Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  Élie thought of Orenda and how she possessed the gift to create conscious vessels to rest in, such as Archie Norwich’s wife, Eilidh. Orenda had obviously used the Life Bringing spell to do just that.

  “What will you do if Gog no longer wants to lead the nomads?”

  The spirit shrugged again. “It matters little to me. As a spirit, time is irrelevant. I cannot speak for the others, but I will return to the In-Between, and at some point, cross over to live as someone else.”

  “Well, good luck to you . . . um, pardon, but what do you call yourself?”

  “Ada.”

  “Hello, Ada, I am Élie Fey.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Élie Fey.” The spirit stepped backed into the darkness. “Perhaps we shall see each other again.”

  “I would welcome that.”

  After Ada vanished completely, Élie could no longer feel her presence. She turned to leave when she noticed a small crowd of people standing outside the alleyway, staring at her peculiarly. They had seen her having a conversation with the spirit they could not see.

  Élie blushed with embarrassment and she quickly made her way through the throng, and then headed down the street.

  * * *

  Taisia sat down on the edge of a nearby fountain and gazed into the water. Dozens of coins rested on the bottom, glittering in the lights above like gems inside a submerged treasure chest.

  “So many wishes,” she mused quietly to herself.

  A cool breeze blew over her. She rather enjoyed the desert night. It was soft, peaceful, and mysterious. She was happy that Pierce had brought her to the city.

  A coin appeared in front of her.

  “Would you care to make a wish of your own?”

  The voice was firm and yet soothing. Taisia turned her sights up to the owner of that wonderful voice and let out an involuntary gasp.

  His eyes initially caught her attention. Both were a parallelogram shape outlined with black lining that brought out their azure color. Above these perfect irises were thick brows a few shades darker than the rest of his hair, which reached just past the nape of his neck. His skin was the color of hazelnut, and his well-structured countenance had wonderful features—a large, yet perfectly shaped, nose, and full, lustful lips. Even his teeth were as white as marble, strong and completely straight.

  “Oh, spasibo,” she said, accepting the coin.

  It was a whole peso with smooth edges. Its shine made it appear newly minted. It almost seemed a shame to toss it into the fountain.

  “Make your wish,” he urged gently.

  His accent suggested he was not native to the country but belonged, instead, to some distant land.

  Taisia closed her eyes and wished for a long, healthy, and joyful life for her unborn child. She flicked the coin up and watched it spin in the air before splashing into the water and sinking to the bottom. When the coin landed, it glimmered like a diamond among the other coins.

  “Your unborn should give you thanks for such a request,” the man remarked.

  Taisia glanced down at herself. She was only two months with child and it was hardly noticeable under her dress.

  She tilted her chin up to him and asked, “How did you guess that my wish concerned my baby? And how did you know I am pregnant?”

  “You have the glowing radiance only a woman with child possesses.”

  His statement prompted her to look at her reflection, searching for such a glow.

  “And only a good mother-to-be would wish for the wellbeing of her offspring,” the man added.

  Again, she looked at him. She studied his attire. Although foreign, his suit was not. He wore a Vaquero coat that cinched his thin waist with golden buttons that pierced the black cloth. Under the coat was a green vest, outlined in white thread, and he wore tan britches.

  The music stopped and then began again in a soft, slow tempo.

  He held his hand out to her. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

  It surprised her how quickly she was ready to accept.

  “I shouldn’t,” Taisia declined with some effort. “My husband will return shortly.”

  “Then dance with me until he returns. He is not a jealous man, is he?”

  Taisia thought about the question. Pierce had never struck her as the jealous kind even when he’d met her ex-lover, Kirill. But, they hadn’t been married then, or even together romantically. Would Pierce be sore at her for dancing with another man? She doubted it, for Pierce knew she loved him above anyone else, and never would a simple dance take her away from him. Taisia knew this because she had enough confidence in herself to trust Pierce if he wanted to dance with another woman—even one as pretty as Emma, whom Taisia suspected had an interest in him.

