Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  “Ross Juarez is a claim jumper.”

  Ross’s head snapped up. “I am not!” His voice cracked.

  The sheriff gestured to him to be quiet. “You’ll get your turn.”

  The bounty hunter’s voice was even deeper than Mr. Riley’s. “Ian Voske told me that Juarez stole a valuable item from a claim staked by one of his own prospectors. I was hired to retrieve the item and to bring Juarez back alive.”

  “So he can kill me and put my head on a pike,” Ross said.

  The bounty hunter shrugged. “What Voske does with you afterward is his business.”

  “I’m not a claim jumper!”

  Sheriff Crow slammed her hand on the table. The two of them shut up. “What’s the item?”

  “A book,” replied the bounty hunter. “I wasn’t told what’s in it.”

  The sheriff addressed Ross, whose right hand was so tightly clenched that his knuckles had paled. “What’s in this book?”

  Felicité had to lean forward to catch the mumbled “I can’t read it.”

  So even after weeks in school, he was still illiterate. He might be tough, but he wasn’t bright.

  “Tell me what happened after Voske hired you,” said Sheriff Crow to the bounty hunter.

  “First I cornered him at the Joshua tree forest. I figured he’d surrender. But no. He crawled through the entire thing.”

  Sheriff Crow said what Felicité was thinking: “Can you do that?”

  Ross muttered, “The thorns start two feet up the trunk. Mostly.”

  Grandmère Wolfe had taught that Joshua trees had root and branch systems that made the entire forest one big tree, two miles around. Was Ross brave, or a coward? From what Felicité knew of Voske, she supposed that she, too, would rather crawl through two miles of thorns than face him.

  The bounty hunter continued. “He went so deep into the desert, I figured he’d die of thirst, get eaten by a coyote pack, or run into a hive cactus. But no. Eventually I cornered him in a gully that dead-ended in a cement wall. He got away from me there, too.”

  “How?” asked Sheriff Crow.

  “He sank a knife into me and dove into a grove of singing trees.”

  Felicité’s pen jerked, spattering the page. She’d heard about the shard Ross had cut from his arm—which was brave enough, but getting within range of those trees on purpose? After she’d seen a singing tree kill a deer, she’d had nightmares for weeks. If the choice was Voske or singing trees, there was no question: she’d prefer Voske.

  “Your turn, Ross,” said Sheriff Crow. “How did you get the book?”

  “It was in my claim, and I have it marked on a map. Here.” Ross pulled a rolled hide from his backpack. “It was in open territory. Voske’s soldiers jumped my claim.”

  The bounty hunter took out his own map. “Here’s the borders of Voske’s kingdom. And there—well inside the border—is the claim.”

  The sheriff compared the maps. “I see that his kingdom is significantly bigger than it was a year ago. And much bigger than the boundaries marked on Ross’s map. It isn’t his fault that Voske has conquered a number of towns and laid claim to enormous parcels of open territory since the map was made.”

  The bounty hunter shrugged and refolded his map.

  “It’s my claim,” Ross insisted. “This is my grandmother’s map, with her claims marked on it. She left it to me when she died. But when I started excavating my claim, Voske’s gang jumped me.”

  “What happened then?” asked the sheriff.

  “They stole my burro and everything he was carrying—my shotgun, my trade goods, my tools, my food and water—and gave me the count of thirty to run before they started shooting.”

  “How did you get away with the book?”

  “I snuck back at night and took it. It was mine!”

  “Do you dispute the bounty hunter’s account of how you got here?”

  Ross rubbed his side. “Except that he didn’t mention that he shot me, no.”

  The man smiled. “I notice you didn’t ask about his Change yet, Sheriff.”

  “What?” Ross’s voice cracked again.

  “It’s not relevant,” the sheriff said.

  The bounty hunter leaned in, his voice persuasive. “Isn’t it? You’re feeling sympathy for him right now. You believe him. Weren’t you seeing him as a harmless little boy you want to take care of? That’s what he does.”

  Felicité noted the brief look of doubt that crossed the sheriff’s hideous face. Ross looked appalled, but that was an easy expression to fake.

