by Ivanna Roze
Cora smiled to herself. This was practically her own private place. Up here, she could see a big part of the Utah countryside. She'd never been any place like it. Michigan, after all, didn't have any mountains. It was mostly flat, and where it wasn't flat it was hills.
The wind was still screaming through, shooting straight through her coat and making her wonder if there was any point in having worn it at all. More than that, though, the higher they got, the colder it got, until she could feel herself shaking and her fingers were turning purple from the cold.
"We're almost there," she assured Ashton. The cold didn't seem to be touching him. He was still completely in control of himself, something that Cora couldn't say. She was already beginning to doubt coming here. Was it worth all this unpleasantness? She let out a breath.
They were close. She would be able to get inside that lovely cabin she'd seen in her mind, and get a fire started. Then they would warm up by the fire—the memories from that morning flashed through her mind again, unbidden, and her face got hot from the blush.
She took a deep breath in. Nothing to worry about. She was going to keep control of herself. She had to, after all. She was the lookout. It was her responsibility to find the way to the cabin. She had insisted on coming up here. If she got distracted, then what did it say about the entire trip? That it was a waste? That she shouldn't have come?
She felt it stronger this time. They were close. A short cliff fell away into a path back down the mountain, and as it fell away more she saw it.
"There!"
It was right there, on the cliff. Nearly exactly where she had pointed, only fifty yards up. Overlooking the whole basin. She smiled, triumphant. That was it, without a doubt.
She didn't notice through the cold for a few more seconds.
The wind had stopped. Ashton, on the other hand, noticed immediately. Cora could see him looking around. His hand had barely moved, but it was already on his pistol. Ready to shoot at an instant's notice.
"Let's go, Mr. Lowe. Let's get inside."
He took her reins in hand again and started heading down the slope. It was a gentle grade. She took the opportunity to look at the cabin a bit closer.
There was, she saw, a little stable. They might be able to fit their two horses, but it was likely only built to hold one. The house itself was two stories, wooden. The snow blew up against one side nearly high enough to climb into the upstairs window, but against the other she could see green grass.
Opposite the cliff face was the front door, snow that might have been ankle deep blocking the door shut. No lights in the entire place. She let out a breath. Nothing like what she had seen in her vision.
In her mind it had been there, surrounded by green. Overlooking a verdant valley. Flowers were blooming. Nothing like this desolate-looking place. Nothing at all like it. She wanted to go home now. But that would have been a mistake. This close to finally getting answers… she wasn't about to leave now.
No matter how desolate the place her mother had sent that letter was.
Ten
Ashton let Cora off at the door, then took the horses by their leads and headed over to the stable. It wasn't sized for two, but if it was only a few hours they would be fine staying a little close-in together.
Grooming was never his specialty. He wasn't fond of it, and he never would be. but that didn't mean that he was going to be a child about it. After all, he knew what he was doing, it needed to be done, and Cora clearly didn't know the first thing about caring for a horse. He was worried she'd fall off if he let her alone long enough.
He blew into his hands and clapped them together a few times, trying to get blood flowing back in. The snow was too deep to be moved through comfortably, a long winter's snow still accrued up here. With the wind going like it was, he wasn't surprised.
It had stopped the minute that they'd seen the place. Down to the second, he thought. He didn't like that. Didn't like it one bit. Whatever was causing that Devil-sign was watching them. And the minute they went to the cabin, then it had gone quiet.
They'd been led here from the beginning. Who knew if the letter was really from Cora's mother in the first place. There was no proof of it. No way to prove it, really. Which just made it all that much more suspicious.
He wasn't going to rain on her parade, though. The girl wanted to find her mother, who was he to stop her?
He waded through the snow, already closing up where he had pushed through it on the way out, making the return trip only slightly easier. He pushed the door open easily. The wind kicked up a facefull of dust into his face. The place was dark, the windows not providing quite as much light as he would like.
Just as he was reaching to light a match, the fireplace roared to life. Cora was by it, her hands pulled free of her gloves to warm by the small fire.
Ash took a breath to stifle the jump of fear, took out his candlestick, and lit it by the little fire. There was exploring to be done, but first…
He reached back into his bag. He'd better put up wards. Whatever had been blowing that wind through had been plenty obvious, and it had obviously left. But the speed it left with told Ashton that coming back would be just as easy. And then things would be ugly.
He took a quick stock of the room. The primary way in would be the door. He walked back over, checked around the edge with his candle, and was surprised to find wards already in place.
That worried him more, still. The place looked abandoned. He could see the dust over everything, practically an inch thick. He could see a line of footsteps in the dust that led up the steps, where he lost sight of them. He would follow them soon enough. After he finished warding the place.
The biggest windows, then. There was one, large and plate-glass. Again, he was surprised. Warded. He nodded. Then it wasn't some idiot who bought one or two. This was someone who was hoping to live out here, alone. Hoped to live and stay safe.
