Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2)

by Jordan Elizabeth

  “Clark Treasure? You mean that, miss?”

  “He needs help. I’m here to locate his friends.”

  “Wait here.” The boy fixed her kickstand into the ground and darted up the hill. Amethyst smoothed her clothes before noticing the tears and stains, the smears of dirt, the sweat that soaked through the cloth. Nothing she did could make herself look presentable enough to greet the heads of state.

  She lifted her chin and stiffened her shoulders. Clothes didn’t make a lady. Attitude did.

  Her uncle would tap her nose and say, “You are however you feel.”

  Two men a few years older than her swaggered down the hill with the boy skipping in front of them.

  “See,” he sang. “She’s a girl and she says she knows Clark Treasure.”

  The two men wore leather cowboy hats, one with an eagle feather and the other with goggles. They both had leather vests on over their gingham shirts, and the knees of their denim pants had worn out. The taller of the two spit tobacco juice at her feet.

  “State your business, lady.”

  She smiled. Her uncle would want her to always be polite. “My name is Amethyst. I’m Clark’s wife.”

  “His wife?” The other man chuckled. “Didn’t reckon him to be the sort to pick a spot to settle, or a girl to settle with.”

  “He’s a roamer. You think he’s coming back?” Tall Man spit again.

  They wouldn’t prickle her. “He would if he wasn’t captured.”

  “Look, miss.” Short Man sighed. “You look like a good type. Go on home before you get yourself hurt or wind up a Tarnished Silver. Folk get captured all the time. It’s part of heading out, and it looks like Clark headed way out if he got himself you.”

  “Clark is captured.” Maybe they didn’t understand their friend was in danger.

  “More’s the pity, miss. He shoulda been more careful.”

  “The army has him.”

  Tall Man snorted. “He knew they wanted him. He chose to go off. Said he was finding his family. Folk like us, we don’t got family to care. Lucky him if he found ‘em.”

  “He did find them. The army has them all.”

  “Then he did something real, real bad. Miss, we don’t ask questions. You want us to help you get back to town?”

  “I want you to help me free Clark.” She stomped her foot. “You’re his friends. You all stick together and protect each other.”

  “When we’re together, sure,” Tall Man drawled. “When you leave us, you leave the protection.”

  “Clark’s an honest, good man,” the short one said. “We’re sorry, miss, but that’s all.”

  Tears stung her eyes. It couldn’t be all. Without the gang, she had nothing. “I want to overthrow Senator Horan.”

  Tall Man pushed back his cowboy hat. “So?”

  “Everyone must hate him. Don’t you want to see a new Senator?” Since they weren’t talking, she explained what his brother, the rancher, had done to her, and how Senator Horan used Eric’s inventions to plague the people of Hedlund. “You must care about that!”

  “Since when has a fella in power not been evil?” Short Man asked.

  “Senator Horan hired mercenaries to kill Clark’s father. We can get to Senator Horan, I’m sure. We can figure out a way to knock him off his seat and get someone else in there, someone true. We can get Clark.”

  “Clark as Senator?” Tall Man grinned. “You’re not selling us, hon.”

  She stomped up to him until inches separated their chests. “We’ll show what evils the army is doing out here. We’ll get them to stop. We can free the Bromi.”

  “Lotta ideas, sugar, but you can’t make them happen.”

  “I’m…” She drew a deep breath. “Do you know why the army wants Clark so badly?”

  “We don’t ask. We all got something to hide, ya know.”

  Amethyst pulled the pistol from his holster and lunged backward before he could grab her.

  He held out his hand. “Give it back, girl. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “We’re sorry we can’t help you more,” Short Man added.

  Neither of them panicked. Their mistake.

  “Clark drank a potion Eric Grisham invented,” she said. “It worked with his body to give him the ability to revive the dead.”

  Tall Man doubled over with laughter and Short Man slapped his hat across his knee.

  “That there’s a good one,” Tall Man guffawed. The boy chuckled too loudly, as if he wanted to be included but didn’t know how to become one of them.

