“I understand,” she says, though she probably doesn’t.
“Once you leave with her, you’re never going to see me again.”
“Madam?”
“I’m leaving. Tonight. I won’t tell you where.”
“I’m sorry, Madam. Did I offend you in some way? Have I performed inadequately?”
“No, Jaida. You’ve been exceptional.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not sure where I’m going and wherever it is, it won’t be the kind of place for you or your children.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I need to go somewhere far away, to make sure I don’t see her.” I look down sadly at my feet, wishing I could take Jaida just for the company, but I can’t. She has her own family to worry about. “You can stay here if you want or go back to Cairo. I’ll pay for it either way.”
“That’s really too generous—”
“You’ve earned it.” I give her a brief hug to show my appreciation. “I’m sorry about putting you through all of this. Just remember that I’m trusting you with her life until the exchange is made. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Madam. I will protect her with my life.”
Jaida leaves at sundown with my child. She makes sure to dress the baby in warm clothing, a bonnet covering the girl’s head. That bonnet and her jacket are all I can see of her as I follow Jaida. She has no idea that I’m following her, or at least I assume she doesn’t. I use Hisae’s training to stay to the shadows, to all but disappear.
In my jacket I have two pistols, my crossbow, and my knife. If there’s any problem at all with the exchange, I’ll be prepared to rescue my daughter. At that point Souray and the prospective parents will regret trying to cross me.
I’ve never gone to Notre Dame for obvious reasons. I’ve passed it a few times, so I know where it is. I get there before Jaida, finding a place across the street where I can hide behind a barrel and watch with my nightcrystal lenses. Souray is already there, along with a carriage that will take my daughter away, out of my life.
Jaida comes into sight a few minutes later. She clutches my daughter to her chest, protecting the girl like her own child, just as she said she would. Even from my vantage, I can tell that there are tears in Jaida’s eyes. I hate myself for making her do this, but it’s the only way to give my daughter what she deserves.
There’s a brief conversation between Jaida and Souray. She hands over the child, hesitating for just a moment. The skeletal lawyer takes my daughter and for nearly the first time since she was born, I hear her cry. I can’t really blame her for crying at the sight of the lawyer.
There are a few more words before Souray hands the girl off to the people inside the carriage—her new parents. The lawyer then climbs up onto the carriage beside the driver, where he’ll probably hitch a ride closer to his office. Jaida turns in my direction and from the way she stares straight at me, I know she knows I’m there. She gives me a wave to say goodbye.
I’m not there when she returns home. I’m already on a carriage to take me north to England—and then to America.
Part 5
Chapter 32
In America I find a new occupation that I take to immediately. Herding cattle on the broad American frontier is the best job I’ve held since I left Frau Braun’s farm some thirty years earlier. For one thing, I get to work with cattle again, although these are beef cows, not the dairy ones like back in the Black Forest. The other is that I get to wear my gun and crossbow while doing it.
The crossbow is what takes the other cowboys by surprise. Most of them simply rely on a rifle and maybe a pistol. These rifles are still the awkward kind that require too long to reload for my taste. I can fire and reload my crossbow six times while they’re still trying to reload once. A demonstration of this and they shut up about the crossbow.
Some of my comrades stay at one ranch or another, while I prefer to roam from one to another, wherever an extra hand is needed. The money isn’t much, but I’ve got more than enough that I don’t need to worry about this. The biggest problem always comes in convincing the ranchers that I can handle the work. When it comes to their attitude about women, Americans aren’t much different from my French countrymen. A demonstration of my riding and roping skills and they’re more than happy to have me, though they usually try to pay me less than my male counterparts, claiming I’m not as experienced.
Roping is something I’ve never done before I get to the frontier. I’ve done enough work with knots that I find the rope a natural fit in my hand. I practice on my own until I’m good enough to demonstrate to a rancher looking for an extra hand.
When I can’t find work on a ranch, I’m content to wander this wild new land on my horse. As far as horses go, it’s not much to look at, a plain black mare with a white patch on its nose. I call the horse Smokey, though it looks very different from David’s horse from long ago. I bought Smokey in New Orleans, where I landed in the New World from London.
While in New Orleans, I passed through the French Quarter, where Andre and Rachel have a restaurant. I walk past the restaurant and see a gray-haired woman with spectacles wearing an apron waiting on a table. It takes me a moment to realize this is Rachel, whom I hadn’t seen in thirty years. I’m tempted to go inside and make up a story about being Suzette’s niece or cousin, but then I force myself to walk on. I don’t want to get involved in any mortal lives, not anymore.
The American frontier is a great place to not get involved with anyone. Smokey and I can ride for days without having to say a word to anyone. I sleep on the ground, using my saddle for a pillow and watch the brilliant sunsets. I’ve never seen sunrises or sunsets like these, so bright and vibrant with color. I stare at the sky until I inevitably think of my daughter and wish she could be here to see this with me.
By now my daughter is fourteen. At that age I was developing into an apprentice witch. I’m not sure what happens with the child of a witch, though I assume since she’s half-mortal, she wouldn’t have any magic. She’s probably an ordinary girl, like I always wanted to be. In a couple of years she’ll probably start courting some nobleman’s son and begin her own family. With a sigh I roll over and close my eyes to sleep.
