The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  “You shoot, he dies.”

  “So do you.”

  “Maybe. This ain’t target practice, lady. Think you can make a shot like that when it counts?

  Good question. I hoped for all our sakes we wouldn’t have to find out. “Jonathan, are you all right?”

  He blinked at me groggily. “I’ve been better.”

  Kit looked me over, sizing me up. Now that he was in front of me, I realized I’d seen him more than once. At the bar, with the other treasure hunters, and even once or twice at the hotel. It’s just like John said. You can’t help running into people in this town. He’d been right under our noses the whole time. And we’d been right under his. Small wonder he knew what we were up to.

  More screaming filtered through the trees.

  “Are you listening to that?” I said, jerking my head toward the sound. “Isn’t there enough blood on your hands? Call that thing off!”

  “You think I care about a bunch of outlaws and Indians and Pinkertons?” The mania I’d heard in the cabin was gone. An icy calm had come over him, just as it had in the dream, in the moments before he pulled the trigger.

  Mr. Burrows’s eyelids fluttered, and he wilted in his captor’s arms. Kit jerked him upright, the barrel of his gun pointing briefly at the sky as he did so.

  “What did you do to him?” I demanded.

  “Just a little tap on the head. I’ve always wanted to do that to a plute like him.”

  I’ll bet you have. If his cousin had driven him mad with envy, how must he feel about the likes of Jonathan Burrows? Not just rich and lucky, but young and handsome and well connected? He was everything Kit had worked for, simply because he’d been born that way. The only thing keeping him alive now was Kit’s greed.

  That gave me an idea. “Do you know who his father is?”

  He snorted softly. “I’m not some turnip-eating farm hand. Not anymore. I’ve been places. I know who he is. I know you too, special branch.”

  I blinked in surprise.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I know all about you. And about this one, and his robber baron daddy. Let me guess: you’re gonna tell me that if I let him go, you’ll see to it I get paid.”

  “Well, why not?”

  His lip curled. “Christ, you’re all so predictable. You think you’re special, just because you were born lucky. Instead of thanking the Almighty for your good fortune, you act like you deserve it. Like you’re entitled to it. And the rest of us, we oughta be content with whatever scraps you leave behind. Wave a few dollars in front of me, and I’ll be dumb enough to put my own head in the noose.”

  “You think I’m lucky?” The irony was too much; I actually laughed. “Why, because I work for the special branch? So much for knowing all about me.”

  He didn’t even hear me. He was too busy ranting. “Just like Ben. All that God-given talent, and too dumb to know what to do with it. I was the one with the brains. The ambition. I had ideas, and the gumption to make them happen. You wanna talk about special? I made something from nothing. Little farm boy went to the big city and learned all its secrets. Then I came back to share the fruits of all my hard work with my dear cousin. I’m eating off his table? He ate off mine! But when it comes time to give me my due, suddenly I’m nothing but a burden.”

  The gunfire behind us was tapering off. They were running out of ammunition. Either that, or everyone was already … No. Don’t even think it. Meanwhile, Mr. Burrows was fading right in front of me. “Jonathan. Wake up.”

  “I’m awake.” He stood up a little straighter. “Just terribly bored. This conversation is dull as dishwater.”

  My nerves were so frayed that I actually laughed. “At least your faculties are intact.”

  “They are.” A sudden clarity came into his eyes, and he fixed them on me. “You know what you have to do, Rose.”

  Kit shoved the gun right under his nose. “Shut up.”

  “The creature is all that matters now.”

  Surely he can’t be suggesting…? I gave him a panicked look. Don’t. You. Dare.

  Kit grew icier still. “You’re not fooling anybody, Burrows. Men like you don’t do noble sacrifice.”

  “That has a ring of truth to it, I suppose.” As he spoke, Mr. Burrows’s gaze slid deliberately to the gun under his nose, and the hand that held it.

  The ring. There it was, on the index finger of Kit’s right hand: The talisman he used to control the alraun. There was no mistaking the bone-white of ash wood.