Well, that was just as well.
He started checking the others. Warded. He followed the way upstairs. Where the line of footsteps went right, he went left. To the side with the built-up snow. A small window. Warded.
He frowned. Something very strange was going on. Nobody would abandon a place like this. Nobody hoping to live alone would build a place so big. Even if they needed a shop—and he hadn't seen a shop—they wouldn't need a place half this big. This was a house for a family. Three generations could have lived here, easy.
So why was the place so empty?
His route through the house, systematically going room-to-room, took him the same way as the footprints in the dust. Paintings still hung on the walls, too dusty to see. Furniture in pristine condition, too high up and too cold for bugs to start eating away at the slowly rotting fabric.
The master bedroom was big enough for two bedrooms. Large and luxurious, everything covered in velvet that was a little bit damp and a little bit moldy to the touch. The footsteps led right up to a small, round table beside the bed. Thick dust over it, same as everything in that house. If Cora were hoping to salvage the place, she would have a good deal of cleaning to do.
On the desk was a single blank square of wood. No dust to speak of, as if something had been there only a few minutes prior. As if something had just left, and whatever had been sitting there, it was gone now. Ash shivered at the thought. There had been something here.
If Cora had been led here by something, tricked into coming, like a trap—either they were already dead, or this was just another part of the trap. He took his gloved hand and wiped the table clean. No clue, no trap.
He looked up and found what he'd been looking for. A little window in the ceiling of the master bedroom. No wards. Still, it didn't mean anything if the window wasn't broken in. That would have been where a Devil could come through. They didn't much like wards, and they didn't much like folks who put them up. But that didn't mean they could pass through solid glass.
Ashton took hold of a dresser, still heavy with clothes, and climbed u
p onto it. If he reached from here, he could about feel the sun-roof window. His fingers came away cold, and more worryingly, wet.
He took his gun and poked at the glass. It gave too easy. This wasn't glass—it was ice. He took a breath. Devils' work, and no doubt. He got the hammer back out of his briefcase, pulled a charm loose.
He wasn't going to make the same mistake that the previous owner had. No chance.
They wouldn't stay out in this house longer than they had to, and then they'd leave this devil-infested territory, and Ashton would go back to living in Cincinnati, hoping he never caught wind of the devil that had taken King Peters.
He knew what he would do, if it came to that, and he sure as hell didn't want to go down that path. Was he afraid? Hell, yes he was.
But it wasn't going to change anything, once he caught wind, and that scared him that much more.
Eleven
Cora let herself sit by the fire a moment longer. It was starting to be quite big, and Ashton seemed to have taken the entire search onto himself. If there was something to find, surely he would call her. But if not, well, she would look around.
She hadn't expected how cold it was. Hadn't expected her fingers to get stiff from the icy coldness. The warmth returning to her body stung badly, but she welcomed it. Just another five minutes, and she would feel human again. Then she could look around.
Ashton came up behind her and settled down beside. Cora blushed at the memory of what had happened between them, the ideas that she had in that cave. What had she been thinking? There was no future for them. None at all.
But that wasn't what had put the thoughts in her head. Nothing about the future. What she'd wanted was to feel him, moving inside her, driving her crazier and crazier until the future didn't matter any more. She closed her eyes. And now she was doing it to herself again. She should have better control of herself.
Cora finally forced herself to stand up. "I'm going to have a look around."
"Go ahead, the place is safe," Ashton assured her without looking away from the fire.
"Can I have that candlestick?"
He took it out and relit it for her. As he passed it, their fingers brushed each other. He was frozen solid, but it didn't stop her from feeling exhilarated. She wanted to sit and comfort him, worry over his chill. But she knew that wasn't even close to all she wanted to do.
Instead she started looking around, left the object of her interests behind. She didn't need to be thinking those kinds of thoughts, not about Ashton Lowe. Regardless of whether he was a good man, they were in completely different social circles. The job the man did would get him killed one day, and from what she could tell they both knew it.
So why was she the one having so much trouble remembering that when she was sitting beside him?
The kitchen was empty. No silver in the drawers, no dishes left in the cupboards. Whoever had lived here, whether it was her mother or someone else entirely, she had cleared the entire place out when she went. She wasn't expecting to find a dead body, or anything so dire. After all—the place had been emptied with care.
Even things of sentimental value weren't left behind, so this was no mere robbery. She would have to check with Ashton, but there was nothing to suggest that anything bad had happened here.
The place seemed to ooze memories, but none of them were here any more. The floors were worn with use, the house cluttered with furniture, but nothing had been left to suggest who had been here or why they had left.
The upstairs was the same. Too many things to be an unused house, but too few to get any idea of what had happened. If this had been her mother's house, she had know way of knowing. And worse than that, she had no way of finding the one that she had left for.
She finished her search around the house with the master bedroom. She could see from the dust that Ashton had taken the most time here, but she found as little as he obviously had. A whole lot of nothing, except for an empty jewelry box.