In the morning I ride into some small town in what is now the Republic of Texas. I don’t catch its name, but then again there are towns like this springing up all over as people flood into the new country. It’s just the usual: a general store, a bar, a post office, a hotel, and a church. There’s probably not more than thirty people who live here.
I tie Smokey to the post in front of the saloon. Then I head inside to get a drink or four. The American whiskey isn’t nearly as good as the stuff I’m used to drinking in Edinburgh, but at this point liquor is liquor. As long as it gets me drunk enough that I don’t have to think about my daughter, Alejandro, or Aggie then I don’t care what it tastes like.
I’m on my third drink when a man sits down next to me. Unlike everyone else in there he’s wearing a suit. Also unlike everyone else, his suit isn’t covered in a layer of dust and grime. He probably hasn’t been here long; he probably just rode in on a coach this morning. The man orders two drinks, one he downs immediately.
“Rough day?” I ask him, always more talkative when I have a few drinks in me.
He nods at this. “I’ve been on the road for a week and haven’t made a sale.”
“What do you sell?” From the look of him, I figure he sells some kind of “medicine” that has more alcohol than this whiskey.
To my surprise, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. It’s a weapon unlike any I’ve ever seen up close before: a silver pistol with a chamber in the center that spins around so five shots can be fired without reloading. “I’m selling my new revolver. It will change firearms forever—if anyone ever buys any.” He holds out a hand for me to shake. “My name is Samuel Colt.”
“Sylvia Joubert.”
He stares at me for a moment with the same look as ranchers when I first show
up. With my jacket covering my breasts, most of them at first think I’m just a boy with long hair. I push aside the jacket so he can see my breasts. “Yeah, I’m a woman,” I tell him. I reach for my drink, gulping it down. “You can stop gawking.”
“I meant no offense, Miss Joubert.”
“If you want to make it up to me, explain to me how this works.”
“Well, Miss Joubert, perhaps it would be better to show you.”
After we pay for our drinks, he takes me outside. It doesn’t take us long to reach the outskirts of town. It’s much harder to find something for him to shoot at. Colt finds a scrub tree and then motions for me to stand back. Most of the town has followed us, sensing that something interesting is about to happen.
“It’s very simple. You aim at the target, cock the hammer back, and then fire.” The sound of the revolver isn’t much different from any normal pistol. What is different is that Colt can fire five shots even quicker than I could do the same with my crossbow. All five of these shots hit the tree, spraying bark on the ground.
“That is amazing,” I tell him. The townspeople show their appreciation with polite applause. I think of what Connor said so long ago, that whoever finds a way to make a gun that can reload quicker will become a millionaire. Colt has done this and yet he isn’t rich. “Why isn’t anyone buying these?”
“That’s hard to say. Maybe they’re afraid of change.”
“Well I’m not. How much do you want for it?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Joubert, but—”
“But you don’t want to sell to a woman, is that it? You think I can’t fire your precious gun?” I spit on the ground at his feet. “I’ll bet you that I can fire that gun better than you.”
“Now see here—”
“What, you’re afraid? You don’t think you can beat a girl?”
“I do not make wagers against women,” Colt says.
“That’s a convenient excuse.”
“Madam, I am trying to be patient, but—”
“The only woman I see here is standing right in front of me,” I say. “You’re nothing more than a yellow chickenshit coward.”
Colt’s face turns red, but he manages to keep from shouting at me as he says, “Very well, Miss Joubert. I will accept your challenge.”
The local merchant donates six burlap sacks that are then filled with dirt. These are set up in two columns and three rows, each row approximately fifty yards apart. Someone has helpfully drawn a crude bull’s-eye on each sack.
The townspeople stand behind us, ready to watch the spectacle. I’m sure a good number of them have money on the outcome, most of it I’m sure going against me. After all, I’m just a woman; I couldn’t possibly know how to handle a weapon.
I gulp down another two whiskeys before our shootout. For a mortal this would be a bad idea, but I have enough experience—and a strong enough tolerance—that it doesn’t affect me much. Mostly it provides a calming effect so I can put everything out of my mind except this contest.
Colt motions for me to go first. I shake my head. “Ladies first,” I say.
He growls something under his breath that I can’t hear. Then he holds up his revolver. He sights it as he did with the tree, cocks the hammer, and fires. The bullet puts a hole squarely in the center of his first sack. The townspeople cheer at this.
“Very nice—for a girl,” I tell him. He’s given me one of his revolvers, which is mine to keep if I win this contest. The revolver feels heavier than a traditional pistol from the extra bullets. I weigh it in my hands for a minute just to get a good feel for it. Then I step up, cock the hammer back, and fire without aiming. My bullet leaves a hole in the center of my first bag.
The townspeople gasp at this, a couple of them groaning as they sense they bet on the wrong marksman. The second bag goes the same way. We both hit the center of our respective targets, me without needing to aim. I’m not using any magic at all to assist me; I’ve simply been firing weapons long enough to know what I’m doing.
