by Erin Lindsey
White Robes must have guessed my thoughts, because she said, “What happened was not its fault. If what you say is true, and it is bound by the ring, then the man who commanded it to kill is responsible.”
“I know. I don’t blame it.” I just can’t look at it.
“Its eyes are full of pain,” she said. “We must find a way to end its suffering.”
“We believe we know someone who can. In fact…” Thomas took out his watch. “She should be arriving this evening. We’ll need to make a few preparations, but hopefully we can have this taken care of tomorrow.”
The sound of approaching riders put everyone briefly on edge, but it was only the rest of our party coming down from the bluff, leading Luna and Gideon behind them. Edith and Charlie Morrison reined in well back of the creature, but Mr. Roosevelt rode right up to it. “Good heavens. Isn’t that extraordinary?” Dismounting, he looked it over with a naturalist’s eye. “Why, just look at it! The power in those shoulders. And those jaws! I’ll wager it cracks bones as handily as any hyena.” He shook his head wonderingly. “A pity this creature doesn’t exist in the wild. What a hunt it would give you!”
“Just think,” said Edith, “you could put its head on a wall.”
The Lakota exchanged a look.
If Mr. Roosevelt noticed, he chose to ignore it. “You fellows certainly know how to make an entrance. Good to see you again … Little Wolf, wasn’t it? We met on the hunt last year, I believe. And John Ward. How are you, sir?”
“Alive, just about.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Mr. Roosevelt nodded gravely. “I imagine it was all the shooting that brought you this way? Miss Gallagher did mention you were camped nearby.”
“We was on the move, actually,” John said.
Little Wolf gestured at the dead mercenaries. “These Buckshot men were tracking us. They were getting close, so we decided to move camp under cover of night. When we heard the guns, John and I rode to the top of the plateau to scout, and we saw them riding this way. That’s how we knew there was trouble.”
“Wasn’t hard to figure Howard was mixed up in it somehow,” John said. “Him and his Buckshot buddies have been mixed up in everything. And we figured trouble with Howard probably meant trouble for these two.” He hooked a thumb at Thomas and me.
“We owe you a great debt,” Thomas said. “Things would have turned out very differently if not for your timely arrival.”
“Well, and now what?” Mr. Roosevelt’s glance shifted back to the alraun. “It’s quite under control, obviously. Who has the talisman?”
I raised my bloodied hand as if I were in school.
“Dear me. That looks like it wants stitches. And … I say, are you sure you’re all right, Miss Gallagher? You look awfully low for a woman who just saved the day.”
“It’s the alraun, sir.” I explained again about the connection between us, how I was experiencing the creature’s emotions as if they were my own.
“Hrm. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that, but as to the stitches, at least, there’s a doctor in town. Are you able to leave the creature behind safely?”
“Yes. It won’t do anything unless I tell it to.” I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did.
“In that case,” Thomas said, “perhaps the best thing would be for it to stay just where it is. There’s plenty to eat and drink, and it’s a remote enough location that no one is likely to stumble across it.”
“I will stay with it,” White Robes said.
Her husband didn’t think much of that idea, and there was a brief exchange in Lakota. But there was little doubt who would come out on top, and eventually Red Calf just sighed. “Then I will stay also. As long as it is safe.”
“It’s safe,” I said. “He knows you aren’t prey.”
“He?” White Robes echoed.
I nodded. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, either, but I was glad I didn’t have to check the old-fashioned way.
“If we leave him here,” said Little Wolf, “how will we prove to the townsfolk that he exists? We should bring him with us, for all to see.”
Mr. Roosevelt’s eyebrows flew up. “We will do nothing of the kind, sir. The mere rumor of this creature has been damaging enough. Ordinary folk must be told that it was a giant cougar, or perhaps a bear.”
Little Wolf’s gaze grew cold. “That is not for you to decide. You do not speak for us.”
Mr. Roosevelt’s own expression hardened, and for a moment it looked like things would get unpleasant, so I figured I’d better step in. “If I may, the immediate concern is getting Two Horses out of jail. He’s been wrongfully accused, but the sheriff made it clear that he wouldn’t release him without proof of his innocence.”
