The saloon brimmed to overflowing with drunk miners and rowdy teenage boys. The alcohol flowed, and the poker games hummed. Adelaide’s show was set to start around ten, but by nine the room was packed. I scurried from table to table, taking orders, mopping up spilled drinks, and delivering vittles.
The men, primed for a good time, watched me work with drunken smiles. Some even made lewd comments as I passed. A table of relic polish salesmen from across the Mexican border whistled and called me bonita. As I poured them more dragon whiskey, they insisted I was a señorita they’d known back in Nogales.
I shook my head, smiling. “Don’t let this dark hair trick you. I’ve never even been out of the Territory.”
“A shame, bonita,” a handsome older man in the group said. “One day, you must see the Hermosillo Relic Fields. They are a sight to behold.”
I nodded, smiling, but inside felt a twinge of sadness that I surely never would. I’d be lucky if I ever got to a new town, let alone a new country.
At that moment, the house lights fell, snuffed out by a gust of wind from Mr. Connelly’s griffin relic. The little three-man-band rattled out a chord of heralding music. Cheers erupted from the audience as the red velvet curtains opened.
But the stage was empty. The murmuring fell quiet as the crowd waited. And waited. Until somebody finally yelled, “Bring her out!”
“Yeah, we want Adelaide!” another cried.
The calls grew louder, and the suspense among the men heightened, until suddenly a single flame, the size of a candle’s flicker, appeared on the empty stage.
“Look!” someone said.
The little flame rippled for a moment, and then, with a flash of orange light, it exploded into an enormous blaze. Gasps of wonder erupted from the audience. And then, with a flourish of the band, Adelaide suddenly burst from the center, her arms flung out.
The crowd went wild.
The flames dropped to a small ring of fire around her. She stood in the center, beaming and bowing. After the cheering had died down a bit, the music started up. Adelaide began to sway her hips. She was draped in a long, fireproof cape, which she slowly began to shimmy out of. First, she revealed her bare shoulders. Then she pulled it up a little to show her legs. The men were howling by now, jumping up from their chairs. Adelaide turned her back to them. Eddie ran his hands up the piano keys in a dramatic glissando, and Adelaide tossed the robe in the air. It burst into a flash of white flames and was gone. Naturally, this only made the men crazier.
Adelaide spun around, dressed in a crimson corset with a skirt only a few inches long in the front that swept back to a fashionable bustle. The whole outfit was styled to suggest the form of a phoenix. Her blond hair was piled high on her head with a red ostrich feather gleaming in it and a red choker wrapped around her slender neck.
A plum-sized oval of gold gleamed from the center of her bodice. A relic. Phoenix bone, sewn right into her costume. Adelaide stroked the mirror-like piece and winked at the audience, looking scandalous but undeniably beautiful. The other girls came on behind her, kicking their legs in the air, and the number went on. I smiled and shook my head as I turned back to my work. Adelaide certainly knew how to put on a show.
Tom passed me, cradling a tray of empty dishes on his arm. “Them high rollers need more dragon whiskey.”
I looked over at the secluded table tucked into a shadowy corner of the saloon, the usual haunt of the wealthy and powerful in the valley. Immediately, I could tell something was amiss. For starters, not a single man there was watching Adelaide’s dance. And while there were cards and poker chips on the tabletop, no one was playing. Instead, they all bent in to speak over the noise, their faces stone serious. And none other than Álvar Castilla sat at the head of the table.
Usually when he came into the saloon, it was with a raucous group of young Haciendos like himself. They drank and laughed and flirted with the prettiest of the dancers. Tonight, however, Álvar seemed all business.
“Whiskey,” Tom snapped, breaking my reverie. He was grouchier than usual tonight.
“Easy now,” I said. “I’m goin’.” Tom snorted and tromped off to the back room.
I smoothed the sweaty strands of hair from my face and surveyed the high rollers’ table again. Álvar spoke to the men with intensity, making tight gestures with his hands. He looked a little more ruffled than I’d seen him last. His black hair was damp with sweat. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt, and his vest was unbuttoned.