  “I wouldn’t call him harmless.” Sheriff Crow cast a meaningful look at the bounty hunter’s bandaged arm.

  As she wrote, Felicité realized that she, too, had been sympathizing with Ross, or at least imagining what she’d have done in his place. What if the bounty hunter was telling the truth? And what if Ross could read minds as well as influence them? The idea of anyone digging into her thoughts was horrifying. She hoped the sheriff would order him to leave right then and there.

  “Ross, let’s see the book,” Sheriff Crow said.

  “I hid it in the desert.” Ross opened his backpack. “Search if you want.”

  Sheriff Crow gave him a wry look, her one eyebrow lifted. Then she shrugged. “Fine. Without proof that you stole it, the book is your property.” She turned to the bounty hunter. “Is this book worth Voske sending an army to retrieve it?”

  “He doesn’t need an army. He sent me.”

  Sheriff Crow’s eyebrow went up again. “I see. Ross, go back to the Lees’.” She cast a sarcastic look at the bounty hunter, and Felicité could hear the quotation marks in her voice when she spoke. “‘Bounty hunter.’ Why don’t you go to Jack’s Saloon and have a beer while the council meets? Felicité, please bring the council.”

  Ross was out the door before Felicité had capped her ink bottle. If he could influence people, why didn’t he make Tommy and his friends quit throwing rocks at him? Why didn’t he convince that bounty hunter to let him go?

  Somebody here is lying, she thought as she slipped out into the night.

  An hour later, her father stood before the council, arms folded. “With all the new information we’ve learned, it seems that this situation is no different than Voske’s demand for tribute five years ago. Giving him what he wants will only make us seem weak. It’ll make him more likely to attack us, not less.”

  Judge Vardam nodded. “Since this bounty hunter cannot prove that Ross Juarez stole the book, I am little inclined to believe him. And since he was hired by Voske? Not at all inclined. In fact, I don’t even want him in town.” Felicité couldn’t mistake the angry glance the old woman gave her daddy.

  Judge Lopez also glared at him. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that you cannot withhold important information from the rest of the council, Mr. Preston. You had no right to keep that man’s secrets.”

  Felicité’s father didn’t lose his cool. “I made a judgment call. Maybe it was the wrong one. Anyway, you all know now.”

  “Let us have a vote,” her mother said quickly. “Who wants the bounty hunter to leave town empty-handed?”

  To Felicité’s surprise, it was unanimous. Then she understood: her daddy was going to lose anyway, so his vote demonstrated that he was willing to compromise.

  Sheriff Crow said, “I’ll see to it that he’s out of here by sunup.”

  Her parents always stopped talking about Voske whenever Will walked into the room, but Felicité knew all about his kingdom festooned with the heads of his enemies, the towns he’d conquered to expand his empire, and his Changed children, who had been promised kingdoms of their own when they came of age. She wanted Ross gone, but she would be glad to see Voske’s man gone too.

  As Felicité headed home, her father’s praise of Jennie echoed in her ears. She couldn’t stop s
eeing Jennie and Indra presiding over the council.

  It will not happen, she promised herself.

  By the time she returned to her party, she knew exactly what to do. She scattered compliments on Jennie’s dancing, her party dress, and her teaching skills, all in Indra’s hearing. Clink! Clink! Clink! When Jennie headed for the door, Felicité thanked her for coming. Clink!

  Before Indra could follow, Felicité said wistfully, “I envy Jennie! So good at everything she does. She and Ross Juarez are amazing to watch at the schoolyard every morning. Their sparring looks like they’re dancing together.” Then she gave Indra her politest smile and moved away.

  After the guests departed, her father called her into his office. The council record book was open on his desk. Felicité glanced at the upside-down pages, and recognized the sheriff’s interrogation of Ross and the bounty hunter.

  “Darling,” he said. “You’re grown up enough to help out with investigation. If there is any sign that Ross is Changed—if you see anyone behaving as if they’re influenced by something outside of themselves—I want to know. And if you see that book of his, tell me.”

