by Cynthia Hand
“No!” Jane shouted. Then, softer, she said, “I mean, no, of course not. That would be silly.”
“Jaaaane.” Annie couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You have a crush! Since when? And how serious?”
“Not serious at all anymore.” Jane crossed her arms. “So yeah, we kissed, the one time, and it was nice, but then she—he, I mean, Edward Wheeler—wrote that article about me and basically told everybody I’m a garou, and now my feelings are hurt, and everything else kind of hurts, too.”
“Oh, right.” That was a splash of cold water on the only fun news Annie had heard all day. “In that case, I’m on Jane’s side. We can’t bring Wheeler into this again. He broke Jane’s heart!”
Frank gave Annie a measured look. “Perhaps he did, but he can help us, and maybe he deserves another chance.”
Shame boiled up through Annie. Here she was, someone who’d broken Frank’s heart, and he was still letting her help. “All right,” she said. “As someone currently benefiting from a second chance, I think it’s only right that I vote second chance, too, even if I’m still mad at him on Jane’s behalf.”
“Same,” Frank said. “Except for the part about currently benefiting from a second chance. Unless I’ve done something I don’t know about.”
“Ugh,” Jane moaned. “Uuuuuugh. You don’t understand. That article was the worst.”
“Did you read it?” Annie asked, pulling her copy of the newspaper out of her pocket.
“You’ve been keeping that on you?” Jane made a faint gagging noise.
“It’s interesting. And he’s a good writer.”
“We can’t trust writers,” Jane insisted. “They’re horrible liars and they like it when bad things happen to nice folks like us. ‘Makes a better story,’ they say. They like our suffering.”
“Right,” Annie said. “Back to the point. The title is a piece of horse dung, but Mr. Wheeler might not be responsible for that. He wrote the article in a way that’s actually sympathetic to you. He makes you out to be some kind of heroine.”
“Hero-eene,” Jane corrected. “But go on. Tell me what it says.”
Annie cleared her throat and began reading. “‘We’ve all come to know Calamity Jane as a performer in Wild Bill’s Wild West, along with the stories of her exciting adventures in the company of Wild Bill Hickok. But there’s more to this woman than meets the eye. What makes Jane special is her ability to resist the traditional restraints and perceived requirements of her sex; Jane defies the patriarchy by taking jobs typically held by men, and doing them with considerably more skill than most men.’”
Jane sighed dramatically. “Fine. That’s pretty nice, I guess.”
Annie went on to read the next paragraph, which was about how Jane had worked alongside Wild Bill and Frank Butler to investigate a series of garou bitings in Cincinnati, how she had fearlessly battled these renegade garou, and somewhere along the line ended up being bitten, dooming her to become a garou herself. The article ended with “It seems entirely likely that Jane will confront this new condition with the same grit and good-hearted humor that she has everything else. Get ready to meet someone who defies expectations and redefines what it means to be a garou: Calamity Jane.”
Jane scratched the back of her neck. “I do like the part about defying the pantry-arch. A shame no one else in town read past the headline.”
“I don’t think Edward Wheeler meant for anything bad to happen to you,” Annie said. “He was only doing what he thought was best.”
“Well, it wasn’t for the best,” Jane said.
“No,” Annie agreed softly. “Sometimes we think we know something, and then it turns out we know nothing at all.”
“So about the plan,” Frank interjected. “Annie will go ask Many Horses to give us the cure for the cure to free all the thralls, and we’ll talk to Edward Wheeler—”
“I don’t know where to find him.” Jane crossed her arms.
Frank looked at Jane like he was reevaluating his own expectations. “I know where to find him.” He stood up and tugged his shirt straight. “All right. We’ll go to Edward Wheeler and get him to write about Swearengen for this evening’s edition.”
Jane stood, too, although more reluctantly. “Maybe you can go by yourself, and I’ll go with Annie.”
“No, you need to tell Edward Wheeler the truth about Al Swearengen.” Frank touched Jane’s shoulder, and George came to lean against her leg. “It can only come from you, Jane. Come on. You can do this.”