  “I think…” Mr. Burrows started to sag again. “I beg your pardon, but I believe I’m going to vomit.”

  My hands were sweating on the grip of my gun. Damn you, Jonathan, don’t you do it. Don’t—

  His knees buckled.

  I fired.

  Kit’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground. Mr. Burrows dropped to his knees, but he wasn’t hurt. He did, in fact, vomit.

  I gave myself a moment to breathe, doubling over in relief. “Are you all right?” I panted. “I thought that was just for show.”

  “All the best lies are built on truth.” I offered him a hand, but he pushed me away. “Don’t fuss over me, just get the damned ring.”

  I knelt over the body, trying to ignore the shaking in my hands. Kit’s lifeless eyes seemed to stare right at me. I’d never killed a man before, and I was pretty sure that was another thing you never got used to, whatever they say in the dime novels.

  I twisted the ring off his finger and slipped it onto my own, but I didn’t feel anything. “How do I make it work?”

  “No idea.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but if there was any connection to the alraun, I couldn’t feel it. “It’s too big for me. Maybe if you…”

  Mr. Burrows tried it on, but after a moment he shook his head. “Hopefully, Thomas will know what to do.”

  If he’s still alive.

  Now that Mr. Burrows was safe, the fear came rushing out like the bursting of a dam. I was sick with it, praying under my breath as we ran back to the clearing, rubbing the ring furiously as if I might miraculously stumble across the answer to making the thing work.

  We found a gory scene. There was blood everywhere, human and animal, and more than a few bodies. Nothing stirred, not even the wind.

  Mr. Burrows touched my shoulder and pointed, and my heart leapt for joy. Little Wolf and Red Calf perched on the roof of the cabin, bows in hand, spent rifles slung over their shoulders. And between them, disheveled but very much alive, was Thomas.

  Little Wolf was the first to spot us, and he threw up a hand, warning us not to come any closer. He pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed into the trees to the south.

  I rubbed the ring again. Still nothing. What if the original spellcaster is the only one who can use it? If that was the case, we were all as good as dead.

  “What are they doing?” Mr. Burrows whispered, squinting at our friends on the roof. All three of them looked as if they were braced to jump down and were only waiting on some kind of signal.

  Then a familiar voice cried, “Now!”

  A stuttering of hooves sounded from the trees, and White Robes burst into the clearing on horseback, hollering and making herself known. It was unmistakably bait, and the alraun took it, shooting out of the brush after her. It gained on her at alarming speed, but just as it was preparing to leap, John Ward came galloping out of nowhere, swinging a rope over his head and carrying a knife between his teeth.

  I don’t like my chances of lassoing that thing, he’d said last week, but that’s just what he did, tossing the rope perfectly around the alraun’s neck. Catfish did his part, stopping cold and digging in his hooves, yanking the creature clear off its feet. As soon as the alraun’s flank hit the dirt, John spurred his horse again, turning him hard about; the big bay lunged, using every muscle in his powerful frame to drag the scrambling alraun toward the cabin, where Thomas and Little Wolf were waiting. John rode straight through those wide barn doors, first the fro
nt and then the back; somewhere in between, he cut the rope. Thomas and Little Wolf slammed the doors shut, and Red Calf crouched down from the eaves, ready to give them a hand back up at the first sign of trouble.

  Everyone froze, watching, but the cabin was silent. For the moment, at least, the creature was trapped.

  John let out a whoosh of breath and drooped over Catfish’s neck.

  “Bloody brilliant!” Thomas smacked the side of the cabin in triumph. “Well done, everyone!”

  “Bloody lucky, is what it is,” John said, straightening. “Of all the ideas we been kicking around the past couple of days, I figured this for the longest shot.” Glancing back at the cabin, he added, “Guess we’re about to find out how smart that thing is. It’s too big to fit through the window, but if it throws its weight against them doors…”

  As if on cue, a fanged muzzle appeared in the broken window, snuffling. Then a massive paw reached out and gripped the window frame, its claws carving deep furrows in the wood.

  “It will not fit through that window,” Little Wolf said with a worried look, “but it might make a bigger one.”

