Relic

by Renee Collins

  He reached out his strong hand. In the flickering shadows, I saw the images of others like him. Apaches. Standing in the midst of the blazing fire, they called for me. Their voices mingled with the roar of flames to make a deafening blur. Again and again, they spoke a single word.

  Sitsi.

  I didn’t know what the word meant, but something deep inside me was certain it was important. It mattered. I had to remember.

  I’m coming, I shouted.

  The fire raged, ready to consume me. Only Yahn’s dark eyes cut through the flames. I tried to reach for him. I screamed over the endless cries of, Sitsi, Sitsi, Sitsi.

  I’m coming!

  A hand gently slapped my cheek; the contact stirred me from the vision of fire. From somewhere beyond, I heard a man speaking my name.

  Another slap, and I realized it was reality. Somehow, I could feel that the Djinn relic was no longer in my hand. My eyelids fluttered open.

  “Maggie?” Álvar sounded more nervous than I’d ever heard him.

  I looked up through blurry eyes.

  “She’s waking.”

  “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  I blinked hard.

  “Forgive me, Maggie,” Álvar said, brushing the sweat-pasted hair from my forehead. “I should have known that with your talents, the Djinn would be too overpowering.”

  “Help her up, Álvar.”

  He and Sheik Nadir lifted me gently from the ground, where I had somehow ended up.

  “Are you all right?” Álvar asked again, studying my face.

  I released a slow, shaking breath. The images still flashed in my mind, so vivid it was as if I saw them with my waking eye. The fire. My family. Yahn. I couldn’t escape them, how I’d failed them. I sat up.

  Álvar set a cautious hand on my arm. “Are you quite well?”

  “I’m okay,” I said, standing on wobbly legs.

  “Perhaps you should sit for a moment longer—”

  “No. Please. I have to go.”

  Without another word, I staggered away from the pavilion, away from the party. Away from this sparkling, empty world.

  Midnight found me curled up in Ella’s bed, wide awake. After leaving the party, I had retreated immediately to her little attached room, crawled in beside her, and held her close. Ella’s warm, sweet breath fanned against my cheek. I squeezed her small hand, never wanting to let go.

  Since coming to the Hacienda, I had barely seen Ella awake. Yes, we shared the same suite, but the chief nurse, Señora Duarte, kept her on a rigid schedule of studies and outings. And that, combined with my own constant parade of mindless teatimes and pampering, meant we rarely crossed paths.

  It was good to be with my sister, but the vision I’d had under the magic of the Djinn relic haunted me. Yahn’s words, Have you forgotten? echoed more than anything else—maybe because I had forgotten. Landon was right. I had allowed myself to be swept up in the glamour and opulence of the Hacienda. Of Álvar and his relics. I had allowed myself to forget what really mattered.

  But not anymore. With a determined clench to my jaw, I crawled out of Ella’s bed and sat down at the writing desk in our quarters. I would compose a letter to Sheriff Leander, insisting that he examine Landon’s findings about the Chimera Gang. I would demand that he begin a full investigation into the matter and, in the meantime, offer his most capable protection to the Apaches and to Yahn.

  After five different drafts, I’d written a version of the letter that satisfied me. I read it over again, wishing I had better penmanship, and wondering if it wasn’t too brash. But did it matter? We had to get to the bottom of this, and Sheriff Leander needed to know the truth. Who cared if he thought I was too presumptuous? Besides, for all he knew, I had the ear of Álvar Castilla. And that alone gave me some small power.

  I enclosed the letter in a gilded Hacienda envelope. It had to go out immediately, that night. With a firm nod, I pulled on my robe and tucked the envelope into my pocket.

  The dim hallways stretched out with nothing but carpet and low-burning lamps. Most servants were probably out tending to the last guests at the party or starting the huge task of cleaning up. I searched for a single maid or valet but found only empty rooms.

  Then, just as I approached a T intersection in the hall, men’s voices drifted into my hearing. Rough, agitated voices.