  The man’s cerulean eyes flickered with delight as she slipped her hand into his. His warm touch made her feel she had placed her hand on an ancient relic worth more than a thousand lives. She rose from the fountain edge, and soon her feet were moving to the music.

  “What is your name?” he asked, leading her around in the rhythmic flow of the dance.

  “Taisia Landcross.”

  He hummed at that. His dark mustache rose with his charming grin.

  “Taisia,” he repeated, sending countless shudders racing up her spine by the profound way in which he spoke her name. “It is truly suited for you. Landcross,” he added with a bit of contempt, “that is not your original surname.”

  “No, it’s Kuzentsov.”

  He hummed again. It sounded like the vibrations of a string attached to a magical instrument that did not exist.

  “Taisia Kuzentsov. That sounds more natural.”

  Taisia did not know what to make of this man, nor did she understand what it was about him that captivated her so. Never had she laid eyes on anyone and been so completely taken in by them. The closest she’d had to such an experience was when she saw Pierce for the first time at Juan Fan’s opium house.

  With this man, there was no love, but more of a great deal of fascination.

  “I prefer Taisia Landcross,” she stated with sincerity.

  He grinned falsely. “I’m sure you do.”

  He held her a little tighter, her body pressed against him. She could feel the powerful pulse of his beating heart. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent. He smelled like a cross between longing and passionate sex. It excited her.

  “Who are you?” she inquired breathlessly.

  He twirled her around, and as she spun slowly, she felt like there was no ground beneath her. Taisia spun in a full circle, expecting to see the dark, mysterious man, but then she suddenly came face to face with her husband.

  “Whatcha doin’, love?” Pierce asked, holding the glass of water.

  “Pierce,” she said with a start.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Aye, that’s me. Were you dancing by yourself?”

  “No,” Taisia answered, glancing about.

  “No?”

  “Da. I was dancing with a man. A handsome foreigner.”

  “Handsome foreigner, eh? Where is this gent?”

  Taisia scanned the area, finding no sign of him. “He was just here.”

  Pierce handed her the water. “I think you need some rest, darling. Let’s gather the family and get to our hotel.”

  Chapter Five

  Distracted by Love

  Pierce and Taisia found Grandmother Fey first before locating Nona and Jasper, who had stumbled upon other musicians. Jasper was playing the violin with the other band members while Nona danced. It was as if they were with the Gypsy clan again. They stayed until Pierce’s folks got too drunk and needed help in getting to the Sun Buscador Hotel.

  Room 85 was a small space. Taisia and Grandmother Fey shared the bed, while Nona slept on the couch. Jasper selected a spot for himself on the floor, where he passed out and did not move.

  Pierce took the stairs down to the lobby to fetch another blanket and pillow and then went back up. As he turned the doorknob to th
eir room, the door down the way opened. Jaxton stepped out, dressed in his cheap suit, but he was shirtless underneath the jacket. He was about to head for the stairs that Pierce had just come up from when his companion, Leonardo, appeared in the narrow hallway. He wore only a bed sheet around his waist. He said something in Spanish to Jaxton. It sounded like a request. Jaxton nodded and then hurried over and kissed him before dashing back over to the stairs.

  “Fancy that,” Pierce whispered to himself.

  He went inside before either of them noticed him.

  Without disturbing anyone asleep, Pierce crept across the room to the only vacant place available—the balcony.

  The night was cool and clear, and once he’d laid the blanket out, it felt no different from when he used to sleep in fields.

  He lay awake, watching the sky light up with bursting fireworks in the distance. He thought about Jaxton. Pierce had never suspected the Australian fancied men, but, then again, it was best to keep that sort of thing hidden. There was a time when Pierce couldn’t have given a toss about a bloke’s preferred sexuality. His good mate, Robert Blackbird, had wanked a few men in his day, including Edgardo José, from whom Robert had swindled the inheritance. Even when men had flirted with him, Pierce simply declined without any ill thought about it.

