Stranger

by Rachel Manija Brown

  “I wonder too. And I wonder why.” The mayor studied Ross. “Are you Changed?”

  Sheriff Crow slammed her hand down. Plates of apple crumble jumped.

  Jack called from the doorway, “Early warning! Concerned citizens on the loose.”

  “You and I will have a private talk later,” the sheriff told Ross.

  The mayor tapped her fingernails on the table. Mia could tell she didn’t like that idea. Only three months ago, “private” talks with the sheriff had always included the sheriff’s wife.

  Jack was shoved aside by a bunch of townspeople, who all began talking. Every single one was a Norm. Oh, not this again, Mia thought in disgust.

  Sheriff Crow stood up. “One at a time. You know the rules. Mr. Horst?”

  The huge ironmonger glowered down at Ross. “My son told me that new boy’s too strong for a Norm. He’s Changed.”

  Mrs. Garcia broke in. “I knew that boy was Changed! We don’t want any more—”

  Sheriff Crow swept her hair from the Changed side of her face. The pupil of her snake eye contracted in the light. “Yes?”

  The Norms backed up, then began to slink out. Mrs. Callahan, the last to leave, paused in the doorway, her freckled face ruddy with anger. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of the importance of keeping this town safe, Sheriff Crow.” She marched out.

  Under her breath, Sheriff Crow said, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

  Ross, the only person still eating, nearly choked. Mia avoided looking at him. She was afraid if he smiled she’d let out the laugh ballooning in her stomach; she caught a look from her father and bent over her plate. Only yesterday, he had reminded her that Mrs. Callahan was undoubtedly still upset because her husband had left Las Anclas—and her—last year. Mia didn’t recall the woman being any nicer before he’d left.

  Before the door could slam shut, another delegation entered. To Mia’s total lack of surprise, this one was Changed. Indra and Sujata’s father, Mr. Vardam, was first. As he left the doorway, his right hand, which had shifted to match the color of the oak door, slowly paled to the dun of his clothes.

  Sparks glittered in the air as Ms. Salazar entered, with the chief archer, Ms. Lowenstein, right behind her, yellow cat eyes gleaming.

  Mr. Vardam addressed the mayor. “Valeria, I’d like to assure the concerned citizens gathering in the square that the newcomer will be treated fairly. Whatever he is.”

  “Of course he will be,” Mayor Wolfe replied.

  “My daughter Meredith says you fight well,” Ms. Lowenstein said to Ross. “Are you planning to stay?”

  Ms. Salazar’s aura had the soft glow of candlelight as she asked kindly, “Are you Changed, young man? My son recently—”

  Mrs. Callahan barged back in, glaring at the Changed adults. “Norms have rights too, you know!” she cried, jostling the table.

  “Watch the apple crumble!” Jack rescued Sheriff Crow’s plate as it began to slide over the edge.

  The sheriff clapped her hands for silence. “I will interview the newcomer. When I’m done, the council will meet—”

  “Tomorrow,” said the mayor.

  “—at their weekly meeting in three days. Unless I find it necessary to call a special meeting.”

  “Will this be a closed or open meeting?” Mrs. Callahan demanded.

  “Closed,” said Mayor Wolfe.

  “Open,” said Sheriff Crow.

  Mia held her breath. Her father said in his peace-making voice, “Speaking as a council member, I encourage you to consider an open meeting, Mayor Wolfe.” He smiled. “Not having to repeat our conclusions will be a great time-saver.”

  The mayor gave a stately nod. “Wise counsel, Dr. Lee. So it shall be.”

  “You heard the mayor,” said the sheriff. “Go on home. Tell your teenagers they’ll have to run the afternoon patrol, since most of their parents will want to be at the meeting.”

  She followed the mayor and the remaining citizens out. Mia’s sigh of relief blew a daisy out of the vase.

  Before anyone could speak, the door opened yet again, and in came—Mia blinked in surprise—Brisa Preciado. Then she saw the napkin Brisa was holding to her palm. “I cut myself.”