  Felicité smiled. “Leave it to me.”

  22

  Jennie

  JENNIE CIRCLED ROSS, LOOKING FOR AN OPENING ON his left. She’d found that he learned faster if she didn’t encourage or explain.

  She feinted, jabbed, ducked under his kick, and swept low to take out his left knee. He pivoted. Down rammed his right arm, strong as whipcord and steel, to block her kick. She glimpsed a fleeting smile that sparked a sunburst in her heart. He was getting it, all on his own. Even if he never recovered the full use of his hand, he was slowly filling the hole in his left-side defense.

  He attacked. She let him step in, then moved close and grabbed his left wrist. He instinctively turned it to try to grab back, but his fingers couldn’t grip. She twisted his arm into a joint lock and swept his feet. He hit the ground, his hair fanning around his head. She pounced, pinning his arms with her hands and his body with her weight. Ross tapped out.

  He was learning, but he wasn’t there yet. And he knew it.

  He grinned up at her, muscles loosening under hers. It was nice to see, though she knew he’d soon tense up again. She’d never seen him relaxed except during or right after a match.

  Jennie rose and offered her hand to pull him up. Then she remembered: he didn’t like being touched once they were done sparring. She was about to step back when his fingers gripped hers. A grunt, a tug, and he was on his feet again, his breathing even, the steady pulse above the curve of his collarbone visible at the loose collar of his shirt. He was still far too thin.

  “I’m thirsty.” A voice broke the magic circle.

  It was Z, standing with the other students in the schoolyard.

  She sensed something amiss, but everyone was where they should be—and then she noticed Indra, perched on the fence post. That was odd. He usually spent his mornings with his family, or in private lessons with Sera.

  “Good session, don’t you think?” she called, giving him a wave. Then she turned to her students. “Practice is done. You’ll find your assignments on your slates.”

  She turned to ask Indra about shield side defense, but he was gone. Odd.

  Ross was squeezing his left hand in his right.

  “Give it time.”

  “I know.” Now that he wasn’t fighting, he was falling into his habitual slouch, as if closing into himself.

  Jennie hated seeing that as much as she hated seeing the dark smudges under his eyes. Nasreen had whispered that they were the shadows of his incredible eyelashes, but she knew better; Mia had mentioned finding Ross asleep in her yard.

  He had agreed to go to the beach with the two of them and the kids, so maybe he wanted to socialize but didn’t know how. “Come to Luc’s with me tonight,” she suggested. “I think you’d really like Sera Diaz. The Rangers are friendly, I promise. And they love to talk about sparring.”

  At the word “Luc’s,” Ross’s shoulders had tightened. “Thanks. Maybe another time.” He shot through the school door as if escaping a firing squad.

  Beach is fine, Luc’s is not fine. Too crowded? Too noisy? Too many reminders of Felicité calling him a mutant? Jennie sighed, then turned her attention to the day’s work.

  • • •

  She was still thinking about Ross during Ranger practice. Could the obstacle course help strengthen his hand? She was so distracted that she didn’t register how quiet Indra had been until he approached her afterward.

  “Walk with me to Luc’s?” he asked.

  “Don’t we always?”

  Indra gave her a quick, odd glance, his braid swinging. Golden light from a longhouse highlighted his face as he said softly, “You never gave me an answer. About moving in. Let’s talk about it after Luc’s, okay?”

  Jennie’s stomach clenched as she nodded. She’d known this talk was coming, but each day she’d thought, Not yet. Now she’d spend the entire evening dreading it.

  “Indra? Jennie?” Frances called. “We’re stopping by Sera’s.”

  They caught up with the Rangers at Lisl Plaza, the square of adobe houses where Sera and Paco lived. Windows were opened to the balmy summer air, sending out the delicious aromas of fried onions and garlic and cilantro. Families sat around tables at the evening meal. Jennie could hear one of her eight-year-olds retelling the legend of Orion, which she’d taught during today’s astronomy lesson.

  Teaching. Stories, true and imagined, passed from one to another. Hearing it made her feel good.