  Then came Rupert Swansea.

  Pierce could still feel that bastard’s hands all over him, groping at his pecker after head butting the holy piss out of him. Remembering the sound of the bounty hunter’s lustful breathing always made him shudder. If it weren’t for his elf grandfather, Durothil, who had saved him, Rupert would’ve had his way with Pierce—perhaps even several times over before he brought Pierce to London to collect the bounty on his head. Worse yet, the bloke might have done the same to Taisia! It gave him nightmares some nights.

  After Rupert’s rape attempt, Pierce was never the same. However, he’d decided not to hold it against others, including Jaxton. The lad seemed to be a good chap and tossing over a friendly relationship because of an unfortunate incident that Jaxton had nothing to do with would have been a shame. Regardless, he would stay vigilant when around him.

  Just in case.

  As Pierce dozed off, something else came to mind.

  I wonder who’d danced with Taisia?

  * * *

  The sun had barely broken through the night by the time Harvey Nickel woke in his hotel room. The hours before were a complete haze. Shortly after the gang went their separate ways, he’d gone drinking. After the bank heist, it would have been wise to leave—not only the hotel, but the city altogether. The last couple of years, he and the rest of the gang had hightailed it out of town before the law was notified about the robbery. But, he’d stayed this year, mainly because he regarded Mexican law enforcers as a melting pot of simpletons who wouldn’t be able to locate him even if he stepped out into the streets and announced himself.

  Maybe if he stayed, he would come across that savage slut, Nata. There were plenty of clothing stores in Guaymas—some of the best in Mexico. Chances were good she’d be around. If he did run into her, perhaps he’d knock some of those teeth out for disrespecting him as she had. Her snide remark before skipping out the door had torn into him like a bullet.

  It was the ache in his bladder that roused him. With a groan, he got out of bed naked and pissed into the chamber pot. He finished and turned to spy a woman lying in the bed, facing away from him. He’d nearly forgotten he had brought a prostitute up here with him last night.

  “Oh, you’re still here?” he said to the sleeping whore. “I ain’t gonna pay for the entire night.” He climbed onto the mattress. “Ain’t my fault you got drunk and passed out. I’ll give ya extra, though, for another go.”

  He nudged her and when she didn’t respond, he clasped her by the shoulder and rolled her over onto her back. Her wide eyes stared up at him.

  “Shit!” he cursed, jumping up.

  His eyes traveled up and down her naked body. She wasn’t under the sheets, but on top of them, which meant she hadn’t died in her sleep. Then he noticed the bruises on her throat.

  It started coming back to him—pieces, anyhow, about having sex and then a struggle when he unexpectedly wrapped his fingers around her neck. Harvey looked at his shaky hands. Had he taken his anger out on the whore? It mattered little; the only thing that did matter was getting the hell out of Guaymas and never returning.

  Harvey got dressed, packed up his gear, and grabbed his rucksack full of bank bounty. The strap caught on the bedpost and money spilled out everywhere on the floor.

  “Goddammit!”

  He gathered up most of the fallen loot, shoved it into the bag, and left.

  * * *

  In the early morning hours, before the day grew too hot, Nata stepped inside a clothing shop to try on dresses. A specialty store such as the Bucólico wasn’t easy to find, for most stores flat out refused to serve an Indian whether she had the money or not. She was sadly accustomed to it.

  Often, she imagined living somewhere in the world where a woman such as she would be accepted. Ever since seeing her first stylish gown, worn by a foreign woman, Nata had wanted nothing more than to be included in the modern nineteenth century. There was simply too much out there—technologies to be overwhelmed by, and all those clothes to wear!