  Mia’s dad examined her. “How exactly did this happen?”

  Brisa gave him a rueful glance. “Juggling.”

  “Juggling knives?” exclaimed Mia.

  “I’m not reckless. Wine glasses.”

  “You break it—” Jack began.

  “You pay for it. I know,” Brisa finished with a sigh. “Do I need stitches? Again?”

  “Becky can do them,” said Mia’s dad. “You’ll find her in the surgery. Make her come back and have dinner when she’s done, will you? Tell her the mayor and the sheriff are gone.”

  Once Brisa left, silence fell. “That meeting,” said Ross at last. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Mia’s dad. “But I’m on the council, and I’ll speak up for you. Mia, is your flamethrower ready yet? You could bring it on patrol.”

  Mia shook her head sadly. “I’m having some control issues.” She perked up. “But I could test it.”

  Jack handed Ross the serving dish of apple crumble. “Take the rest. You look like you could use it.”

  10

  Ross

  ROSS WOKE UP GASPING FOR BREATH, HALF-SMOTHERED in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. This time, rather than dreaming that he was turning into a singing tree, he’d dreamed that he’d always been one—a tall, blood-red tree, waiting for human prey.

  Needles of pain pulsed behind his eyes, and his jaw throbbed from clenching his teeth while he slept. His muscles had locked with tension. He had to force them to relax, limb by limb, before he could move.

  He rolled onto his back. His entire body ached like he’d been beaten. The ceiling loomed above his head, threatening to cave in on him. He’d never had nightmares when he’d slept outside. That was the worst part about sleeping inside houses. Ceilings.

  He got dressed and went downstairs, deliberately not looking up. The hallway smelled temptingly of fresh eggs. He had to admit there were some good things about houses.

  Dr. Lee was busy at the kitchen stove, and the sheriff sat drinking coffee at the table.

  “Good morning, Ross.” The doctor peered at him, melted butter dripping to the floor from a forgotten spatula in his hand. “You look tired. Did Mia keep you up all night?”

  “We collected oil for a few hours after dinner. I’m fine.”

  “Will you join us for breakfast, Sheriff?” Dr. Lee asked.

  “I want to have a talk with Ross. He’ll be back before the eggs get cold.” She hefted her mug. “Let’s go back to your room. Sound carries outside.”

  In his bedroom, the sheriff leaned against the wall, sipping steaming coffee. Ross sat on the bed. Sheriff Crow wasn’t a big woman and she wasn’t even armed, but she seemed to take up a lot of space. Between her and the walls of the small room, he felt more trapped than ever.

  “What brings you to Las Anclas?” she asked.

  “I told you, I was chased by a bandit.”

  “No—I mean, where were you going before the bandit chased you?”

  Ross shrugged. “West.”

  “Why?”

  “I heard life was better there. I wanted to see the ocean.”

  “All right.” She sipped more coffee. “Where were you when the bandit started chasing you?”

  “I . . .” He’d be gone long before he could draw Voske’s attention to the town, but he didn’t want to get thrown out on his ear just for mentioning Voske. “In the desert, out east. Between the mountain ranges.”

  “And there was just the one bandit?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you have that he wanted?”

  When he
didn’t reply, she said, “Look, I know you prospectors don’t like revealing exactly what you find and how much it’s worth. If it’s something good—something valuable—I won’t tell anyone else about it, and I won’t try to take it from you. All I want to know is if you were attacked in a robbery, or if it was for some other reason.”

  Under her intent gaze, it took conscious effort not to glance out the window, in the direction of Mia’s house—and his book.

  “As long as it isn’t something that could explode or release poison or otherwise be dangerous to the town,” she added, “I don’t care about it.”

  “It’s not. It won’t.”

  The sheriff nodded. “And how long was this bandit chasing you for it before he shot you?”

  “Six days.”

  The eyebrow on the normal side of her face rose. The other side, with its wasted muscles, didn’t move. “Six days to the east is the border of Voske’s kingdom. What were you doing there?”

