by Anne Bishop
“But what’s wrong with you?”
Lila made a face. “Cramps. It’s okay. It’s quiet in here today, and all I have to do is mind the bar for an hour.”
“Well, I can do that.”
“Oh, no . . .”
Barb edged close to the door of Scythe’s office. “Madam Scythe?”
A moment later, Scythe stood in the office doorway and smiled. “Barbara Ellen. Have you come to visit Yellow Bird? I feed him as you taught me, and he sings every day.”
“I’m glad he sings, but I really came in for a cold drink.”
Scythe turned her black eyes on Lila. “You can do this.”
“That’s the thing,” Barb said. “Lila isn’t feeling well. It’s a human female thing, and it would be kind to let her lie down for an hour. I could stand behind the bar and pour drinks if anyone comes in.”
“You are not dressed for the work, Barbara Ellen.”
“We’re about the same size,” Lila said. “Barb could wear my other costume.”
Barb beamed at Scythe. “It would be fun. And it would be a kindness.”
“I would need to pay you,” Scythe said. “That is a rule. I would need to fill out forms for an employee.”
“You could pay me in free soda this afternoon. Then we could skip the paperwork because free soda isn’t the same as money. And it’s only for an hour.”
Barb held her breath, waiting to see if Scythe’s gold hair would change color.
No. The thin streaks of blue didn’t widen, and no red or black—the danger colors—appeared.
“Very well,” Scythe said. “You will work behind the bar for one hour so that Don Miller can do his other work and I can do mine. Tell Candice that she must come down in an hour and take your place.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Barb and Lila went upstairs, knocked on Candice’s door to tell her that her shift would start in one hour, then went to Lila’s room so that Lila could get out of her costume and Barb could dress in the alternate one.
She had no more desire to work in a frontier saloon than in a regular bar, but she’d wanted to try on one of the costumes since the Bird Cage opened and she saw how the girls got to play dress-up.
“A corset?” She wrinkled her nose when Lila held it up. “Really?”
“Just enough of one to help the dress’s shape and push your boobs up.”
The corset wasn’t tight, didn’t restrict her breathing, but . . .
“Wow. I do have boobs.”
Lila laughed. “I went out with a guy last week. He wasn’t invited to stay and become a resident. Don’t know why. But he seemed really interested in me and suggested we go out in order to get better acquainted. I didn’t get any odd feelings about him, so I agreed.”
“Not much to do around here yet unless you went to the diner or the bookstore.”
“It didn’t take long for us to get acquainted,” Lila continued. “After the third time I caught him staring at my chest and looking disappointed, because my chest isn’t as interesting without the corset doing what it does, he made some sorry excuse about forgetting that he needed to make an important phone call and we’d have to get together another time.”
“Better off without him.”
“Absolutely.”
Scythe was behind the bar when Barb came back downstairs. She gave her temporary employee a long look.
“Stay behind the bar,” Scythe said. “If men touch you, it will upset Virgil—and Tolya.”
Not if the touching upsets you first, Barb thought.
Being a substitute saloon girl was fun. Craig and Dawn Werner came in for a cold drink, and they chatted about their puppy, their work as land agents, and when they expected to reopen the movie theater and start showing movies on the weekends.
She served one of the Simple Life men who now worked on the Skye Ranch and had come into town with Truman Skye to pick up the mail and some supplies. They had what Barb figured was meant to be an interesting conversation about manure.
Her hour was almost up, and she toyed with the idea of going into Scythe’s office and offering to substitute for one of the girls during the quiet hours whenever someone needed time off.
Then the stranger walked in. He had the look of a man who had been on the road for a few days or had been working outside—not offensively dirty but not clean either.
“Good afternoon,” Barb said when he reached the bar and stood facing her. He had a weird gleam in his eyes that made her uneasy, but she told herself she was safe enough with the bar between them and Scythe nearby. “What can I get you?”
“Girl who works in a place like this has got game.”
What did that mean? She was just supposed to pour drinks. Besides, Freddie was the only one who ran the blackjack table and dealt hands for poker.
Then the man looked at her chest in a way that made her want to grab a shawl and cover up. There was looking and there was looking.
She was certain now he was more than just an asshat. There was something very wrong about him.
“You got game, girl?” He smiled—and Barb shivered.
“Stop.” She tried to sound firm; she could barely make a sound.
“Maybe you like it dog style.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed until she felt bone grinding against bone.
“No.” She pulled and pulled, but she couldn’t break his hold on her hand. She needed to yell, cause a fuss and catch Scythe’s attention. But he scared her so much she just couldn’t draw in enough breath to do that.
He leaned closer. “Or maybe I should come around to that side of the bar and . . .”
“Hey!” Candice shouted as she rushed down the last couple of stairs. “Let go of her, you son of a bitch!”
He released her hand. Barb stumbled back and hit the shelves behind the bar. A bottle fell and shattered on the floor.
Suddenly Candice disappeared from view. Don swung himself over the bar. He glanced past Barb’s shoulder, then snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor before looking down.
