and wearing Jimmy’s form, Ryan dragged a ramshackle chair over to park between Jimmy and the fire. Nowhere did he see Blue. Ignoring the doppelganger, Jimmy tried to shift positions. He could barely feel anything below his elbows. He might not have hands after this—but he’d rip Ryan’s throat out with his teeth if he had, too.

  Where is Blue?

  “She’s dead.” The words struck with the force of a hammer.

  Jerking, Jimmy glared at the doppelganger. The disdain reflected on his face simply twisted the knife eviscerating his heart.

  “Maybe.” Two syllables let him breathe again. “She ain’t woken up.” He stared past Jimmy. “I even dumped water on her, but she’s not breathing a lot—do you want some water?”

  His lips were dry, cracked, and caked with blood. Parched and aching, he’d gladly have plunged face first into a stream. Saying nothing, he continued to glare. How long had he been out? Where were they? Lacking far too much information to act, he concentrated on getting his fingers to move.

  White-hot pain pierced one when he tried to flex it. Uncertain if the muscles even responded, he kept trying to move it. Returning feeling to his hands was vital to their survival.

  “No? All right.” The man turned up his water skin and took a long drink. The left side of his face shuddered. The tremors passed from one side of his face to the other, and he began to shake. The process was horrifying and fascinating by equal measures. Water splashed on the ground as the water skin slipped from the man’s fingers. His face crackled and snapped, the bones resetting then the muscles slid. His face changed—Hank, the deputy, Cody’s achingly familiar visage, then Mrs. Davis, then they repeated backward until he wore Sam’s face and finally back to Jimmy.