  Her tribe had never understood that. The Cocpach—as it was with most native people—strove to hang onto their old ways and culture. Rain dancing, hunting, scavenging, and worshiping earth deities. Nata wanted none of it. Her life, she felt, belonged to something beyond bead making and childbearing. Nata was a civilized young woman with expensive tastes, and someday she’d find a spot where she could have it all.

  Nata tried on a dress, a stunning day gown in a majestic blue color. The bodice was made of shiny satin with silver lace trim and decorated with black lace bows. The crinoline underneath rounded out the skirt perfectly. It truly was the most beautiful garment she had ever seen, much less worn. The only problem was the size.

  “It’s too big and the sleeves extend far past my arms,” Nata complained to the storeowner. “I have a high-waist and therefore, need a dress with an Empire waistline.”

  The owner blinked with surprise at her correct terminology.

  “Er, I’m sorry, señorita,” he apologized. “This is the only dress of this style we have. If you prefer, I can order you one in your size, but it won’t arrive until early next month.”

  Too long, she thought.

  Nata wanted to leave Mexico altogether and make her way northeast to Philadelphia or Boston, perhaps. Not to mention, she wanted to get out of Guaymas sooner rather than later. She knew when they robbed Guaymas City Bank for the third time that there would be no fourth. Not for her, anyway. Contrary to what that disgusting trash heap, Harvey Nickel, thought about the law, they were sure to spot a pattern. If the rest of the gang charged in again, they would most likely be arrested or shot. Nata, on the other hand, had other plans.

  “I want this dress. You have a tailor or seamstress, sí?”

  “Sí, senorita,” he admitted. “We have a wonderful tailor.”

  “Then have him alter it. Take in the waist and shorten the hem and sleeves. I’ll write out my measurements.”

  “That will cost more than simply ordering you one, senorita.”

  Nata gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ll pay it. How soon can it be done?”

  “The tailor won’t be in until later today, and we’re closed due to the races tomorrow. Come back Wednesday afternoon.”

  Four days was better than a month, she decided.

  “I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  It had been a long, hot, two-day ride for Javier Saints. Fortune had smiled upon him when he crossed through the Fire Field, for he had endured no dreaded sandstorms on this trip. Eventually, he reached San José, and then his home. The broken-down old mission stood secluded atop a mountain, overlooking the desolate landscape for miles. He was very fortunate to ha
ve found the mission. He had spent years looking for the right location to conduct his work. In Mota de Cuervo, Spain, he was nearly arrested after the locals started going missing. Javier managed to escape with his notes and some equipment, but he was still forced to leave much of it behind. After traveling clear across the globe, he was ready to begin again.

  He rode his horse to the tall doors while leading his mule. There, he dismounted. If the front and rear gates weren’t completely rotted and easily kicked in, he’d have attached a padlock. But, Javier had never fretted about the gates. He doubted anyone would come up here, for most locals believed the area was cursed. None wanted to step into the mission, and Javier made sure no one would be able to get out.

  In the courtyard, he dismounted and allowed his horse and mule to drink from the trough and eat from the hay pile. He then entered the bell tower and went upstairs.

  Caged inside were his first real successes. His coyotes. They greeted him with growls and snarls. The light of the sun, shining in through the open spaces of the bell tower, touched the grand bell and the metal parts of the coyotes. It also brightened the highlights of their fur. Their thick scars, cutting through the flesh, were still healing, but at least the stitches had held. He wished he had figured out how to control their minds while he was constructing them. The animals were too wild. Perhaps now that he had figured out how to wire the brain, he might try again with the beasts. For now, though, he simply tossed cuts of meat into their cages and left the bell tower.

  He headed for his bedchambers. There, he relieved himself of everything he had brought with him to Guaymas, including his face mask, goggles, and air tanks. He left for the chapel. He walked through the nave, cradling his recently purchased capacitor. There were whimpers in the dark. Beside the door was a large switch attached to an energy box. He pushed it up and fiery sparks flew out as electricity surged through the wires. Bulbs lit up around the room, and his laboratory brightened.