Even scared past thinking, she remembered Lila telling her that was the warning to look away.
Barb turned her head and focused on Don’s hand as a harsh female voice snarled, “Human.”
The man made a choking sound before he stumbled out of the saloon.
Movement on her left. The swish of a skirt. The sound of Scythe’s office door closing.
A different kind of signal because suddenly Don was beside her, muttering that he’d had a feeling there was something wrong. Candice was there too, and the two of them started guiding her to a table.
“I’m going to be sick,” Barb gasped. “I’m . . .”
They hustled her to the women’s toilet and got her inside before she vomited. When she was finished, she rinsed her mouth with water and opened the restroom door—and wondered if her legs would hold her long enough to get home.
Candice stood outside the door. She slipped an arm around Barb’s waist.
“I broke a bottle.”
“Don’s cleaning it up,” Candice said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ve never had someone say bad things to me,” Barb said as Candice steered her to a table that had a bottle of ginger ale and two glasses. “Not things like that.”
“Then you’ve been lucky.” Candice poured the ginger ale. She set a glass in front of Barb before taking a sip from the second glass.
Don was still behind the bar cleaning up the glass and spilled liquor when Virgil stormed into the saloon at the same moment the office door opened and Scythe stepped out.
Barb didn’t look until Scythe passed their table. Then she risked a glance. Red hair—the color of anger—with thin streaks of black and blue. She wasn’t sure if that color combination was within a safe range when dealing with a Harvester, but she notice
d that Virgil wasn’t shy about looking at Scythe. Then Harvester and Wolf looked at the floor—and Scythe snarled.
“That bunghole bugger peed on my floor!”
Candice choked, then whispered, “Gods. Don’t you wonder how she knows words like that?”
There wasn’t time to wonder about words because Virgil strode over to their table, slapped his fur-covered hands on the wood, and snarled, revealing Wolf fangs.
“That male. Was he a Cyrus human?”
She leaned away from him. She couldn’t think, didn’t even know what he meant. But she’d had enough of scary males, and she desperately wanted to give whatever answer would make Virgil go away.
The Wolf turned to Candice. His eyes were almost solid red with fury. “Was he a Cyrus human? Was he?”
“Yes!” Candice’s voice cracked. “Yes, he was.”
Virgil stepped away from the table and stripped off his clothes. Shifting to Wolf, he sniffed the stranger’s pee, then ran out of the saloon.
Candice tried to take a sip of ginger ale, but her hands shook too much to hold the glass. “Gods, he’s scary.”
He was. He surely was. But as Barb sat there shaking, she realized she wasn’t as afraid of Virgil’s savagery as she had been of the weird gleam in the stranger’s eyes.
* * *
* * *
Jana had finished a circuit of mounted patrol when she saw Virgil, in human form, rush into the Bird Cage Saloon. He wasn’t howling for backup, so it probably wasn’t serious. Might not even be official business. Might just be . . .
Virgil leaped out of the saloon in Wolf form, sniffed the ground, and ran north, heading for the train station and livestock pens.
Not good. Kane couldn’t run yet, so the only reason Virgil wouldn’t want his other deputy around was because he didn’t want any human interference.
“Come on, Mel.”
She aimed the gelding toward the hitching post across from the saloon. After tossing a rein over the post, she ran into the saloon and saw Barb and Candice huddled at a table, Don behind the bar, and Scythe staring at a small puddle.
“What happened?” When no one answered, she looked at Barb and Candice and put some bite into her voice. “What happened?”
“A Cyrus human came into the saloon,” Scythe said. “He upset Barbara Ellen.”
Jana felt the floor dip and swell for a moment. “A what? How could you tell?”
“Candice knew.”
She hurried to the table. Barb looked pale. Sick. Frightened. “Barb?”
“He . . . said things. And he grabbed me.” Barb held out her hand. “I was scared.” The last words were whispered.
“Did you think he was going to abduct you?”
Barb gave her a blank look.
Jana looked at Candice. “Why did you say the man was a Cyrus human?”
“Because Virgil came charging in here, and the way he asked if the man was a Cyrus human, I was afraid to say no,” Candice replied.
Gods, gods, gods. No question the man’s behavior was out of line. The way Barb shivered told her that much. But out of line wasn’t the same as trying to abduct her.
“I’ll get a full report later.” She ran out of the saloon and across the street. Flinging herself on Mel’s back, she galloped north.
She had to catch up to Virgil. Had to stop him before . . .
Had it been trash talk that warranted a strong suggestion that the man leave town—or even warranted a bite from Virgil—or had it been more, a real threat that could have ended in rape or abduction? As law officers, they needed to determine that. And she needed Virgil to agree that they had to agree that someone was a Cyrus human before they acted. He couldn’t go around scaring people into giving him an answer that would end up involving the Elders.
Galloping, galloping. She and Mel whipped past the town’s new border—where human law ended. Mel dropped back to a lope while Jana looked for some sign of a man or Wolf as they approached the original town boundaries.