  “I drank it too.” Amethyst aimed the pistol at Short Man and pulled the trigger before her mind got the better of her judgment. Short Man jerked, gulping, as crimson blossomed across the front of his shirt. He staggered before falling backward.

  “Brass glass!” Tall man lunged for her, but Amethyst sidestepped, aiming the weapon at him.

  “Want to see me bring him back to life?”

  “You bitch!”

  Smirking at him, Amethyst swaggered to Short Man, crouched, and lifted his hand. Closing her eyes, she flashed to the desert Clark had mentioned. Short Man circled, flapping his arms. She grabbed his hand and brought them back to reality.

  “How…?” Short Man shook his head. “You… shot me.”

  “I have the ability too.” She folded her arms and grinned at Tall Man. “The army is using my family to get to Clark. They want to do this to a regiment and make Clark lead them. Is that the type of force you want the army to have?” She winked. “You might even get some of the potion for yourself.”

  “Come with us.” Tall Man gulped. “We do everything as a group, so I can’t answer for the others.”

  “I can do my demonstration again.” She lifted her hands. “Your choice, dears.”

  “This way.” Still trembling, Short Man led the way up the hill. Amethyst smiled at the boy, but he gaped at her, pale and wide-eyed, trembling.

  At least she was getting a little closer to saving Clark.

  When they neared the top of the hill, she wondered where the buildings were—lumps and more rocks decorated the weedy bank. A man emerged from one of the lumps, and she snapped her mouth shut. They lived in dugouts, then. That would offer camouflage, if someone unwanted headed by.

  “Stay here.” Tall Man looked at her, looked away, and looked back, wetting his lips with his tongue. She smiled wide enough to show teeth, hoping her eyes gleamed with an evil aura.

  The boy shuddered as he put up the kickstand to lead her cycle; the outlaws headed toward the dugouts, so she slumped onto the ground and stretched out her throbbing legs. They would want to head right out to get Clark. Good, but her legs wouldn’t have a chance to rest. Amethyst sighed, rubbing her temple. Never again would she leave home.

  “Girl!” Tall Man waved at her from the entrance to a dugout. “Git over here.”

  She rolled to her feet, wincing, and hobbled toward him. No matter how much she wanted to sashay, her muscles wouldn’t let her.

  The dugout’s door consisted of three boards nailed together and steps carved into the dry soil. As she stepped down, she realized they were more like bowls scooped out. Shadows enfolded her as she entered the lower space. She’d expected a hovel like the secret cellar beneath her father’s shed, but this area seemed to stretch. Metal pipes ran along the walls and ceilings, and logs supported the upper area. Gas lamps and candles hung to cast light over a table and crates; figures slumped forward around the small setup.

  “This is huge,” she murmured.

  “Dave used to be a mechanic,” Tall Man said. “He designed this network in the hill for us.”

  “Oh.” Whoever Dave was. “Good job.”

  A man stood up from one of the crates. “You’re Clark’s wife?”

  She nodded. “Amethyst Treasure. Sir.” People craved respect. “Should I demonstrate my ability for all of you?”

  He coughed. “That isn’t a good idea, we don’t think. Where exactly is Clark?”

  Eri
c appeared beside Amethyst. “He’s at the Hedlund Headquarters in Sullivan.” Amethyst repeated Eric’s statement, glad he was there so she wouldn’t have to say, “Some army facility.”

  “Is he kept in the barracks?”

  “He’s chained in a closet near the mess hall,” Eric said, and she repeated it, shivering. How dare they chain up her husband? Through her, he was a Treasure.

  “I know because the ghost of his father’s here.” She nodded at Eric.

  The men stiffened and the one facing her coughed again. “Why don’t you rest while we decide the best way to get Clark?” He pointed at a pile of hay in the corner, covered by a checkered blanket. “We have to see if we can get in touch with the other locations. We’ll need backup for this.”

  “I can help you get access to my bank accounts,” Eric said.

  Amethyst beamed at them. “I can get you unlimited funds. Anything you need for this, you’ll have.”

  “I have a stash of designed weapons and steamcycles,” Eric added. “I stored them near your father’s ranch. He promised to keep them protected.”

