Minutes ticked by as Jessie stared out the window. The shack grew darker and he resolved to get up and light a few candles. He had a match against the last candlewick when he heard Kaga’s long, low whine. Jessie frowned and turned to the wolf. Kaga began twitching on the sleeping pallet. His paws jiggled and a whine emanated from his throat. A loud crack sounded in the room followed by a slurping, wet suck, and Kaga yelped in pain. Jessie swallowed. He knew what was happening; he’d seen the wolf change before. He was thankful now that Abigail hadn’t yet returned. God knew how she might take the sight unfolding before him.
Kaga’s transition from wolf to human was no magical affair. There was no warm effuse of light or glittery particles in the air. It was a horrible crunch of bone, a wet pop of skin, and an agonized whine that turned into a human moan when the wolf’s throat became man’s. Kaga, all man now, lay shivering on the sleeping pallet, naked and helpless. Jessie lurched forward and grabbed the coarse homespun blanket on the edge of the bed. He pulled it over Kaga’s trembling body and tentatively touched the man’s broad shoulder.
When Kaga flinched and turned to Jessie, Jessie drew a ragged breath and whispered, “Cussadang!”
Kaga’s cheek was an angry mess of dark red tissue where the kobold had mauled him. His nose was lined with parallel gashes, and he had a swollen black eye sunk in his face. His naked chest was crisscrossed with scratches and abrasions, and deep holes were punched in his torso from kobold talons. The man was a mess.
“Kaga! You alright?” Jessie asked.
Though Grace had thoroughly washed his wounds, she’d had no way of knitting his wounds together—any stitches she put in would pop open again with the change. As a newly made man, Kaga’s wounds oozed open, and Jessie set straight to work fossicking in Grace’s pack for clean strips of linen. Kaga moaned as Jessie eased him into an upright position.
“Grace?” he asked in a tight tone.
Jessie began the task of binding Kaga’s torso. He brushed the man’s bronze skin and marveled at how much heat radiated from Kaga.
“She’s fair to middling. Leg was a bit cut up and her neck’s awful mean, but you know Grace. Take more than that to stop her. She’s gone with Joseph, Tokota, and Ruby to see the townsfolk of the Banks. Turns out Aaron Boothe’s been stockpiling gold and grub. Ripping off the folk and even feeding some of them to the things in the mine.”
Kaga’s expression darkened. “I remember the bones...and the things.”
Jessie felt the man shiver beneath his touch. He filled Kaga in on the time he’d spent in Boothe’s manor and what he and Ruby had learned. Kaga listened stoically without saying a word. When Jessie placed a pad over his ruined cheek, Kaga winced but let the lad do his work. Jessie finished up and poured Kaga a nip of gut warmer from Grace’s pack. He eyed the brown liquid, then poured himself one. They tipped back their shots in unison and lapsed into private thoughts. The pounding of hoofbeats against hard-packed earth roused them.
Jessie jumped to his feet and looked out the window. “It’s Grace!”
Kaga awkwardly sat up though he grimaced with every movement he made. Jessie met Grace at the door. Her face was alight with excitement as she came in.
“They believe us, Jessie! The folk of the Banks! Showed them the gold and the grub and they near spit their liquor they was that wrathy! Took us some time to get all the plow-chasers around the place rounded up but—”
Grace cut off as she spied Kaga. She drew in a stuttering breath, held it for a second, then rushed to Kaga’s side. She dropped to her knees by the side of the bed and grabbed his upper arms. She leaned in and tenderly kissed him. Jessie couldn’t look away as their kiss deepened. It was an intensely private scene, intimate and warm, yet he stood by the table unable to avert his gaze. Finally, Kaga moaned and pulled away. He raised a hand to the side of his face and winced.
Grace frowned. “Pain?”
Kaga nodded. Grace touched the bandage gingerly, then turned to Jessie as Kaga fingered her own bandaged neck.
“Thanks, Jessie. Didn’t expect to be gone so long,” she said.
Jessie shrugged and looked down. Her praise confused him. He was warmed by her words, but that old twinge of jealousy stirred in his guts.
“It’s alright,” he mumbled.
Grace was lost in Kaga’s gaze again and Jessie doubted she’d heard him. He frowned and shifted the chair. The noise jolted Grace and Kaga, and Grace rose to her feet.