  When Sera opened her front door, Yuki and Paco looked up from the couch, startled. Paco’s bandaged leg was propped on a footstool.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Sera inquired with a smile. The Rangers behind her hid theirs. Jennie had guessed that the guys had been secretly dating, but Yuki was so private that she hadn’t even asked Meredith.

  “Yuki was trying to get me to go to Luc’s,” Paco explained.

  “My treat.” Yuki brandished a handful of scrip. “Come on.”

  “Yes, come,” said Sera. “We’re all going. Unless you two would rather have your own table?”

  “I don’t want to go at all,” said Paco. “Luc’s is where I play. Where I dance. I don’t want to go to Luc’s and sit.”

  “You want to go and eat tacos,” Julio suggested.

  “Who cares about tacos? Doc benched me for a whole month. He says when I’m onstage, I play with my entire body, not just my hands. All I’m allowed to do is go to my apprenticeship and cut glass,” he finished miserably.

  “You do play with your entire body,” Frances pointed out.

  “Yes, but Doc Lee wasn’t supposed to know that.” Paco retorted. He added gloomily, “Somebody ratted me out.”

  Sera shook her head. “Paco. You don’t lie to the doc. You know what he can do. You might end up a hundred and twelve years old.”

  “That’s not funny,” said Paco, though everyone was laughing.

  “Okay, let’s move. Rangers!” Sera pointed to Paco. “Mission: Luc’s!”

  Six Rangers swooped down and hoisted him into the air. Those beneath his bad leg were careful to keep it straight. He protested unconvincingly. Jennie grabbed his crutches as the Rangers began marching down the path. Someone called the count; someone else laughed.

  Sera and Yuki—with the cushion—followed. “You two are dating, aren’t you?” she asked, with a grin. “You can admit it. I promise, the Rangers won’t tease you.”

  Paco glanced back. “Cat’s out of the bag, Yuki. Yes, Mom, we are.”

  Julio immediately made a loud kissy noise. Yuki rolled his eyes, but a smile flickered at the corners of Paco’s mouth as he rapped Julio on the head.

  The smile vanished when they entered Luc’s and he saw the empty stage. The Rangers assured him the m
onth would fly by and they knew people who’d had worse injuries, but Paco winced, as if sorry he’d come.

  They meant well, but who likes being told to be grateful it wasn’t worse—that it doesn’t really matter—that it’s not as bad as you think it is—when you’ve been hit with a huge disappointment? Jennie was trying to think of something that would actually be comforting when Sera started confiscating everyone’s lemonade and ale glasses and lining them up. Jennie had no idea what she was doing, but Yuki seemed to; he flashed a quick grin as he handed Sera a spoon.

  Ah, Jennie thought as Sera began tapping on the glasses. Each one rang with a different note. When she hit a sour one, she made a face, and took a sip out of that glass—Julio’s, Jennie thought. Then she hit it again. The note was still flat.

  Paco tilted his head, listening.

  “He did that on crystal once, when I was visiting the glazier’s,” Yuki told Jennie. “It sounded like chimes.”

  Sera tapped at the glasses, trying to play a melody.

  “Here,” Paco said, after the third sour note. “There’s an exact measure. Don’t tell me you don’t remember from school. Everybody has to do this experiment.”

  A chorus of “I forgot!” and “We did?” rose up as Paco tapped a glass, his slanting brows furrowed. He took a careful sip. When he had gotten the glasses tuned to a full octave, he sat back, satisfied.

  Sera began tapping out the opening notes of “Hijo de la Luna.” Yuki picked up his fork and thumped on the table, heavy on the downbeat.

  With two knives, Paco began beating out a counterpoint. Jennie started to sing, and everyone joined in. Paco played the table and plates and glasses like a one-man band.

  Except for their skin and hair color, which were the same shades of brown and black, Paco and Sera looked so different—Sera with her straight brows and softly rounded features, Paco with his wickedly slanting brows and sharp nose, cheekbones, and chin. But their expressions were the same, focused and intent on the rhythm.