“Leave Bill Jones to me,” Mr. Roosevelt said. “I’ll have your friend out by this afternoon, you have my word.”
“I will accept your help with thanks,” Little Wolf returned, “but I will not leave it to you. This is my hunting party. Two Horses is my responsibility.”
Mr. Roosevelt grunted. “Spoken like a true leader. Very well, we’ll go together. Does that satisfy you? In exchange, I ask only that you refrain from speaking of this creature with my people. What you choose to tell your own is of course your affair.”
Little Wolf hesitated. “It’s not just the sheriff. The ranchers, the people in town … many of them blame us for killing their cows. These Buckshot men were hired to bring us in for cattle rustling.”
“Any cattle rustling in these parts was done at the behest of George Howard, and I will make sure everyone knows it. Charlie here will say the same, as will Mr. Ward. The three of us are well respected in this community, so our combined word will carry considerable weight.”
“What about Gus Reid?” I asked. “From what I saw, he won’t be persuaded by any amount of evidence.”
“Maybe not,” said John, “but he’d be a fool to go on making trouble. Howard was his man. If he ain’t careful, there’s gonna be a whole lotta folks looking to him to make good for what his foreman done. I reckon Gus is smart enough to know that, but if he ain’t, there’s a few of us ready to spell it out for him.”
Thomas smiled. “I’d very much like to see that, but I suspect it won’t be necessary. Most likely, this will all blow over once cattle are no longer being slaughtered.”
“It will,” Mr. Roosevelt said confidently. “As I said before, this is hard country. People are accustomed to lurching from one catastrophe to the next. There will be a brush fire in the summer, or a drought, or a range war, and all this will be forgotten. Sad to count upon such things, but it is the reality.”
Little Wolf glanced at Red Calf and White Robes, and they both nodded. “Very well. If the sheriff releases our hunter, we will not speak of this creature among your kind.”
With that settled, we gathered up our things. Mr. Burrows was still feeling wobbly, so John Ward offered to take two on his big draft horse. Charlie Morrison poured some whiskey over my cut and tied it up with a handkerchief, and we were on our way, promising to return at first light tomorrow. The alraun watched me go, and I could feel its yellow-green eyes tracking me all the way to the tree line. It felt strange to leave it behind, but I knew with iron-clad certainty that it wasn’t going anywhere unless I told it to. It wouldn’t even feed without my permission, so I gave it.
A little while later, I had the odd sensation of feeling as if I’d just eaten, even though I hadn’t. Which was just as well, because it was going to be a long while before I had an appetite of my own.
* * *
We arrived in town to a welcome sight: Bowie Bill Wallace, handcuffed, being led from the jailhouse by a tall, gaunt fellow with coal-black hair and the most extraordinarily bushy mustache I’d ever seen. (Which is saying a lot, considering where we were.) It was the sort of face that looked like laughter had never touched it—at least until he spied us coming up the road, at which point the mustache quirked, and a spark of wry humor came into his eyes. “Late, as
usual,” he called, loading his sullen charge into the back of a wagon.
“What do you mean? It appears I’m right on time.” Mr. Roosevelt leaned down from his horse to shake the man’s hand. “How are you, Bullock?”
“Was it you poached this one, too?” Bullock inclined his head at the wagon.
“Poached indeed. When are you going to let that lie? He was my horse thief as much as he was yours.”
“Maybe, but he was mine first.”
“So you say. As for this fellow, I had nothing whatever to do with his arrest. You’ll have to address yourself to my companions here. Mr. Wiltshire, Miss Gallagher, may I present Seth Bullock, sheriff of Deadwood.”
Bullock eyed us with that same wry look. “These the Pinkertons Bill Jones speaks so fondly of?”
As if on cue, the gentleman in question appeared on the porch of the jailhouse. He glanced over our ensemble with his usual enthusiasm, but he didn’t say anything, which I figured was down to the presence of Seth Bullock. His stance had the wary deference of a lower-ranking wolf in the presence of an alpha.