A stranger seated beside him caught my eye. He was stroking his bearded face and eyeing Álvar with unease. He was older, mid-fifties perhaps, and he was huge—tall and bulky as a bear. He wasn’t from Burning Mesa, that much I knew. The man reeked of money. It gleamed on his countenance. From the rich, beaver fur–lined coat to the sparkling diamond cuff links on his sleeve to the oiled perfection of his brown hair.
But more than any of that, I noticed the egg-sized relic that topped his walking cane. It gleamed pale yellow, like a piece of moon. Werewolf bone. Not only dazzlingly rare and expensive, but highly illegal. They had once been used by soldiers for the surge of strength and speed they created within the wielder, but the viciousness and bloodlust that inevitably took over proved too hard to keep under control. And too dangerous in the hands of the wrong kind of people. As shadow relics, they had not only been banned, but the government had confiscated most of them long ago. Though I was learning that if you were rich enough, nothing was off-limits.
Keeping an eye on the wealthy stranger, I got the top-shelf dragon whiskey from our bartender.
“Smits,” I asked as he laid the glistening amber bottle in my hand, “who’s that man with Álvar? The filthy rich one.”
Smits adjusted his spectacles and peered over at the high rollers’ table. “Oh, him? That’s Emerson Bolger. He’s some big relic tycoon. Owns half of the mining companies in the Colorado Territory.”
“Does he own the mines here?”
“No, but he sure as hell wants to.”
Smits went back to his work, and I cautiously approached the high rollers. Álvar’s voice drifted toward me over the noise in the saloon.
“The sheriff is unwilling to do what must be done. This is unacceptable to me—to all of us. I say, if he will not do his job to protect this city, then I must.”
My ears burned. I knew I wasn’t meant to hear these words. Luckily, the moment I stepped into the alcove, Álvar looked up, and a smile spread over his face.
“Why, good evening, Miss Davis. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
It seemed strange to have such a handsome and wealthy young man pay any attention to me. I did my best not to act flustered. “Pleasure to see you as well, sir.”
“Please call me Álvar.”
I noticed a few of the men glance at me, half smirking.
“I’d better stick with ‘sir,’” I said, trying to ignore them. “Seein’ as how you’re my boss.”
I poured the dragon whiskey into his goblet. As any good fire relic vintage would, it hissed as it touched the glass, and a slender wisp of smoke curled up. Álvar watched me pour, grinning. I’d never seen such straight white teeth. “And how do you like working here at my fine establishment?” he asked when I’d finished.
“It’s very good, sir. Thank you.”
Álvar laughed. “Señor Bolger,” he said, turning to address the large, opulent stranger who sat beside him. “This is my new employee, Maggie Davis. Maggie, I would like you to meet Emerson Bolger. He is a fellow businessman and investor.”
“Charmed,” Mr. Bolger said, not looking up as he pulled a fat cigar from a gold tin case he carried in his inner pocket.
I bowed my head, and at that moment, a roar went up from the crowd. It was the big finale of Adelaide’s act. She was bursting into flames and reappearing in different places in the saloon. The men loved it and begged for her to show up on their table. When she indulged their pleas, they’d go wild, grabbing for her and throwing
their money.
Emerson Bolger took a meditative puff of his cigar. “What about the Apaches who were captured?” His voice was rich and deep as a canyon. “Shouldn’t we interrogate them first?”
I kept my face expressionless and tried to move inconspicuously around the table to fill the rest of the whiskey glasses, listening to every word.
“The prisoners will not speak,” Álvar said. “But there is no need to hear their words. Every man in this room knows why they did it. They made their intention clear last night, attacking our excavators as they slept. The excavators, not the miners. Because miners simply dig into the mountain, but without the specially trained excavators, it is impossible to successfully extract the relics from the rock. What more proof do you need, Señor Bolger?”
“I don’t want proof. I want assurance that this kind of thing doesn’t spread to my town, to the other towns where my miners work.”