“What were you saying about the folk of the Banks?” Jessie asked.
“They see it. They see Boothe’s four-flushing for what it is and they’re mad as hell. Gonna confront the sonuvabitch tonight. Got the whole lot roused and rearing to go.”
Jessie frowned. “What’re they gonna do?”
Grace shrugged. A smile crossed her lips. “Don’t rightly know. Fella by the name of Reed has taken the reins. Thought Joseph would run the show, but he got all quiet after we showed them the gold and grub. Like he got no stomach for what’s gotta happen.”
“What is gonna happen?” Jessie asked.
Grace shrugged again. “Retribution, I reckon.” She patted Kaga on the head and turned to the door. “Just came in on my way up to the manor. Gotta get back...”
“Grace wait!” Jessie cried. He stood in front of Grace and blocked her way.
“Jessie, what’s gotten into you?”
Jessie sought her gaze and said, “There’s something you gotta know about Aaron Boothe! Well, about all of you!”
Grace nodded expectantly. Jessie stammered and his gaze dropped to Kaga. His throat was as dry and scratchy as sandpaper.
Grace’s expression tightened, she was getting impatient.
“See, Boothe ain’t what he appears to be. None of you are! You. Tokota. Ruby. You’re like him.”
Grace’s brow furrowed. Her lips thinned and she stepped close to Jessie. “If this is some cockamamie notion about good and evil again, I swear I’m gonna bust your lip, Jessie Beck. I’m sick to my grave hearing about it!”
Jessie’s heart fluttered and he held up his hands. “Wait, no! I mean it is. Sorta. You all ain’t who you think you are!”
“Well right now I think I’m a pretty pissed off hard case who ain’t got time for this tomfoolery. Now get out of my way before I knock you on your prat!”
Grace pushed past Jessie and strode to the door over his protestations. She gave him a cool look over her shoulder, then slammed the door closed behind her. Jessie swore and pounded his fist on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration and clenched his fists. The splinter in his palm throbbed.
“Jessie?” The quiet, calm voice was like a soothing balm.
Jessie opened his eyes and turned to Kaga.
The native man wore concern and regret on his face. “Something plagues you.”
“Damn right something plagues me.”
Kaga licked his lips. “Tell me.”
Jessie looked into the man’s dark eyes. Did he dare? Cottonmouth. Horsemen of the Apocalypse. And even if he did, what would Kaga’s reaction be? Anger? Disbelief? Or would he just laugh his ass off at Jessie’s expense? Jessie searched Kaga’s dark eyes and found no malice there. All he saw was wisdom borne of one so cursed he straddled the very axis of the normal and paranormal world. Jessie let out a long, deep breath.
“It’s going to sound crazy. Just please, hear me out.”
Kaga gazed at Jessie for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and leaned back on the cot.
Jessie began to talk.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Though it was still early evening, Boothe Manor was bathed in light. The folk of Barren Banks who hadn’t come bearing pitchforks or hoes held torches instead. The shadows of hundreds of emaciated townsfolk danced on the white-washed walls of Boothe Manor, though this was no Mayfair celebration. Jeers and cries punctuated the night, and the tangy smell of blood filled the air. Aaron Boothe’s longriders, who had dared take up arms against the mob, had been torn to pieces.
Their rent bodies littered the beautiful gardens, and their irons were already in the hands of the Banks’ townsfolk.
This was the sight that greeted Jessie as he and Kaga rode into the courtyard of Boothe Manor. Paul shied at the smell of blood and sight of so much fire. Jessie tugged the reins and chirked. The gelding edged closer to the mob, which grudgingly parted and cleared a path to the manor. Jessie caught sight of Grace, Tokota, and Ruby sitting high above the mob on their horses. He shivered as he looked at them, perched like a line of crows atop a tombstone. Tokota on the fiery Uzeblikblik was every inch the fierce war chief. Ruby leaned on Lumière’s silver saddle and seemed to glow with the same aura as her white steed. Grace, in her cowboy duds, sat straight-backed and fearsome on her pale mare.
How could he have ever doubted Cottonmouth’s words?