Not quite so hell-roaring now, are we?
Aloud, I said, “The feeling is mutual, I’m sure. But actually, proper credit goes to Mr. Burrows here.”
“Well, whoever got him, I’m much obliged. He’s been a very bad boy.”
Thomas glanced at the wagon. “Are you not concerned his confederates will waylay you on the road?”
“Oh, we met his confederates already, just outside of town. One of ’em ended up in the back of that wagon. The rest … didn’t.” Bullock didn’t expand on that, but we could fill in the blanks well enough.
“In a similar vein,” Thomas said, turning to Bill Jones, “I don’t think you’ll have further mischief from the Buckshot Outfit, at least not for a good long while.”
Jones narrowed his eyes. “That so?”
“I’ll fill you in on the details by and by,” Mr. Roosevelt said. “Quite a tale, I assure you.”
Bullock scanned our odd little party with another quirk of his mustache. “I’ll just bet it is. I’d like to hear it myself, but we’d best be getting on. Wouldn’t want these fellas”—he nodded at the wagon again—“getting up to any mischief.” He shook hands with Mr. Roosevelt and Bill Jones and touched his hat at the rest of us. Then he climbed onto the seat of the wagon, twitched the reins, and trundled off, flanked by a pair of deputies.
“Now, then.” Mr. Roosevelt climbed down from his pony, gesturing for Little Wolf to do the same. “This young fellow and I have some business to discuss with you, Bill.” Throwing a friendly arm over the sheriff’s shoulders, he steered Jones back inside.
The rest of us carried on to the doctor, and from there to the hotel, where a round of very hot baths was ordered. This was followed by a good deal of napping, and finally a visit to the saloon, where everyone, with the exception of Mr. Roosevelt, took a generous sampling of Mr. Burrows’s cognac or Lee Granger’s forty-rod, depending on his or her preference.
I took the whiskey.
“Look, no one is denying trousers are practical,” Mr. Burrows was saying by the time Granger brought out the third bottle. “In fact, they’re quite indispensable. Society as we know it could not exist without trousers. But they are not beautiful. They cannot be beautiful. Bad enough that one half of the population should be confined to them. If women start wearing trousers, the sartorial art as we know it will be utterly lost.”
Edith tsked. “This from a man who spends hours each week contemplating the delicate interplay between waistcoat and scarf.”
“Precisely why I am an expert. I assure you, there is nothing to be done about trousers. Tell them, Wiltshire.”
“I quite agree. Trousers cannot be decorative, no matter how finely tailored.”
“There, you see?”
“I dunno,” said Charlie Morrison. “The boss has some interesting buckskin pants.”
“Oh dear.” Mr. Burrows laughed. “How do you answer this charge, Roosevelt?”
“Leave me out of it. Mr. Ward and I have far too much sense to wade into such treacherous waters. Isn’t that right, John?”
“Reckon so.”
Alas, Little Wolf was not present to offer his views on trousers, having taken Two Horses back to rejoin the others.
I would have chipped in my own two cents, but I was afraid of ruining the celebratory mood. Even with several miles between us, I could still feel the alraun’s despair. On top of which, I was fighting a growing melancholy of my own. I’d killed a man today, and I couldn’t stop replaying it in my mind. The Rose Gallagher who returned to New York would not be the one who’d left. It would be a different version of Thomas, too, and that was still another unhappy thought. All in all, I wasn’t feeling very sociable.
Pushing my chair back, I offered an apologetic smile. “I’m suddenly feeling terribly tired. I hope you all won’t think me rude if I turn in for the night.”
“Turn in?” Edith glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s five thirty!”
“The Western Express will be arriving soon,” Thomas said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to greet our guest?”
“I would, very much, but I’m exhausted. Please give her my apologies.”
“Very well, I’ll walk you.” He pushed his own chair back.
I started to tell him that I didn’t need an escort—we’d taken care of just about everybody who wanted us dead, after all—but I could see he was worried about me, so I gave in gracefully and bade everyone else an early good night.