“Indeed,” Álvar said. “This thought compels all of us.”
I poured slower, staring at the flicker of light on the rim of the glass and reciting the facts again to myself. It did seem like proof. Another town. Another fire. Only this time, they’d been caught at the scene of the crime. Come to think of it, the Apaches had been found at the scene of my home’s burning as well.
Why had Yahnuiyo been there in the first place? Everything seemed to add up to one conclusion: it really was the Apaches who were burning towns.
But a part of me couldn’t shake the sincerity on Yahn’s face as he insisted on his people’s innocence. Why should I doubt him? He was the reason I still had breath in my body, still had Ella.
“Hey!”
I looked up, startled. A puddle of whiskey shimmered on the floor. Lost in my thoughts, I’d missed the final man’s glass altogether.
“So sorry, sir.”
I bent quickly to sop up the mess. But once I was on my knees, my hand slowed, my focus remaining on the conversation at the table. With the ruckus of Adelaide’s performance ending and the crowd roaring their approval, it was difficult to hear, but I could just make out the voices.
“So what are we supposed to do, then?” one of the men asked. “No one knows where they’re camped. I ’spect they got a mess of goblin relics hiding ’em.”
“Or worse,” Álvar said, letting the ominous words hang in the silence.
An older man at the table cleared his throat. “I thought the Apaches shunned the use of relics. Isn’t that why they’re attacking?”
Álvar snorted. “What they say and what they do can differ greatly.”
A man with fancy shoes beside him spat on the floor angrily. “Everyone knows them greedy Apaches only say that to throw us off their trail. They want the relics all to themselves. That’s why they’re fightin’ us so hard!”
The men at the table murmured in agreement. I dabbed the rag mindlessly on the ground, my head spinning.
“Miss Davis.”
I sprang to my feet, wide-eyed, but Álvar wore a casual smile with no trace of suspicion or anger. “Would you please find Señor Connelly and ask him to join me here?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” He lifted his glass and winked. “And thank you for the good whiskey.”
I took that as a subtle cue that Mr. Connelly alone was to return. After delivering the summons, I got back to my usual chores. I needed time to think, to collect the crush of thoughts in my head. As I cleared some plates and cups away, however, my eyes fell on a distracting face.
Landon Black.
He sat a few tables away, laughing with Adelaide’s dark-haired cowboy. Drinking. Gambling. One of the upstairs girls, a curvy redhead named Dora, stood behind his chair with her hands on his shoulders. As I watched, she leaned closer to whisper something in his ear, and they both laughed. I grabbed for a stack of dirty glasses. I’d heard cowboys kept a gal in every town. Appeared the rumors were true.
I didn’t want to see any more, and I certainly didn’t want him to spot me. I worked fast as I could, but as I reached for the final glass on the table, Landon glanced to his side, and our eyes met.
I straightened with a snap. The cup slipped from my hands, and though I fumbled to catch it, whiskey splashed over the freshly cleaned table. Landon rose from his chair and made a move toward me, but I pivoted, lunging in the opposite direction, and crashed right into a patron. The man staggered back, flailing his arms. Then with a shout, he tumbled onto the table behind him, sending drinks flying everywhere and glass crashing to the floor.
Tom pushed his way over. “What in the hell’s goin’ on here?”
“Nothing,” I said, my face heating up all the way to my ears. “I’ve got it.”
“Jeez, Maggie, we got a full house tonight. You need to watch where you’re going.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, walking away. I bent to clean up the mess, my breath tight with frustration.
“Need some help there, ma’am?”
Landon’s voice sent a cringe through me. “No,” I said, not looking up. “No, thank you.”
He started to gather some broken glasses anyway. “I didn’t mean to put you out of sorts.”
“Yes, well, you shouldn’t…” I caught my mistake. “I mean, you didn’t put me out of sorts. I didn’t even see you. My hand slipped, that’s all.”
Landon failed miserably at suppressing a smile. I should have wanted to shove him, and yet, a smiled twitched at my own lips. To cover it, I elbowed his arm.