Jessie wrenched his gaze from his companions as a fresh jeer reverberated through the night air. He glanced around and his breath hitched in his throat as he spied a crude gallows erected out front of Boothe Manor. Swaying gently on long ropes were Boothe’s three chefs, their faces swollen and blue-black. One had bitten off his tongue as he swung, and blood stained the front of his white chef’s apron. Jessie goggled at the sight, and he had to force himself to turn away. He scanned the mob and saw a skinny man with a large rifle posed before the crowd. Reed perhaps? The man shouted something, but his words were faint and drifted away on the breeze. He gestured with the rifle, and Jessie frowned as he swung his gaze in the direction the loudmouth indicated.
Aaron Boothe stood surrounded by armed Banksmen, his hands bound behind his back and his face contorted with fury. Blood trickled from a gash across his forehead. By his side huddled his wife. She wept openly and gripped her two sons in her matronly arms. Her gown was torn and a livid bruise bloomed across her cheek. The mob jeered and shouted. Some spat on Boothe and his family. Nearly everyone in the crowd held crusts of bread or slabs of smoked ham. Between shouts and cries, they stuffed themselves on the contents of Boothe’s overstocked larder.
Jessie was sickened to the very bottom of his stomach by the sight of it all. Boothe had been a bad egg, there was no question about it. He and his had deceived and wronged the folk of Barren Banks. But the brutality of the starving mob astounded him. Where was Joseph and his calm, cool presence? Where was Abigail with her righteous heart? Jessie scanned the crowd and finally found the dark-skinned man and his daughter. They stood beneath a blue spruce in a quiet corner of the garden, away from the ugly scene. Joseph watched solemnly, but he held no weapon nor clutched any spoils from Boothe’s manor. Abigail clung to her father’s arm and watched wide-eyed.
Movement snagged Jessie’s attention. Boothe gave an answer to some claim, and it was obviously an answer the mob disliked. A chorus of jeers went up and Reed stalked across to Boothe and slammed the rifle butt into Boothe’s stomach. Boothe doubled over and gasped until a man behind him grabbed a handful of his lank hair and jerked him upright. Reed leaned in and spoke to Boothe, then pointed at the gallows. A cheer rang out and a few pieces of overripe fruit flew through the air and spattered against Boothe’s chest.
“God, Kaga, they mean to hang him!” Jessie whispered.
Kaga nodded. “Grace, we must get to Grace.”
Jessie stuck his tongue in his cheek and squeezed Paul. “C’mon, fella, quickly now.”
Paul nickered and pawed the ground but compliantly broke into a trot. He tossed his head as he closed on the jostling crowd and flaming torches. As Paul pushed through the mob toward Grace, Reed led Aaron Boothe to the gallows. The noise from the crowd was deafening. The sight of Boothe at the foot of the gallows held everyone’s captivated attention.
Jessie and Kaga were close when Grace noticed their approach. She jerked in the saddle, and a swift frown crossed her brow. “Jessie! What in blue blazes are you doing here?” she called.
“Grace! You cain’t let them kill Boothe!”
At her side, Tokota and Ruby stared at Jessie. They wore similar expressions on their faces, and for a second, Jessie was overcome by the sheer queerness of the three. They seemed somehow alien to him, no longer quite human. He shivered at the thought.
“Lord’s sake! Not this again! Jessie, I’m gonna slap you upside the head for getting your knickers in a twist over this and bringing Kaga all the way up here. Cain’t you see he’s hurting?”
Kaga leaned around Jessie, his face gray with pain. “Hanhepi wi... Listen to Jessie. You need to hear him.”
Grace searched Kaga’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. She turned to Jessie and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Grace, this is gonna sound crazy, but it’s the truth. Aaron Boothe is who we were sent here to find. He’s the Fourth.”
Grace frowned. “Fourth what?”
Jessie swallowed. “The Fourth Horseman. I think... I think the Darksome Gunman is bringing you all together for some reason and he—Boothe—is the Fourth.”
Grace’s gaze shifted to Kaga and back to Jessie again. She scratched the bandage on her neck. “The Fourth Horseman?”
Jessie nodded miserably. “As in, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. As in Revelations.”
Grace burst out laughing, though there was an uneasy edge to her laughter. She waved a hand at Jessie. “Jessie! Quit it!” The laughter died on her lips when she saw not only Jessie’s sober expression but also Kaga’s.