  I halted where I stood. I recognized one of them all too well. Few men had a more unpleasant way of talking than Mr. Percy Connelly.

  I flattened my back to the wall of the corridor. Part of me knew I should run back to my quarters as fast as possible, and yet the rest of me begged to stay. The clandestine tone in Mr. Connelly’s voice hinted at dirty dealings and some ripe, important thing.

  “He’s a damn fool, I say. Having that ruddy Sheik shipped in with his gibberish relic. And all for what? For show.”

  A second voice came. “I want to know how he’s paying for this. His family’s good name, no doubt? Or perhaps Hacienda bonds?”

  Both men laughed. I strained to recall how I recognized the other voice.

  “Castilla thinks relics are going to save him,” Connelly sneered. “He thinks that stupid girl is going to save him.”

  I flattened even closer to the wall, squeezing in my breath.

  “Nothing will save him from what I have in store,” the other man said.

  I finally placed his voice. It was Emerson Bolger.

  “I tell you this,” Emerson continued. “If Castilla doesn’t cooperate, he has reason to fear. He knows now what I am capable of. I will do exactly what we have discussed.”

  “Careful what you say,” Connelly hissed. “These walls have a way of listenin’.” He sighed. “We’d better get back to that party before someone notices. Leave those in your room. We’ll talk more later.”

  I heard the sound of a door closing, and then their footsteps growing more and more faint. My pulse throbbed in my head, beating out the sound of my own whirling thoughts.

  I didn’t know exactly what to make of what I’d just heard. But it was clearly important. I peered around the edge of the wall. The hallway stretched out in both directions, completely empty. The only door close enough to be the one Bolger had closed was right in front of me.

  My heart beating hard, I looked in the direction they’d gone. My mind hollered to me in two voices. One shouted to run back to my room; the other asked me what I would find behind that door. What was Bolger up to? The cruel way he spoke of Álvar caused a tug of loyalty within me. For all of his flaws, Álvar had been nothing but generous to Ella and me since we arrived. I’d hate to see men like Connelly and Bolger try and hurt his good name.

  I stepped to his door and set my hand on it, the beating sound in my head drowning out all other noise. But I had to know. With a trembling hand, I twisted open the brass doorknob and stepped into Emerson Bolger’s room.

  A stack of papers had been set on the desk right by the door. I bit my lip. What if I found something in those papers? Some incriminating tidbit, some way to solve the mystery that literally haunted my dreams? I tossed a glance at the open door. Surely I’d hear if Mr. Bolger was coming. I just needed one quick peek.

  As gingerly as possible, I lifted the papers to the light. The writing on the first page had been hastily scribbled. Something about the Alkalie Mountains. Mining companies.

  The border along the north ridge of Aldo’s Peak has proven highly lucrative in procuring mermaid relics.

  I bit my lip and flipped to the second page. More random notes beneath it. I perked up slightly at what looked like the description of a relic.

  Main color: red. Accented with black marbling. Strange dark glow. Will have S. Pritchard examine.

  Frowning, I flipped through the rest of the pages. There were receipts and hand-scrawled notes about various mining ventures in other counties. Nothing I could use to directly incriminate Bolger, but they still got my mind humming. I couldn’t help thinking of my conversations with Álvar, of his wo
rds in the Harpy Caverns when he spoke of some men who would do anything to find the truth about the origins of relics. Was Bolger a man like that?

  I set down the papers and backed out of the room, closing Mr. Bolger’s door quietly behind me. But as I turned to go back to my room, my eyes fell on the figure of a man rounding the corner at the end of the hall.

  Emerson Bolger.

  The sight of him shot through me like a bullet. My knees locked, and I suddenly felt as if I were made of stone. Mr. Bolger approached, massive, powerful, nearly a foot taller than me. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  I was still as a statue.

  “Why aren’t you at that silly party?”

  Had he seen me in his room or not? His cold gaze betrayed nothing.

  I scraped for a semblance of calm. “I was tired.”

