by Craig, Emma
Because her thoughts were about to lead her into a depression, she stopped looking out the window and turned back to petting Tybalt. Tybalt licked the back of her hand, and Sophie’s heavy heart lightened fractionally.
The railway carriage was nothing fancy, but it wasn’t as bad as some she’d been in. At least she and her aunt didn’t have smoke and soot and cinders billowing around their heads and threatening to ignite their clothing as they’d done in Colorado. Travelling in the Western states and territories could be an uncomfortable business.
Aunt Juniper, seated across from Sophie on a facing bench upon which she’d placed a soft cushion before she’d settled her softer bottom, had laid a board across her lap. A little frown puckered her forehead. Sophie recognized her expression as one of intense concentration.
Juniper was dealing out the cards. Sophie had no idea what she expected to learn from them, since she’d been doing the same thing for weeks now and ought to know by this time that no matter how many Devils or Nines and Tens of Swords she came up with, Sophie would not be thwarted in her purpose. She continued to stroke Tybalt absently as she added columns of figures in her head.
If Dmitri, who preferred to ride with the baggage when they travelled by train, did some discreet advertising by word of mouth and tacked up a few broadsides, she and Aunt Juniper should be able to make up their passage to Arizona Territory by reading cards and palms on the train and at the various stops between Laredo and Tucson. Even if business was bad, she still had plenty of money as long as she was frugal—and Sophie was an expert at frugality.
Anyhow, if they ran short, Sophie could always wire the bank in St. Louis. Thank heavens the general population was a gullible lot and believed in the occult and spiritual communication. The fools had made her, by this time, almost rich. She gave a soft snort of disdain and then felt guilty, knowing that if for no other reason than it provided her with a good income, she ought to respect her profession.
Besides, as much as she hated to admit it—and did so only occasionally and only to herself—she’d experienced enough odd phenomena not to disbelieve altogether in the mysterious and mystical aspects of life. She hated to acknowledge it, though, and seldom did so.
At any rate, once they got to Tucson, she hoped to be able to carry out her purpose and depart without wasting any more time and money than could be helped. That all depended, of course, on whether or not she was arrested. If the law clamped its hands on her, so be it. She was prepared to take the consequences as long as she completed the mission that had been burning her up from inside for nearly a year now. This was the first time in those long, miserable months she’d even come close to realizing it.
“Mind if I join you ladies?”
Jarred out of her thoughts, Sophie recognized the silky voice and uttered a silent curse. Frowning, she glared at the man’s elegant black vest and said, “I’m sorry, sir, we’re—”
“Oh, how kind you were to help us in the station, sir!”
Sophie transferred her glare to Aunt Juniper, who turned scarlet. Apparently in one of her rare defiant moods, Juniper lifted her chin in spite of her blush and Sophie’s warning glance and declared, “Well, I am grateful, Sophie, no matter what you are.”
“Fine,” said Sophie.
She turned her head again and aimed her glower higher, until it rested on the man’s face. Then she looked away in a hurry. Gracious, she’d forgotten what a handsome man he was. His smile was hot enough to toast bread—not that the weather couldn’t have done that on its own. He was a demoniacally good-looking fellow, though, blast him. Sophie’s distrust of him trebled. Because her own embarrassment bothered her, she deliberately turned her head and stared up at him once more. She didn’t care in the least if she appeared rude.
“Fine,” she said again, and tried to make her facial expression as forbidding as possible.
But it wasn’t fine. At all. She wanted him to go away, not the least because ever since she first set eyes on him, she’d felt a funny prickling sensation inside her. The feeling made her extremely uneasy because she’d experienced it before once or twice. She feared the pricklings boded ill for her future peace of mind, not to mention her ever-present desire to disbelieve in supernatural phenomena.
He tipped his hat and grinned a grin the likes of which must have charmed the serpent from the apple tree in Eden. He had the devil’s own grin, and Sophie resented him for it. His complexion was dark and his teeth gleamed white against it. He had hair as black as night, and a perfectly wicked mustache. His black coat, vest, trousers, and boots were impeccable. The only white on him, besides his perfect teeth, was his shirt. The effect was startling, and Sophie suspected he dressed the way he did because he knew he looked good. She would have scorned the affectation if he weren’t so blasted right. She pegged him for a rambler, a gambler, a rake, and a rogue—a species with which she was intimately familiar—and she hated him.