  “Prospecting. My map said it was open territory outside of some town called Rio de Hierro.”

  “Not anymore. Voske attacked Rio de Hierro and took it over. He wants to turn his kingdom into an empire, and he’s well on his way to doing it.”

  “I was trying to stay out of his territory, but I didn’t realize how big it had gotten.”

  “Where were you when you got shot?”

  Her jumps from topic to topic were obviously designed to catch him in lies—and it was working. He’d already lost track of what the last few questions had been. It seemed safest to answer honestly. “An arroyo that dead-ended in a cement wall and a bunch of singing trees. I crawled through a pipe and came out somewhere in the desert. Mia said it’s by your cornfields. But I went downhill.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I know where that is. So how did you get that gash in your arm? Your bandit’s work?”

  “I had to cut out a shard from one of the trees.”

  “Really?” For the first time, he seemed to have surprised her. “Let me see.”

  Ross reluctantly pulled up his sleeve. He hadn’t even been able to really look at the scar himself, let alone show other people, and the thought of someone touching it was even worse. Reflexively, his right hand made a fist, and the fingers of his left ached as they tried to do the same.

  She bent over his arm but didn’t touch it. “Tilt it a bit to the left.” She indicated a discolored spot on his wrist that he hadn’t even noticed before. “You’re right. There’s the entry wound.”

  He shook his sleeve back down.

  “Have you ever killed or hurt anyone accidentally? Hit someone too hard and they died? Or have you ever lost control of a power?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever killed or hurt anyone for any reason other than a fair fight or a battle, or defending yourself or others?”

  “No.”

  “You’re done.”

  He was startled. No threats? “That’s it?”

  The sheriff tilted her mug to get the last drops of coffee. “I told you, I don’t need to know everything. Just what concerns the safety of the town.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen. With a tip of her hat to Dr. Lee, she headed out the door. Ross sank into the nearest chair. He felt like he’d been through a fair fight, but he didn’t know who’d won.

  “Tell you what, Ross,” said Dr. Lee. “While the beans finish cooking, I’ll teach you some exercises to strengthen that hand.”

  11

  Jennie

  JENNIE DUSTED HER FINGERS AND SET DOWN THE last slate. Cutting up a plum to explain fractions to the eight- and nine-year-olds definitely worked better than Grandma Wolfe’s method of drawing pictures on the board. Letting the kids eat the fractions after they solved their problems was a bonus.

  She stretched out her arms. Her left shoulder ached from the joint-lock Ross had put her in that morning. Someone had taught him well. He must have had some bad experiences, the way he always sat with his back to a wall, and hunched over his desk. From the shadows under his eyes, it looked as if he hadn’t slept since he’d come to Las Anclas. But he’d been showing up all week, though there were times when he seemed poised to bolt like some wild thing.

  She tried to dig her knuckles beneath her shoulder blade, but she couldn’t quite reach the sore area. She’d have to get Indra to massage it out before training.

  Indra! Training! By the slant of the sun outside, she was already late.

  By the time she had changed, grabbed her sword, and run to the training grounds, the Rangers were well into warming up. Indra was sparring with Julio Wolfe. His braid swung out as he stepped in close for an elbow strike. Julio dodged, blocked, and the two of them broke apart. Then Indra saw her. His eyes widened, his lips parted—and Julio darted in for a hip throw, slamming him to the ground.

  Julio laughed. “Jennie, you should always come late when I’m working with Indra. It’s good for him to take some falls.”

  Everyone chuckled as Jennie laid down her sword beside Indra’s machete, Sera’s rifle and bandolier, Julio’s rifle with bayonet, and Frances’s paired short swords.

  When she’d finished her stretches, Sera beckoned. “Come spar with me.” The pale tracks of crow’s feet crinkled around her brown eyes as she smiled. “I hope chasing ten-year-olds isn’t slowing you up.”

  “Try me.” Jennie’s mind went immediately to Ross. For some reason, her face heated up, and she shook herself. Concentrate.