  Mr. Bolger frowned. “Indeed.” His eyes appraised me, and he snorted again. “You have no idea who you’re tangling with.”

  “I’m not tangling with anyone. Señor Castilla and I have worked out a business arrangement, where—”

  “A business arrangement? That makes it even worse. Trust me, my dear, you don’t want to be doing business with the likes of Álvar Castilla.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk.”

  He snorted. “I’m here to buy him out. And at the price I’m askin’, it’s a damn right act of charity.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was this what he had been talking about with Connelly?

  Mr. Bolger smirked. “Doubtless you’ve been wooed and won by the fine gifts and lavish parties. Maybe you’re as foolish as you look.” One of his dark, thick brows rose. “Álvar Castilla is deep in debt, Miss. Consuming, irreparable debt.”

  I was silent, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “It’s all a big cover-up. A cover-up by him and his pampered Hacienda snobs. See, not only has he squandered his father’s entire treasury, but he’s buried himself so deeply in credit and bad investments that the entire town of Burning Mesa belongs to others in distant counties. It’s all tied up in a mess of collateral and liens and back payments.” He laughed. “If he has any sense at all, he’ll do business with me, on my terms.”

  I stared at Mr. Bolger, trying to piece it all together in a way that made sense. “So you’ve come to either buy him out or ruin him?”

  Mr. Bolger’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You catch on quick.”

  I took a step back, my pulse racing. What kind of villain was standing before me? “And how will you ruin him? What kind of retaliation are you capable of?”

  He seemed to sense the suggestion buried deep in my words. His thick brow knitted, shadowing his eyes. “If I were you, I’d watch out for your own hide and not poke around in matters that don’t concern you.”

  I said nothing, and Mr. Bolger grimaced. “I have work to do.”

  “Yes. I should go back to my room, anyway.”

  “Good. I suggest you stay there. Bad things can happen when little girls start snooping around.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  By dawn the next morning, I was on one of the stallions from the Hacienda’s stables, galloping at full speed toward Burning Mesa, the letter I’d written still sitting on my desk. The situation had become much more pressing. New suspects had entered the picture. I needed to speak with Sheriff Leander myself.

  As I rode, I noticed a strange color to the sky, an off scent in the breeze. I couldn’t put my finger on what it could be, but my mind was too occupied to dwell on it much. In town, the streets were mostly empty. The smithy’s fire was just starting to cough up smoke; a farmer woman arranged fresh vegetables on her cart for the day’s business.

  And yet I could sense the change the moment I got into town. It was too empty. I pulled on my horse’s reins to halt him. Perking up my ears, I listened. And then I heard it.

  Raised voices. Chanting. It was the same sound the lynching mob had made when they gathered outside the sheriff’s office.

  Yahn.

  I jabbed my heels into the horse’s side, and he took off down the street. The buildings and storefronts blurred past me; all I could think was, Please don’t let me be too late. Please, please, don’t let them hang him.

  Like before, the mob of men seethed outside the sheriff’s office, raising their torches and weapons. At least the rangers lined along the deck sidewalk in front were preventing any kind of violence. But that could change at any moment.

  After tying my horse, I pushed right into the center of the mob. I wasn’t afraid of these men with their tight fists and loud, angry words. I elbowed through them, ignoring their irritation. Jake, one of the rangers on the deck outside the sheriff’s office, recognized me. He was among Adelaide’s many admirers as well as a regular I’d served at The Desert Rose. He knew me well enough to know the sheriff and I were on friendly terms.

  “Maggie,” he called, leaning forward to hold out a hand. I grabbed it, and he lifted me up onto the walkway. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, shouting over the roar of the mob. “It’s not safe.”

  “What’s happening? Is it the judge from Durango again?”

  Jake looked hesitant to speak.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Please.”

  “Another town was burned last night, twenty miles from here. There were no survivors.”

  All at once, I realized that it was smoke I smelled on the wind this morning. Smoke that colored the sky. The scent of it filled my nostrils now, choking me like poison. Unbidden, the flames that consumed my home burned in my eyes, and I could hear Dusty whinny in terror. I could see Jeb watching me as the smoke engulfed him. “Another town.”