“All right. Fine. Have it your way.” Jane lowered her eyes, but after a second, she straightened and dug through her pockets. “Oh! Annie! I have this for you.”
Annie cringed, wondering what it could possibly be, but then Jane produced a crumpled ten-dollar bill.
“I thought you might want your money back.”
“Oh, yes.” Annie took the bill at the corner; it was damp with sweat. “Thanks. And I have this still.” She pulled the rose quartz from her own pocket. “I think it’s yours?”
Jane’s eyes lit up. “You kept it!”
“Just holding on to it for you.” Annie dropped the stone into Jane’s cupped palm. “It’s pretty.”
Jane breathed on the quartz and polished it against her shirt. “Sure is.”
“Are we ready to go?” Frank asked. “We need to move quickly.”
Everyone nodded, and they all headed downstairs and to the livery, where Annie saddled Charlie’s horse. George rose onto his hind legs and put his front paws into the stirrup.
“Are you sure, boy?” Frank asked.
George yipped.
“Fine. If you insist.” Frank lifted George into the saddle. “Looks like my dog is going with you, Annie.”
Annie grinned. “Good boy, George.”
George grinned, too, his tongue lolling out, and then he scrambled to the back of the saddle while Annie climbed onto Charlie’s horse.
“Charlie’s gonna want his horse back,” Jane said. “Now that he’s here.”
“Whoops, sorry, didn’t hear that, bye!” Without another word, Annie kicked Charlie’s horse and galloped away.
It wasn’t until halfway back to the bear clearing when Annie started to worry that Many Horses might not be there. She probably had a lot of other places she liked to hide out.
Annie urged Charlie’s horse faster, and as she crashed into the clearing, she heard a voice say, “Hey, you!”
Annie reined Charlie’s horse to a halt and looked up to find Many Horses and Walks Looking sitting in front of their tent. They both gave little waves.
“You’re right on time,” Many Horses said. “We’ve been waiting.”
Annie frowned and slipped off Charlie’s horse. George, for his part, remained perched on the saddle. He didn’t like most girls, Annie recalled. Well, maybe he should have thought of that before he’d decided to come along. She turned to Walks Looking and Many Horses. “What do you mean you’ve been waiting? How long have you been waiting?” Surely they had better things to do than sit around and wait for her to have some sort of crisis.
“Not long.” Walks Looking climbed to her feet. “We were out hunting and Many Horses said she wondered if you were going to have some sort of crisis—”
Annie stamped her foot. “Well, drat.”
“Annie Oakley, watch your mouth!” Many Horses said.
Annie pressed her hands to her mouth.
“Moving along,” Walks Looking said, “my sister was right. I told her that you and Frank were clearly in over your heads with Swearengen but seemed determined to move against her anyway.”
“We got to thinking about everything you told us, and I thought you’d probably be back for this.” Many Horses held up a glass vial. The wolfsbane.
Annie’s breath caught. “Okay. Good guess.”
Many Horses flashed a pleased look. “I love being right.”
“Things that are not news,” Annie said, “that.”
“It’s not like I can h
elp it.”
Annie understood. “So, important question: do you have more?”
Many Horses tilted her head. “There’s wolfsbane all over. But if you’re asking whether I’ve made more cures for enthrallment, no. Just enough for my sister.”
Annie rubbed her temples and considered. “All right. So our plan is to cure all the garou in Deadwood so that they turn against Swearengen. But with a limited amount of the cure for the cure to free all the thralls—”
“Cure for the cure to free all the thralls?” Walks Looking wrinkled her nose.
“We needed to call it something.”
“Wolfsbane is fine,” Many Horses said.
“I need to figure out a good way to distribute the wolfsbane to break the garou free of the enthrallment. Maybe if I put it in the town water supply? I’ll have to wait until nighttime and—”
“Wolfsbane is toxic,” Many Horses argued. “Garou will survive a dose like this, but not humans. Not even if it’s diluted.”