  Had Clark known? Amethyst repeated Eric’s proclamation. Their faces glowed and the men in the background whispered to each other.

  “The ghost will wake me up if any of you try anything while I’m resting.” Amethyst tossed her head, even though her neck ached, and did her best to stomp to the hay pile. It crunched and stabbed at her already tender skin as she lay down, Eric floating beside her.

  Amethyst awoke to find the room emptied. “They left without me!” Hay stalks stuck in her hair and clothes, and her skin itched as though fleas crawled over her; they probably did.

  “They’re conferring in the next room,” Eric said. “They’ll be back.”

  Amethyst slumped back down. “How long did I sleep?”

  “About two hours.”

  Her muscles still throbbed. She scratched a fresh bite on her cheek. “Should I just wait here?”

  “I was hoping we could talk.” Eric’s voice wavered.

  “Yes?” She held her breath. His nervousness couldn’t be good. Ghosts shouldn’t get nervous.

  “There’s more to the potion than Clark knows—than anyone knows. I hinted to Senator Horan about the powers, but I never stated anything definite.”

  “Brass glass,” she yelped. “It’s going to kill us, isn’t it?” She’d drunk it to save Clark, not fall with him.

  “No, it isn’t poisonous.” Eric lifted his shimmering hands. “You can bring people back and you can take a life in exchange, but only for five minutes after saving someone.”

  She sighed. “Yes. Clark told me that. He’d figured that out.”

  Eric leaned forward, as if someone else could hear other than her. “That’s if you don’t store the energy.”

  She frowned. “How would I do that?”

  “I… don’t know for certain. You have to concentrate on keeping that energy inside of you rather than letting it float away.”

  “I don’t plan on murdering anyone with my stored energy.” It could prove useful at some point, though. She would have to revive someone to test it.

  “You can also control the dead.”

  “Like how I call for you?”

  “Yes, but not just with your voice. If you picture who you want and concentrate hard enough, you can beckon that spirit. Then, if you keep concentrating, you can make them do what you want.”

  Amethyst leaned forward. “What good would that do? Like, I could ask someone a question, yes, but a ghost can’t lift anything. I suppose I could make someone lead me somewhere or give me information.”

  “Concentrate hard, Mrs. Grisham,” Eric whispered. “You should be able to give me substance. You have to love your power and want to do this. Clark has always been too loathing and reluctant.”

  Her lips parted. “I can bring you back to life?”

  “You can make me viewable. You have to really love the power and let it consume you.”

  She licked her lips, realizing how dry her mouth had become. One of the outlaws should’ve given her some water. “You want me to concentrate, then.”

  “Yes. You have the time to learn while the gang is assembling.”

  “Why haven’t you taught Clark?” Her husband would’ve told her if he had that ability.

  “Clark thinks of this as a curse. He would hate learning more about it. He hates himself for drinking the tonic. You don’t—you’d revel in the power, wouldn’t you?”

  She could control ghosts. Anyone who passed could be brought to life, and if they couldn’t be, they could still be with her in death. After her uncle’s years ran out, she’d still have him with her. “Teach me, Eric.”

  The ghost grinned. “Close your eyes and clear your mind.”

  Amethyst drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about anything.

  Sweat still coated her skin. Insect bites itched across her body; the rest of her didn’t hurt so much thanks to numbness.

  “Think about me,” came Eric’s voice. “Go into the other world. Make me real there and I’ll be real here.”

  She pictured the realm of endless sand, and opened her eyes to be greeted by the red-gold sky. No Eric, no spirit waiting for her saving touch. How could she use that space to make a ghost real?

  She took a step forward and the sand turned crimson, shifting beneath her foot, like the sand on any beach. Her uncle had rented a beach house every summer when she was growing up, but he’d stopped when she was around twelve, when his leg bothered him more. They’d spent hours by the waves building castles or sculptures of her face.

  Amethyst crouched to build a replica of Eric, but the grains slid between her fingers. She could spit on it to make it pack more, but that would be a lot of spit.