“Do you fancy a cup of tea?” Thomas asked as we crossed the road.
Which was Thomas Wiltshire for Can we talk?
My mother was fond of saying that there was nothing a good cup of tea couldn’t fix. I had a feeling we were about to put that theory to the test.
CHAPTER 30
DREAMING—AN OLD FRIEND—GOODBYES
“Are you all right?” Thomas asked while the tea steeped. “It’s been a difficult day, especially for you.”
“Why, because half the people I care about in this world almost died?” The darkness of the thought surprised even me.
“Among other things.” His pale eyes scanned me with concern. “The enchantment is affecting you. Is it painful?”
“Not physically. And I’m already getting used to it, at least a little. It’s more … in the background, I guess you could say. But I still don’t see how Kit put up with it for so long without going completely barmy.” I’d heard of people developing terrible nervous disorders because they had a constant ringing in their ears. What would it do to you to have someone else’s rage and despair dragging at you, day in and day out, for over a year? “Why he would go to such lengths is beyond me. Surely there was another way to get what he wanted? Something a little less … flashy?”
“I rather suspect that was the point,” Thomas said, pouring out two steaming cups. “From what you’ve told us, it sounds as though he went through his whole life feeling as if he had something to prove.”
“Too bad the people he was trying to prove it to were already dead. First his father, then his cousin.”
Thomas added a lump of sugar to my tea and gave it a stir. “I think the person he was most trying to prove it to was himself.”
“Right up to the end. Why couldn’t he have just surrendered? He didn’t have to make me kill him.”
Thomas sighed. “It’s a terrible thing, taking a life. I’m sorry you had to do it, but as you say, he left you no choice.”
“You’d think that would help, but…” I accepted the cup Thomas offered me and sank into a chair. “I just keep seeing his face. It’s as if I’ve traded one sort of ghost for another.” And speaking of ghosts … I glanced around the room. “At least Ben Upton has found peace.”
“Does that mean you no longer sense him?” Thomas sat across from me, cup and saucer balanced in his lap.
“Not a trace. It’s as if he was never here.”
“I’m glad. He m
ay have had his faults, but he surely didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
My glance fell to my tea, to the drawn reflection I saw in its dark surface. I looked every bit as beaten down as those cowboys in the saloon, the ones whose sorrows didn’t have the decency to be drowned. “I still can’t believe all this happened because of one man’s greed. It seems so … petty.”
“In my experience, that is often the case with murder.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I shook my head wonderingly. “The cases we deal with … luck, witchcraft, ghosts … all these supernatural things, and yet when it comes right down to it, the motives are so very ordinary. Greed. Politics. Revenge. The same as any old case that might land on Sergeant Chapman’s desk.”
“Is that so surprising? Luck and magic are just tools, after all. The men and women who wield them are the same flawed human beings as the rest of us.”
“I suppose so.” I’d often thought about how much my world had changed when Thomas first told me about the existence of the supernatural. For a long time, it felt as if everything around me were new and foreign, but that wasn’t really true. At the end of the day, people were people, just as Thomas said. The rest of it was just a bag of tricks.
“At any rate, at least it’s over.”
“Amen to that,” I said, taking a grateful sip of my tea. “Things can finally go back to normal in this town, and we can go home.”
Home. The word landed between us like a stone. Both of us stared at it for a moment, our gazes fixed on the same invisible spot on the floor. Home meant going back to all the things that kept us apart. It meant the end of the pretty little daydream we’d been living in, and we both knew it.
The silence stretched until the air was taut with it.
“Thomas—”
“Rose—”
We smiled awkwardly at one another. “Please,” he said, gesturing for me to start.
I’d agonized over what to say when this moment finally came, but now that it was here, none of the things I’d planned seemed right. I needed Thomas to understand that I hadn’t been trying to trap him. That I’d known from the start that what was happening between us was fleeting and there would be a reckoning eventually. That despite it all, I’d decided it was worth it for even a brief taste of how it could be between us if things were different.