It was nice, but too large to carry all the way down the mountain on the back of a horse. It wouldn't fit into a saddlebag and her arms would get tired holding it. Besides that, Cora reminded herself, she had no evidence that it was her mothers', and she had plenty of much nicer jewelry boxes. It was only the connection to her mother that had put the thought into her head in the first place.
She opened the top anyways. A tune softly began playing, one that Cora remembered vaguely. Perhaps an Irish folk tune? Her father had never been able to abide them, before he passed on. The constant reminder of where his wife had come from…
Perhaps that was why she had left. Perhaps it was the constant implication that because she was Irish, she wasn't good enough for the man who she'd married. Cora looked closer, holding the candle up to illuminate the inside of the top.
It was lined with a pretty paper printed with a rose-vine pattern, but Cora wasn't looking at that. She was hoping to find—she opened the drawers, one-by-one—some sign of a monogram. A way to prove ownership. She closed the top and picked it up. Turned it over. Checked the back.
There was nothing. This far up the mountain, though, how big a concern was theft? How often would someone dispute ownership? Cora guessed that the answer was just north of "never." She let out a long breath. This wasn't the right way to go about any of this, she thought. She should have been smarter. Should have tried to hunt down more clues.
Maybe if she'd been a better daughter. Maybe she would be able to see her mother now. Maybe the woman would have stayed for her. Or maybe she would at least have left some clue. Some way to find her.
Cora wanted to sit down. She fought the urge to lay down on the bed and relax out her worries. There was nothing there for her. Nothing in the entire house, except for a warm fire and a man who was too much challenge for her to get out of her head. The exact sort of man that she didn't want to be thinking about, in fact.
She didn't like it one bit, but it was what it was, and nothing was going to change that. She forced herself to keep moving. Nothing in the whole house, that meant it was time to go back to the fire and warm herself for the road.
She settled in next to Ashton and it was a moment before he said anything.
"You find what you were looking for?"
She didn't answer him. She knew he already knew what she was going to find, and he was only asking as a formality. Well, she wasn't feeling very formal right now.
"Five minutes by the fire, then we head back down." She held her hands out to get the last bit of stiffness out of them.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you find anything when you looked?"
He hesitated a moment, like he was tabulating, or thinking about what to tell her.
"The place was safe as can be. Someone didn't want any Devil trouble in here."
She nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. You think my mother coulda did it?"
"I've met woman hunters, if that's what you're asking. They're as capable as anyone, I suppose. Depends on how good they are at their jobs."
"How good are you?"
Ashton snorted. "My teacher was one of the best. I guess that should make me pretty good. But then again…"
He let out a breath and she could see that the question had taken more out of him than she had intended for it to.
"Hey. You've been doing great."
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, cocked an eyebrow.
"Sure."
Twelve
Ashton kept his eyes on the fire. It was easier that way. If he looked at her, even now that the fertility Devil's effects had long-since worn off, then he would be filled with all sorts of ideas that he couldn't even consider going along with.
As long as he could pass the time, get her back to Detroit in one piece, then everything would be fine. Ash had never wanted to be tied down to a woman. Part of what made his job so nice was that he could live in the city and travel around as much as he wanted.
But Cora wasn't the sort of woman you passed a few lonely
evenings with and then left behind, and the fact that he didn't mind the idea very much had him worried.
He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head. There was nothing good going to come from introspection but worries. There was no time for that, not in this business. He had never felt better after he thought a lot about himself. Only ever worse.
It wasn't that he was afraid of settling down, he knew. It was the Devil. The one who had killed King Peters. It might be twenty years until they found it. Maybe thirty. He wouldn't know until the word came, but when it did, he would know.
When he knew, he'd go with the boys to go and they would try to kill it. And when that happened, he was a dead man. It was as simple and as unpleasant as that. No woman deserved to bear that cross. Ash knew he couldn't put it on her. More than that, he wouldn't. It didn't matter what he wanted. It only mattered that he had to leave her be.
He stood up fifteen seconds before five minutes was up by the timer in his head. Pulled his coat and gloves back on, set his hat back on his head.
"I'll fetch the horses."
The way back to the stable was about as clear as it had been. For that, at least, he was thankful that the wind had faded. The implication that it left, though, was still as sour in his mouth as it had ever been.
The horses didn't argue with him, which was a bonus. He fished a few carrots out of his saddlebag and gave them over before he put the saddles back on.
They didn't argue, they weren't bossy, and they didn't want things that were bad for them. They would listen and trust their rider, if the rider knew what they wanted. For all intents and purposes, they were nothing like him, and they were nothing at all like Cora Little.
He could do with as few Cora Littles around him as possible. It was no good for him to be spending all his time distracted, thinking about her the way he had been. Trying to figure out how she was going to get herself into trouble. He should have turned down the job. It would have been better that way.