  “We should go,” White Robes said, sensibly.

  By this point, I’d helped a slow-moving Mr. Burrows into the clearing, and I could finally throw my arms around Thomas in relief.

  “Thank God you’re both safe,” he breathed. “Kit?”

  “Dead.”

  “Four dead here as well, though it could have been much worse. The horses bore the brunt of it.” Thomas gestured at the clearing, where half a dozen of the animals lay still. “These poor beasts saved many lives.”

  “What about Howard?”

  “I don’t know. We rather lost interest in each other when the alraun got loose. I imagine he fled along with the rest of his Buckshot friends.”

  “We got the talisman,” I said, showing him the ring. “But we couldn’t figure out how to use it.”

  Thomas frowned. “Strange. There was nothing in the book to suggest there’s any trick to it. One simply puts it on and wills the creature to behave.”

  “I tried turning it, rubbing it…” As I spoke, my fingers explored a tiny crack in the wood. I hadn’t noticed it before, and looking more closely, there seemed to be something inside it. Probably just dirt, but … “John, could I borrow that knife for a moment?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to figure it out back at the hotel,” Thomas said. “Hopefully, if the alraun does escape, it will find enough fresh meat here”—he gestured at the fallen horses—“to occupy it for a while.”

  “My friends!” Mr. Roosevelt’s shrill voice floated down from the bluffs. “I suggest we move along! Your trap is ingenious, but hardly secure.”

  The others set about rounding up whatever horses they could find, while Thomas went to fetch his shotgun from beside the cabin. John loomed over me on Catfish, watching as I fiddled with the knife. “What’re you up to there?”

  “I’m not sure.” Using the tip of the knife, I worried at the crack, dislodging a few dry brown flakes. “Odd. This looks like—”

  A shout of alarm went up from the far side of the clearing. White Robes pointed, and we all turned in time to see George Howard, pale and bloodied, collapse against the cabin, one hand clamped over a wound in his side. He reached for the front door, and before anyone could stop him, he opened it. Then he slumped against the wall, wearing a hateful little smile as he slid to the ground. He knew exactly what he’d done.

  With his dying breath, he’d decided to kill us all.

  Nobody was prepared. Most of us were on foot. And the alraun, attracted by the noise and the smell of Howard’s blood, was already nudging its way out.

  Now that its master was dead and there was no one directing it, the creature moved with more curiosity than haste, sniffing its way around the doorframe and blinking in the bright morning light. But that didn’t make it any less deadly. Instinct was instinct, and this creature was an amalgamation of every predator in the land. Howard closed his eyes as the alraun scented him, obviously anticipating a quick end. But the creature must have figured its prey was finished already, because instead of a killing blow, it bent its head to Howard’s injured flank and started lapping at the wound.

  A look of pure horror came into Howard’s face as he realized what was about to happen. But before he could even scream, a shotgun fired. Howard jerked once and was still. Thomas lowered his 12-gauge, his expression grim. He’d ended Howard before the man could be eaten alive, but I’m not sure Howard deserved the mercy. Especially since Thomas must have known what would come next.

  The alraun turned, yellow-green eyes fixed on the man who’d just peppered it with buckshot.

  Everyone did what they could. Rifles cracked from the bluffs. John yanked out his revolver and started shooting. None of it mattered. The alraun dug its front claws into the earth, preparing to spring. It might have been invulnerable, but it still had the instinct to defend itself when attacked.

  I had an instinct too, and I prayed it was right. Jerking the knife blade across my palm, I clenched my hand into a fist. Please, God. Please.

  The alraun charged. Thomas didn’t even try to run; there was nowhere to go. It pounced, tackling him to the ground. I heard a scream from up on the bluff, and down here in the clearing, too. One of them was my own, a single syllable of terror.

  No!

  The alraun had Thomas pinned beneath its bulk. It leaned in, so close that a drop of blood dripped from its muzzle onto Thomas’s silk scarf. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away as the creature sniffed at him. It whuffed, blowing the hair from Thomas’s forehead. And then it climbed off him and walked away.