A scattering of buildings on the right, and a road leading to what the maps in the land agent’s office had indicated was the newest developed area, which included a new building for the sheriff’s department—a facility she’d never see, let alone use. Nothing on the left now but open land—and Virgil running in the middle of the road up ahead. But there were tire tracks and skid marks to the left, indicating that a vehicle had gone off the road and continued overland. He’d missed those.
She didn’t hesitate. She followed the tracks, followed the miscreant. Technically she was out of her jurisdiction, but she’d worry about that later. First she’d arrest the fool and get him back within the town boundaries, and then . . .
Jana spotted the car. Not moving. Car door open but looking odd.
She spotted the birds circling high above the car. Circling and circling, as if waiting.
Mel stopped so abruptly she almost went flying over his head. He snorted and backed away. Tried to turn and run.
“Easy, boy. Easy.”
She tried to coax him forward. He wasn’t having it.
Then she remembered what Tobias said about paying attention to what the horse was trying to tell her.
Stopped car. Circling birds. She was probably too late to do anything more than report a death, but . . . Maybe Virgil was on the trail of the man who had been in the saloon, and that’s why he’d ignored these tire tracks. Maybe this car belonged to someone who had been squatting in one of the houses and got spooked by something and tried to go overland instead of staying on the road. Maybe someone was injured and needed help. Being foolish shouldn’t be a death sentence.
It was her duty to find out if someone needed help, her job to bring them back to town and human law. She hadn’t gone back the other day to find out what happened to those people who had been poking around the houses. She was a cop. She should have gone back. How could she believe she could do the job if she walked away again?
“Okay, boy.” Jana dismounted and ground tied the gelding. It wouldn’t keep him with her if something more spooked him or he smelled a predator, but if there was something nearby, she wanted him to be able to get away.
She scanned the land around the car, looking for what Mel had sensed. She didn’t see anything except some cloth fluttering near the car, didn’t hear anything. She hesitated; then she approached the car, debating with herself every step of the way. Should she draw her weapon now or wait? Were the birds circling above terra indigene or regular ravens or vultures or whatever else was up there? She needed to . . .
Needed . . .
As she reached the car, the wind changed direction and smelled of death.
The lower jaw lay next to the left front tire. The rest of the head was caught in the smashed windshield.
Jana swallowed hard to keep her stomach down and looked at the fluttering cloth.
They hadn’t eaten the body. Not all of it. Maybe there hadn’t been time. After all, Virgil had been in pursuit minutes after the man left the saloon, and she’d been minutes behind Virgil.
She didn’t see any legs, and the torso had been cracked open, all the richest organs scooped out and consumed—or carried off. But enough of the body had been left for the circling birds, for . . .
A shimmer in the air, like heat rising. But the rumbling snarl that was too close, too close, oh, much too close, wasn’t a sound made by heat.
Her hand twitched, moved toward her gun.
Teeth clamped on her wrist, causing her to gasp because she was suddenly too scared to scream. Then the breath of a growl on her skin.
She hadn’t worked for him that long, but she’d recognize Virgil’s annoyed growl anywhere.
He tugged. She stepped back. He tugged. She stepped back.
Step by step they retreated from that shimmer in the air until Virgil swung her around so that sh
e was facing Mel. Her legs were stiff with the effort to walk toward the horse instead of running.
Mel didn’t have that problem. He’d held on to courage and loyalty as long as he could, but the moment she mounted and gathered the reins he whirled around and ran toward the town, which looked incredibly far away.
Had to get to the acknowledged border. Had to . . .
Virgil ran beside Mel. Ran and ran. Then the Wolf slowed to a lope—and Mel matched the pace, as if understanding that they needed to keep moving, yes, but the danger was behind them.
They slowed to a jog. Finally, when they crossed the line on a map that now separated Bennett from the wild country, Jana reined in the gelding and slid off his back. She took a couple of steps away before she bent over and threw up. She’d barely finished when Virgil grabbed her by the back of the shirt and hauled her a few feet away from the puke.
“Stupid human,” he snarled. “Didn’t you learn how to follow a pack leader?”
His shoulders and chest were thickly furred. His face was recognizably Virgil but wasn’t fully the human form. She kept her eyes focused above his waist so she wouldn’t find out what else wasn’t fully human.
“You missed the tire tracks.” The moment she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“Missed them? I missed them?” The words came out as an outraged howl. “Even a puppy couldn’t have missed them. You saw me. You were supposed to follow me.”
He’d known the message about the Cyrus human had gone out to the rest of the terra indigene because he’d sent it. He’d known the Elders had found the man before she’d had a chance to catch up to him and tell him the man might not be that particular kind of enemy.
He’d known and had tried to lead her away from what she had found. But, like a rookie, she’d followed a trail that couldn’t be missed and then justified approaching a potentially dangerous scene without backup. It could have been a trap, an ambush.
She’d been lucky today.
Virgil stepped back and let out a gusty sigh. “The hunt is exciting. The chase is exciting. It’s easy for inexperienced hunters to forget that prey can be dangerous—or that a larger predator has already found the prey and made the kill. Even when you’re focused on the prey, you should never forget about the other predators.”