“You’re trying to say Tokota, Ruby, and me are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse? And him—Aaron Booth—is the Fourth?!”
Jessie nodded. Grace’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at Kaga. “And you’re buying this malarkey?”
Kaga clutched Jessie’s waist. “Hanhepi wi, I am sure of this with every fiber of my being. Jessie speaks true.”
A fresh cry from the crowd caught their attention. They swung around and watched Aaron Boothe tread the gallows steps at gunpoint.
Jessie turned back to Grace. “Grace it don’t matter if you believe me or not about the Horsemen stuff, just believe me when I say we need Boothe alive!”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Even if I was to believe this poppycock, you reckon the Darksome Gunman wants us all together for some reason? Then why wouldn’t I just blow his plans sky high and cut Aaron Boothe’s mustard right here, right now?”
Jessie shook his head. “For the same reason we’ve been following his path since Sandycrag Creek. Because we got no other choice. It’s his game—he’s the one holding the ace-high cards. All we can do is play the cards and hope to beat him at his own game. Be the better player.”
Grace frowned and snapped, “So you suggest we keep dancing to his tune willy-nilly?”
Jessie shrugged. “We got no choice,” he repeated. “He wrote the rulebook.”
Grace’s jaw clenched as her gaze drifted to the gallows, where a Banksman had yanked a noose over Boothe’s head. The master of the manor stood straight, his hands still bound behind his back, and stared into the face of the mob. He wore a contemptuous pout on his lips. There was no trace of remorse across his arrogant features.
Grace turned back to Jessie. She closed her eyes and said, “You sure about this, Jessie? Boothe’s about as evil a sonuvabitch as they come.”
Jessie’s chest tightened. His nerve endings tingled. “Damn sure.”
A sharp clack pierced the night followed by a cheer from the crowd. Jessie swung around in time to see Aaron Boothe slip through the gallows trapdoor. The noose pulled tight, and he began violently flailing on the rope. Jessie raised his hands ineffectually and cried out.
Gunfire boomed beside him and Boothe dropped to the ground, the rope shot in two. Jessie turned as Grace holstered her Winchester. His ears rang from the boom, and he could only just make out the angry outcry of the crowd as Boothe staggered to his feet. His face was bright red and he cussed and kicked anyone who came near.
Reed and the Banksmen hollered and waved their rifles as the mob clamored and surged forward. Joseph and Abigail left their place beneath the blue spruce an
d slipped into the crowd.
Another raucous boom from Grace’s Winchester silenced and stilled the crowd. She trotted across the lawns on Crowbait, the Winchester casually perched on her shoulder. Beside her came Paul, bearing Jessie and Kaga. Tokota and Ruby followed, as confused as the townsfolk by the lynching’s abrupt ending, but content to follow Grace’s lead.
“What in thunderation’s going on here?” Reed cried, his face nearly as red as Boothe’s. Three of the Banksmen surrounded Boothe and forced him to his knees in the dirt beside the gallows. Boothe’s wife was held tight by another two Banksmen.
“You get us all up here and roused to see Boothe lynched, then go and cut him down before he croaks? Skulduggery! Skittles!” Reed shook his rifle at Grace. She casually lowered the Winchester and pointed it at him. Reed stilled and paled.
“You stop shaking that iron at me or I’ll make you stop,” Grace said quietly.
Reed lowered the rifle with a thunderous expression on his face. Grace gazed over the top of him and scanned the crowd. “You all got what you came here for. Food. Gold. Coin. You can strip the house bare or burn her to the ground for all I care, but this one is coming with us.”
The loud rumble of the crowd was drowned out by Reed’s bellow. “Like hell! He’s gonna swing for all he did to us! For all the Banksmen who died feeding him and his fat family!”
The crowd clamored in agreement. Boothe sneered and spat on the ground.
Jessie noticed Joseph sidle through the crowd. He caught the man’s eye and frowned. Joseph shook his head.
“I ain’t gonna repeat myself. Move aside. Now,” Grace said.
Reed glared at Grace. “We’ve suffered through worse than the likes of you, snapper! I know what you’re about! She’s like to cut a deal with Boothe! They’re after the yellow! They’re gonna try and steal it out from under us! Cut her down, lads! Cut her—”
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