  Sometimes, they had written messages to each other in the sand.

  Amethyst drew a stick figure of Eric in the dry grains.

  “Eric Grisham,” she whispered. Could that have worked? He said the powers came from her concentration. She closed her eyes again and breathed through her nose, feeling the way her lungs expanded and constricted.

  Warmth spread from her heart, a different warmth than the western sun that made her boil. It crawled across her limbs, and the pains faded as her skin tingled. Life. Thickness. Hardness.

  Clark had described returning to reality as a jerk, but she soared. She leapt off the sand and catapulted herself through the space until she felt the dirt beneath her feet. She opened her eyes to face Eric.

  Smiling, she lifted her hands and rested them against his cheeks. Her father’s face would feel smooth or rough, depending on when he’d shaved, but Eric felt more like a feather, yet solid. He was neither cold nor hot, but there.

  “I found it,” Amethyst whispered. Tears blurred her vision. “I found that concentration.”

  Top Hat Terry, the man who’d risen off the grate to meet her, rubbed his hand over his chin. “You’re sure that map’s drawn right?”

  “I’m positive.” Eric grinned. He hadn’t stopped grinning since Amethyst had presented him with solidity. “I’ve never mistaken calculations before. Numbers are my specialty.”

  “You’ve been dead for how long?” Short Man asked. “You said it was like eighteen years.”

  “And I’m still going strong.” Eric thumped his chest over the gaping hole where his heart had resided. “That’s an exact map of what the Hedlund Barracks look like. This plan of attack is perfect.”

  “Have you ever led an attack before?” Amethyst asked. “I thought you were just an inventor.”

  “Who better to lead a revolt than a man of science?” Eric puffed his torn chest.

  Top Hat Terry turned the map Eric had drawn to face him on the table. The rest of the hill’s gang members, thirty-six girls and boys, crowded around the room. “You let us gather our troops and we’ll follow your attack plan.”

  They should obey Eric since he was paying for the operation. “We’ll be all set tomorrow?�
� They had to get Clark as soon as possible.

  Top Hat Terry scratched his scalp. “We’ll need a few days to gather everyone.”

  “But we need to get Clark now. He’s chained up!” She clenched her hands into fists. “This is all about rescuing him.”

  “And putting a dent in the army,” Eric interrupted. “What they’re doing to the people out here is against humanity. We’ll have to abide by time if we want this done right.”

  “Brass glass,” she snarled at him. Why did he have to be right? They were a team of outlaws, a ghost, and a girl with powers. They should’ve been unstoppable.

  “Mr. Treasure!” Steven Smith’s wife rushed into the office, her face flushed and hair falling loose from her bun to stick her to cheeks.

  “What is it?” Jeremiah rose from behind his desk to grab his neighbor’s arm. “Mrs. Smith, has someone been injured?”

  “I was in the garden.” Mrs. Smith sank into the chair and fanned herself with her apron. “A steamcoach came up the road. It’s got that nasty captain in it, and him.”

  “Captain Greenwood.” Jeremiah scowled. “Who else is with him?”

  “Mr. Horan,” she hissed. “The rancher, not the senator.”

  Earlier that summer, the neighboring rancher nearby had tried to steal her husband’s farm. Clark had persuaded Steven Smith to sell his property to Garth for protection. They’d rented the farm from the Treasures since then.

  “What does he want?” Jeremiah poured her a glass of water from the pitcher near his desk. “Stay here. I’ll see what they need.” He should get his wife, but Alyssa did whatever was needed during the day while he tended to the never-ending paperwork. No wonder his father enjoyed having his son run the ranch.

  Jeremiah stalked to the front door as it slammed open to Captain Greenwood, his swollen face flushed and his eyes bugging.

  “Where is she?” the captain bellowed.

  Jeremiah stopped, his fists at his sides so he wouldn’t reach for a weapon. “Who?” They couldn’t want Mrs. Smith. She didn’t do much more than tend his garden and look after her family while her husband farmed. “You want Alyssa?” He ground his teeth. “She’s not yours to get, Greenwood.”