  I fell to my knees, shaking so hard that I could barely hold myself upright. I felt sick to my stomach, dizzy with fear and relief as I gazed down at my bloodied hand. The talisman, bone-white beneath the crimson of my blood, blazed with heat. The spellcaster anoints it with a drop of his blood. I’d used a lot more than a drop, but when the man you love is about to be torn to bits, you don’t take chances.

  And speaking of taking chances …

  “Rose…” Thomas’s voice, full of fear.

  The alraun was making for me in swift, liquid strides. A stalking gait, head low, gaze focused. I looked it right in the eye.

  I waited.

  CHAPTER 29

  THE BURDENS OF COMMAND—BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER—NO MORE MISCHIEF—A TREATISE ON TROUSERS

  The alraun stood over me, so close that I could feel the heat of its breath. It scented me the way a cat does, openmouthed, narrow-eyed, tasting. I could sense its focus—and a whole lot else besides. The enchanted link between us obviously ran both ways, and a wave of sensations crashed over me. Confusion. Anger. Most of all, despair. It filled my chest like ballast, cold and heavy and aching. I could feel the spirit tugging against me, trying to break free of the enchantment, but it was like Ben Upton struggling against his bonds after two days of captivity: weak, resigned, without any real hope of success. Its anguish swelled inside me until it felt as if I would burst.

  Go.

  Yellow-green eyes met mine.

  Just go. I won’t try to stop you.

  I don’t know if the spirit understood me, but if so, it didn’t seem able to obey. It just crouched miserably onto its belly like a chained dog.

  “What’s happening?” It was White Robes who spoke, but they all stood over me in various shades of awe and fear.

  I shook my head, unable to speak around the lump of grief in my throat.

  “She commands it.” Thomas knelt beside me and put a comforting hand on my arm. “They are connected through the ring. She feels what it feels, and apparently what it feels is—”

  “Pain.” I swallowed hard. “It’s trapped and dying, but it’s such a slow, agonizing death. And it’s hungry. So hungry, but it knows it will never fill its belly.” I shook my head again. “How did Kit endure this for more than a year without going mad?”

>   “I’m not sure he did.” Thomas squeezed my arm. “Are you going to be all right?”

  I looked down at my hand, still bleeding freely. “I’ll have to be, won’t I? If I take the ring off, who knows what it’ll do?”

  “I think we all know what it will do,” Mr. Burrows said grimly.

  White Robes sank to her knees before the creature. That was a whole lot of trust to put in an enchantment I barely knew how to use, but she seemed perfectly calm. Tentatively, she placed her hand in front of the alraun’s nose. It sniffed at her, though without much interest. I could feel the hunger twisting inside it—permanent, insatiable—but I’d already informed it, silently but firmly, that White Robes wasn’t prey. “This is witchcraft?” she asked.

  “An ancient form of it,” Thomas said. “From across the sea. The spell draws upon the land, its trees and wildlife. This creature is born of ash and the blood of many animals.”

  “Ash?” Little Wolf hummed thoughtfully. “We make our bows from this wood.”

  “So you’ve said, and I doubt that’s a coincidence. Your ancestors were most likely aware of the spiritual properties of ash, just as our European ancestors were. That knowledge is largely lost among our people, but there are still some who know the truth, especially where the reach of the Church has been limited. I’d hazard a guess there are more than a few among your people as well.”

  “Then I will find them,” Little Wolf said, “and ask them to teach me.”

  White Robes was only half listening, entranced by the impossible creature before her. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  Some would certainly say so. Its lustrous coat was the sandy gold of the hills, with subtle swirls of color like layers in the stone. Its long, sleek frame had echoes of the familiar, the face vaguely canine and the body feline, except for the powerful tail and slightly webbed toes. Those yellow-green eyes matched the keen gaze of a cougar with the soulful eyes of a bear. But no matter how long I stared at it, or how much its predicament tugged my heart strings, there was no getting past those claws, massive and bloodied, curving out from paws the size of supper plates. I’d seen what those claws could do to human flesh, and all I can say is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.