  They squared off. Sera was a defensive fighter, moving as little as possible to conserve energy. But her control of distance and timing was so perfect that Jennie’s blows always ended one or two inches short. She didn’t even see Sera’s foot move when a sweep knocked her feet out from under her, and landed her sprawling on the ground.

  Sera pulled her to her feet. “You should have seen that coming.”

  “I was watching your hands.”

  Sera nodded. “I like some of your moves. Who have you been working with? You slipped in some interesting blocks there.”

  “The new guy, Ross.”

  “How’s he fight?”

  Several of the others glanced their way; Jennie felt Indra’s eyes on her.

  “Let me put it like this,” she said. “The first time we sparred, he took me down.”

  Sera’s eyebrows rose. “Think he’d be interested in becoming a candidate?”

  “I don’t know if he’s staying that long. Anyway, he’s not eligible. He has a pretty bad injury to his left hand. He can’t use it at all.”

  “Jennie!” Sera shook her head with exaggerated sorrow. “He took you out with one hand? The schoolhouse is making you lazy. . . . I know! You can carry Indra through the obstacle course.” She raised her voice. “Everyone, line up!”

  Jennie stood beside Indra, at the junior end of the line. She could feel the heat coming off his body. Jennie had wondered if that biological quirk of his was a minor Change, but she’d never suggested it to him.

  “Go!”

  They raced for the rock wall. By the time they reached it, their breathing and footsteps were synchronized. Jennie loved that—it felt so intimate. She vaulted up the wall and swung her legs over, balancing on her hips as she reached down to clasp his forearms. He leaped, she tugged, and he was up beside her. They jumped off the wall. Indra lay down in a deliberate sprawl, making himself look even bigger.

  He grinned up at her in challenge, and she prodded him in the belly with the toe of her boot. “How many of Luc’s tacos did you eat today?”

  “No more than fifty. Maybe sixty.”

  “All right!” Sera yelled. “Your partner’s gone down, but you never abandon another Ranger! Pick them up and get them to safety!”

  Jennie wrestled Indra into position, and hauled him up over her shoulders. His body draped over her like a very heavy blanket, reminding her of wh
en he slept next to her.

  “Lift with your legs,” he whispered.

  “You’re unconscious.”

  He relaxed into dead weight, one arm swinging lifelessly at her side. Jennie stood, then set out at a brisk pace, weaving around the rock markers.

  “The kids have slowed you up,” Indra whispered.

  Jennie snorted. “Kids? I haven’t forgotten Yuki dumping you on your ass when he was barely sixteen.”

  “I let him have it.”

  “Yeah. Right. Paco is fast, when he tries. Your sister, too, when she tries. Brisa’s fun. Even Henry—” Jennie abruptly recognized the Ross-shaped hole in the conversation.

  “Move your feet, slowpoke!” Sera called.

  Jennie concentrated on her breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—as she lengthened her strides. Ten . . . six . . . two more rocks to dodge.

  “And the new guy?” Indra prompted. “What’s he doing at school at all? Is he stupid?”

  “No. He’s been on his own for a long time. He fights . . .” Jennie’s throat rasped. She shouldn’t be talking.

  Indra shouldn’t be talking. What did he care about Ross?

  “Yes?”

  “Can’t talk,” Jennie gasped.

  She let out a breath of relief when they rounded the last rock, and headed toward the mud pit.

  “Mud,” Indra said. “Don’t you dare.” He shifted his weight, trying to hook his legs over her shoulder to keep himself clear. It nearly knocked her off balance.

  “Back to sleep,” she ordered.

  Indra flicked his braid safely over her shoulder, and kept himself curled away from the mud.

  “Taking root?” Julio called. He’d already finished, but he’d only had to carry Frances.

  “My dead guy talks too much.” Jennie scooped up a handful of mud and tossed it over her shoulder into Indra’s face.

  “Hey!” Indra protested.

  She laughed as she clambered out of the pit and started back toward the rock wall. Her breathing was too shallow; she gulped in more air.

  “Going to camp there all night?” Sera called.