  Jake set his hand on my arm. “You should go.”

  I blinked hard. I couldn’t just walk away. Because the flames still burned in my eyes, I couldn’t walk away.

  “No. I have to talk with Sheriff Leander.”

  “You know I can’t let you do that. He has a prisoner in there for questioning.”

  “Please. It’s very important. It’s about the razings.”

  Jake pursed his lips. “I can’t.”

  “Please, Jake.” I set a hand on his arm.

  He exhaled and nudged his head to the door. “Make it quick, Maggie.”

  “Thank you.”

  I slipped through the door, shutting out the anger of the mob behind me.

  The sight that met me inside made my heart stop. Yahn sat in a chair in the center of the office, chains pinning his wrists behind his back, and a ball and chain had been strapped around his left ankle. Sheriff Leander leaned against the edge of his desk, rubbing his eyes wearily. When I stepped into the room, they both looked up with a start.

  Sheriff Leander stood. “How did you get in here?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Yahn. The sight of him bound like that tore at me. He looked so tired, so worn down, with dark circles under his eyes and his black hair limp. It pained me to think of him sitting in that barren cell, waiting for his possible death. Wondering if his people would be attacked.

  I felt an unexpected longing to throw my arms around his neck, to hold him and tell him I would do anything to help.

  “Maggie, are you listening to me?”

  I looked up and forced myself to remember why I’d come. “The Apaches aren’t responsible for the razings.”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t them. There’s plenty of proof it was someone else. I tried to tell you before. I explained it to one of your rangers.” I pulled out the newspaper clipping and practically shoved it into the sheriff’s hands. “Look at this for starters. Ever thought about it being the Chimera Gang? It all makes sense, Sheriff. Their leader was hanged, and they want revenge. Everyone knows they use fire relics, that they’re capable of terrible violence. And revenge seems right up their alley—”

  “Maggie.”

  “No, listen. The judge who passed the death sentence on Petey McCoy was from Haydenville. And then Haydenville burns! How can that be a coincidence?”
/>
  “Maggie—”

  “But that’s not all. One of the jurors on the case was from Buena. Buena’s gone. And—”

  Sheriff Leander gripped my shoulders. “Maggie, listen to me.”

  My heart was beating fast from finally being able to talk to him. “What?”

  “The Chimera Gang isn’t responsible.”

  “They are. I’m sure of it.”

  He sighed. “It’s a good theory. It really is. But it can’t be true.”

  “What are you talking about? Look at this article!”

  “The Chimera Gang was captured in the California Territories three months ago. Didn’t you hear about it?”

  I stared at him, struck silent. He released his grip on me and went to slump wearily in the chair behind his desk. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I wish you were right. I wish it were that simple.”

  “No,” I said softly. “No. It can’t be true. Maybe they busted out of prison or…or…”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to face the facts that are staring us in the face, Maggie. I don’t want to. I know you don’t want to. But it’s getting hard to dispute.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sheriff Leander sighed, but his trailing glance to Yahn revealed everything.

  I shook my head. “You can’t honestly think—”

  “There’s no one else it could be. The evidence is right there. Motive and a proven tendency to violence. Come on now. Be reasonable.”

  I looked to Yahn, my heart breaking. His gaze was fixed on the floor.

  “No!” I cried. “He saved my life. I know he didn’t do this!”

  “Maybe not him,” Sheriff Leander said. “I’m willing to believe his personal innocence. But the Apaches in general are responsible. There’s no other way around it.”

  “You’re wrong!”

  Sheriff Leander pounded his desk with a fist. “If you care so much about this Injun here, then why don’t you convince him to talk? I can lessen his sentence if he tells us where to find the Apache camp.”

  “Never,” I said fiercely.

  He rubbed his brow. “Then we have nothing further to discuss, Miss Davis. I’d appreciate if you’d leave the way you came.”