“Oh, right.” There were a lot of people in Deadwood, and Annie didn’t want to kill any of them—even Al Swearengen or Jack McCall. “Well, in that case, I’ll do some research and find out who the garou are. Once I’m certain I’ve found them all, I’ll invite them to tea and dose them like that.”
Many Horses looked incredulous. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m trying to make sure I don’t hurt any humans, like you said!”
“So you want to throw the werewolves a tea party.”
“As if you have a better idea.”
“You could, oh, I don’t know, do it the simple way?” Many Horses raised an eyebrow.
Annie had never done anything the simple way in her entire life. “What do you mean?”
“Give it to Swearengen. The wolfsbane breaks the bond, remember? Bonds have two ends.”
“Oh,” Annie breathed. “That does make more sense than my way.”
The sisters gave each other significant looks. “Yeah,” Walks Looking said, and Many Horses rolled her eyes.
Annie clapped her hands, happy to have a plan. “All right, I’ll make sure Swearengen gets this. But if it doesn’t break the thrall, then we’re in trouble.”
“She’ll be furious,” Walks Looking agreed.
George barked.
“Oh.” Walks Looking frowned. “Your . . . dog?”
“George is a poodle,” Annie clarified. “Frank’s.”
“Ah.” Walks Looking studied George again. “I’ve never seen a dog quite so . . . cute.”
George growled.
“Well that’s rude.” Many Horses crossed her arms.
“He doesn’t like girls, aside from Jane and me,” Annie said by way of explanation for his bad behavior. “I don’t know why he insisted on coming along. I think he just wanted to feel like he was doing something.”
“Oh.” Walks Looking seemed disappointed. “Well, he just told me something interesting.”
Annie and Many Horses both looked at her.
“He said someone’s died. Bill? Frank’s father?”
Annie’s heart sank. “Wild Bill Hickok. Swearengen had her lackey, Jack McCall, assassinate Mr. Hickok yesterday. There was a trial this morning, and they let Jack McCall go.”
“What kind of trial is that?” Many Horses shook her head.
“The kind they hold in illegal towns, I guess,” Annie said. “Jack McCall is leaving on the first stagecoach out of town tomorrow morning. But before that, we’re making sure everyone knows that Swearengen ordered the murder, and we’ll suggest that Swearengen tampered with the jury. And when the garou she’s enthralled are free . . .”
“Everyone will turn against her.” An angry smile turned up the corners of Walks Looking’s mouth. “Good. How can we help?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Annie asked.
“Of course we do,” Many Horses said. “Your people killed all the buffalo in the area, trying to starve us out of the Black Hills. The two of us can make do on smaller game for now, but that means we spend a lot of time trying to feed ourselves. That and not get caught by all the white people roaming the woods looking for Lakota to murder. So we’re avoiding death as well.”
“But in addition to all of that,” Walks Looking said, softer than her sister, “I’m not the only Lakota Swearengen tried to enthrall. She was successful with others. If we can free them, more families can be reunited in the way we were.” She glanced at Many Horses and smiled.
“Thanks,” Annie said. “I’m glad you’re in.”
“You said Jack McCall is leaving on the morning stagecoach?” Walks Looking asked.
Annie nodded. “So we want to get the article written tonight, before he even has a chance to pack his bags.”
“In that case,” Many Horses said, “if you can break the thrall, we’ll meet the Lakota garou outside of town at sundown.”
“I’ll leave some coats and hats for you on the south end of town,” Annie said. “In case you want disguises.”
“Yes, thank you.” Walks Looking cast a worried glance at her sister.
Annie’s heart clenched. It was so dangerous for them to go that close to town, but maybe no one would notice them with everything else going on. . . . It was brave, though, and the Lakota wolves would have friendly faces to help them.
“Well, I need to get back.” Annie climbed onto Charlie’s horse, barely avoiding sitting on George, who was taking up more room than truly necessary.
Many Horses stepped forward. “Annie?”
“Yes?”