For the third sack, Colt takes longer to aim his pistol. He wants to make sure this shot is perfect. I resist the urge to try and distract him or otherwise throw him off; I want people to think this is a fair fight. When he fires, his aim is about a half inch left of the center.
I snicker at this. “Nice try,” I tell him and see his face turn red. I don’t really need to aim, but I take a few seconds to do so anyway. There’s no point in making a mistake now. I cock the hammer back and then pull the trigger. Before it’s hit the target, I turn to face the townspeople. The look of shock on their faces is enough to tell me I’ve won.
I turn to Colt, who’s equally dumbfounded to be bested by a woman. “This is a damned fine weapon you got here.” If I were still actively in the arms business I could probably help Colt sell some of his guns. Maybe the word of mouth from this duel will be enough to help him. After all, if a mere woman can use his gun, it has to be good. “I’ll be looking to buy some bullets later.”
The townspeople let me stagger through their midst on my way back into town. I shove the revolver into a pocket; I’ll have to make a new sling for it later. As I near where I left Smokey tied up, I’m certain the alcohol has gone to my brain. There’s no way I can be seeing what I’m seeing. There’s no way Sophie can be standing next to my horse.
But it certainly sounds like Sophie when she says, “Hello, sister. I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”
***
We go back to the saloon. Sophie orders a sarsaparilla, not wanting to cloud her mind with alcohol. I order the same to help me sober up. “You’re supposed to be dead,” I tell her.
“You really think a bunch of silly mortals could kill me?” She clucks her tongue. “I thought you knew better than that.”
“Glenda said she gave them a charm.”
“She did, which is why I left before then.”
“But they said you were dead.”
“It was someone else.” Sophie pats the gray bun she still wears at the nape of her neck, as she has since she was nine years old. “It wasn’t hard to find another woman who looked similar to me. Similar enough to fool the stupid mortals.”
I consider reminding her that we’re sitting in a saloon full of mortals, but think better of it. Sophie would only tell me that as witches we don’t need to be afraid of them. “So how have you managed not to be found by Glenda or the coven?”
“It’s simple enough in this place. The coven doesn’t have a presence here—or it didn’t until you came here.”
“I’m not working for the coven.”
“You have. From what I hear, you’re an exceptional vampire killer.”
“How did you hear that?”
“From young Rebecca in the archives. She was more than willing to talk in exchange for a cure to the Weight Gain spell.”
“Which you probably used on her.”
“Of course not. The poor girl was merely careless.”
“And you were there to take advantage.”
“If I hadn’t, she would be dead by now instead of expecting her second child.”
“So you went to the archives and they still haven’t found you?”
“Why should they? They think I’m dead. It’s the perfect cover.”
I can’t help blubbering like a baby sister at that moment. “Why didn’t you tell us? Agnes and I thought you were dead.”
Sophie reaches across the table to pat me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. You know I couldn’t tell Agnes. If I did, she would have told Glenda.”
“You could have told me. I wouldn’t have told, not if you didn’t want me to.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have betrayed me. You’ve always been a loyal sister.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because I needed time to find what I was looking for.”
I dab at my eyes with a bandana. “The birthplace of magic?”
“Yes. I’ve found it. At last.”
&
nbsp; “Are you sure? Glenda said it was a legend.”
“I’m positive.” She takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I want to take you there, Sylvia. I need your help.”
“Where is it?”
“Mexico. A little place known as Tabla Diabla.”
I consider this for a moment. “There’s one thing I need to know first: did you kill Mama?”
“Glenda tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her?”
“It made sense.”
She gives my hand another squeeze and then takes off her spectacles so she can look me in the eye. It’s been so long since I’ve seen those eyes, those steely, overly serious eyes. “I loved our mother, Sylvia. I would never hurt her.”
“But you knew she wasn’t our real mother.”
“That didn’t matter to me, just as it didn’t matter to you.”
I want to trust her. After a hundred fifty years, I desperately want Sophie to be alive and for the two of us to be happily reunited. Maybe then I don’t have to be alone anymore. We’ve never been extremely close, but maybe this time we can fix that.
As if she can read my mind, she says, “I know how difficult it’s been for you. I know what Agnes did to you, how she made you a child so she could marry that mortal.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.” She smiles at me. “I know about your daughter. I’ve seen her. She’s so much like her mother—”
“Shut up! Don’t you dare tell me about her.”
“I’m sorry, Sylvia. I’m merely saying that I understand the pain you’ve endured. I want to help you get over it. Come with me to Mexico and we can start a new life—together.”
I think about this for a minute. As relatively happy as I am riding the range, it still pales in comparison to being reunited with my thought-to-be-dead sister. Chances are this “birthplace of magic” is a bunch of nonsense anyway. What harm could come from going out there with her to look at it?
“All right,” I tell her. “I’ll go.”
***
I leave Smokey tied up at the general store while we vanish to Mexico. Sophie has to hug me and vanish us together since she’s the only one who’s ever been to Tabla Diabla. There’s a flash of light and then we’re gone.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 116