He laughed. “Hey, don’t blame me if you’ve got butterfingers.”
I searched for a witty reply but found myself struck dumb by the way he smiled. Looking me over that way, like a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. I blinked hard and stood, cradling my apron, which was filled with pieces of glass. With my hand, I nudged a strand of hair from my eyes. “I’d better put these away.”
I headed over to empty the glass in a mop bucket. Landon followed.
“What are you gonna do after that?” he asked, watching me.
I gave my apron a quick shake. “I have work to do. In case you didn’t notice, we’re a tad busy tonight.”
He frowned. “Can’t you take a little break? Surely Connelly gives you one.”
“Well—”
“Tell you what, you come and sit at our table with Bobby and me and take a load off. I’ll even buy you a drink, so Connelly will make some money off your break.”
I’d never had a drink in my life and didn’t feel like giving him another reason to laugh at me. “I don’t think so,” I said. “You seem a little busy over there.”
Dora had moved on to sit beside a gambler at another table, but she watched Landon, betrayal gleaming in her eyes.
Landon smiled at me, oblivious to her looks. “Not as busy as you. See? You’re the one who should be kicking back, not me.”
Darn it if he wasn’t handsome, with that sandy blond hair and dark brow. He was young but had a worldly glint in his eyes that suggested he was in on the joke, whatever that joke might be.
He was trouble. No doubt about it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Black, but I’d better—”
“Mr. Black?” Landon laughed loudly.
Setting my jaw, I turned away, but he grabbed my arm.
“Come on, Maggie. Just a few minutes.”
Without waiting for a reply, he started to lead me over to his table. Adelaide had just joined Bobby there. She still wore her dance costume and looked a little worn, but she was beaming nonetheless.
“Hi there, honey,” she said to me brightly. “Joining us for a drink?”
I felt keenly out of place, standing there in my oversized mission dress, sweaty and red-faced from work. These were a different kind of people from me. A savvy, older crowd. I was only a sixteen-year-old hostess, who until two months ago had lived in the same one-room house my entire life, hoeing carrots and baking bread. I didn’t belong there.
“Have a seat,” Landon said,
pulling out a chair. “I’m tired just watching you clean this place.”
He pressed on my shoulders, gently lowering me into the chair. “You’ve earned a break.”
I’ll stay for five minutes, I told myself. Five minutes only.
Connelly and Tom were occupied, but I still felt uneasy. I shot a glance at the high rollers’ table. The men in the group looked serious as ever. Their whispered words rang in my ears.
Landon scraped the playing cards and multicolored poker chips away from the center of the table and stashed a half dozen empty shot glasses under his chair.
“Come on, Bobby. Get your vices off the table. We have a lady present.”
Bobby snorted. “My vices?”
Swatting a hand through the air, Landon went to fetch a round of drinks. Whiskey for all of them and a glass of strawberry soda water for me. I wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or pleased that he had me pegged.
“You sure gave a great show tonight,” Landon said to Adelaide, raising his glass in a toast.
She smiled. “Did you like the new opener, then?”
“Sure. You had us all going for a minute.”
She gazed at Bobby, the longing clear in her eyes. “I was thinking of you the whole time.”
Bobby tossed a quick look around, then planted a kiss on her neck.
“Careful,” she said, somewhat sadly, pulling back.
I sipped my soda water, wondering what they had to be careful of.
“What’d you think of the show, Maggie?” Adelaide asked.
I’d barely watched it. I was too busy tracking the clandestine meeting taking place at the high rollers’ table. “It was good.”
Adelaide pursed her lips. “Aw, Mags, you still mad at me about last week?”
I squirmed. It hardly seemed appropriate to bring that up right in front of the men. The last thing I wanted was to conjure the image of me in my dripping-wet underclothes.
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I—”
“I only wanted you to meet Bobby. Him and Landon just barely arrived. These boys only come into town for a few weeks in the spring. You understand, don’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Look on the bright side,” Bobby said, chuckling. “It made for a very memorable first meeting.”
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