“I think you’re forgetting something.”
“Oh right. Where are my manners? Thank you.”
“Not that. You already thanked us.” Many Horses held up the vial of wolfsbane. “You’ll want this. The cure for the cure to free all the thralls.”
Annie took the wolfsbane and tucked it into her pocket. “Thank you,” she said again, and blushed. “I’ll see you soon.”
FORTY
Jane
“That must have been some kiss,” Frank said as they walked to the Checkmate Hotel.
“What do you mean?” Jane unbuttoned and then rebuttoned the top of her shirt—one of Frank’s old shirts, actually, seeing as how most of Jane’s clothes were back at her mother’s place or tattered wolf-torn rags. It was nice to be wearing pants again, though, and she’d bought a pair of boots yesterday, new, calfskin boots, so soft they felt like hugs to her feet.
But these boots were made for walking. Yep, that’s what they’d do. And in a minute these boots were gonna walk right over to where she was going to see Winnie. Face-to-face. When the last time she’d seen Winnie, Jane had said mean things like how she never wanted to see Winnie again. And then Jane was going to have to ask Winnie for a big favor.
She unbuttoned her collar. Best to be casual about it. Act like it weren’t no big deal.
“I mean,” Frank was saying, “that I’ve never seen you quite this nervous before, even for our biggest shows. So it must have been some kiss you had with this fellow.”
She glanced over at him. He was trying to tease her about it, she thought, the way boys tease their sisters about beaus, but he wasn’t smiling. He couldn’t. Bill’s death was too fresh.
Jane cleared her throat. “Yeah. About that . . .” How could she put this so he would understand? “Uh—you see, Frank—”
“Yes?” Frank prompted.
“I think I should go talk to Edward Wheeler alone,” she said quickly. “Tell me what the room number is again, and I’ll take care of it. No problem.”
“No way,” said Frank. “I’m not letting you go to some questionable man’s room by yourself.”
She stopped walking. “Excuse me? When have I ever not been able to look after myself?” Now, if she stopped to really think about it, there’d been several times in the past few months that she hadn’t done the best job of looking after herself. But he knew what she meant. “And when did you get so prim and proper like? Do I l
ook like I need a chaperone?”
He raised his palms in surrender. “I only meant, you could use some backup. Let’s not forget that this guy has double-crossed you before.”
“What was all that nonsense back there about second chances, then?” she barked.
“I believe that, but . . .” He sighed. “I want to have your back, Calam. We’re in this together, remember? You don’t have to go it alone.”
He would simply not be talked out of coming along, so soon they were standing outside of room 203 at the Checkmate Hotel. Frank lifted his hand to knock, but Jane stopped him. She rebuttoned her collar (best to be as presentable as possible) and smoothed her hair down a bit. Then she nodded, avoiding Frank’s eyes, and he rapped sharply on the door.
“Well, shucks,” she said after about two seconds. “Guess he’s out.”
Frank grabbed her before she could run away.
“Okay, okay, I’m staying,” she huffed, and unbuttoned her collar. Thing was choking her.
It was quiet on the other side of the door. She was kind of hoping that Winnie wouldn’t be there, even though that would mess up their fine plans. She was also hoping that if Winnie were there, she’d be on the clock, dressed as a man, answering to the name of Edward Wheeler. That might make this entire exchange a tad less awkward, what with Frank around.
No such luck. The door swung open, and the person behind it was Edwina Harris, undeniably female in a pale green dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Those eyes grew wide when they saw Jane.
“Jane!” she gasped, and then her brows furrowed and her lips turned down in an expression that was utter sympathy. “Oh, Jane, how are you? I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry about Mr. Hickok. It’s terrible. And this business with Jack McCall—a travesty, is what it is.”
Jane swallowed hard against the tears that threatened. It would be so nice to simply step into Winnie’s arms and weep for all that had transpired. But instead she looked at the floor and blinked a few times and then said, gruffly, “I’m fine. I— We, that is, we need to talk to you.”