A vision so sudden she couldn’t capture it flashed in her brain. She jerked slightly, as the experience was both unexpected and unsettling. When she tried to retrieve the vision, it wasn’t there any longer. She had a terrible suspicion it had something to do with this man, though, and she didn’t like it. At all.
Rather to her surprise, he settled himself onto the seat next to Aunt Juniper. She’d have expected him to pester her some more. Most men, particularly after they discovered her profession, attempted to get beyond her hostility in hopes of stealing a kiss if not a tumble, no matter how futile their efforts inevitably proved to be. This man clearly found Sophie’s charms resistible. Well, good. He could entertain Aunt Juniper; maybe get Juniper’s mind away from her worries.
On the other hand, perhaps he was being subtle and expected Sophie to soften her attitude toward him if he was kind to her aging aunt. If so, he had another think coming. She knew all about men like him. They were the ones who’d made her life miserable. Why there couldn’t be more good men in the world, Sophie had never been able to figure out, but she didn’t think it was fair at all.
Blast that vision. She wished she could recall it. Or maybe she didn’t. While she’d experienced odd internal sensations occasionally, she’d never been troubled by visions before, even though they were said to run in the family. Sort of like insanity.
Gad, she had to stop thinking such things.
Because she figured he expected her to gaze at him like a moonstruck adolescent, she refused to do it. So handsome a man must be accustomed to females falling at his feet and begging him to have his way with them. If he was—and if he expected Sophie to be one of those foolish females—he’d miscalculated. From the corner of her eye she saw him smile at Aunt Juniper as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. She recognized the innocent look on his face as one that had been aimed at herself from time to time by gentlemen pretending to a goodness they didn’t possess. Inside, she sneered.
Politely removing his hat and settling it on his lap, he said, “My name is Gabriel Caine, ma’am. It was my pleasure to be of assistance to you in the train station in Laredo, and it’s a pure delight to be riding to Tucson in the presence of two such charming ladies.”
His accent was straight out of a magnolia-scented plantation summer night. It brought to Sophie’s mind images of sultry evenings, mint juleps, and ladies lazily fanning themselves while gentlemen flirted at their feet. Her heart quivered like jelly for a moment or two before it settled into a solid granite block. Damn him and every man like him who preyed on innocent young women. And, she reflected, thinking of her aunt, old women.
Juniper fluttered. Sophie caught herself in time to stave off a sarcastic snort. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his practiced flirtation. She despised him.
“My—my name is Juniper Madrigal, Mr. Caine. And I truly do thank you for helping us back there in the train station. Sophie is so—so—so—” Words deserted her.
Sophie suppressed the urge to swear.
“Your niece is a beautiful and r
esolute young woman, Mrs. Madrigal.”
“Oh, I’m not married, sir,” Juniper twittered. “I’m Miss Juniper Madrigal, you see. Sophie’s father’s sister.”
“I’m sure you’ve left a score and more of broken hearts in your wake, Miss Juniper.”
“Oh, la!” Aunt Juniper fanned herself with the ace of clubs. Sophie felt her lips purse. She stroked Tybalt too hard and he grumbled, opened one eye, and frowned at her like a dog sorely abused. She would have apologized, but she didn’t want Mr. Gabriel, Tongue-of-Silver, Caine to know he’d affected her in any way whatsoever.
“In fact, I’ve seldom met such a delightful pair.” Gabriel shared his smile equally between Sophie and Aunt Juniper. How devilishly fair-minded of him. “You are perfectly splendid, ma’am, and your niece is—exquisite.”
Sophie bit her tongue so she wouldn’t swear at him.
“Oh, yes,” cried Juniper, delighted. Sophie rolled her eyes.”She’s always been so lovely. She was beautiful even when she was a baby, you know. Why, she even won a beautiful baby contest in New York City, Mr. Caine. New York City! And her little b—oh!” Juniper clamped her lips together, shot Sophie a frightened glance, and pulled her legs in toward her seat and away from Sophie’s boot tips.
Wishing she could tape her aunt’s mouth shut, Sophie merely smiled a warning at her. Juniper, who had reason to know that smile well, looked like she might faint.
Gabriel Caine either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the uncomfortable pause that erupted in the middle of Juniper’s ditherings. He said, “Yes, ma’am. That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He gave Sophie a debonair nod; she pretended she didn’t see it and gazed pointedly out the window.
Silence sprang up once more, this time because Sophie had terrified Juniper wordless. Her aunt kept shooting her apprehensive glances, and Sophie kept ignoring them and staring out the window. She neither knew nor cared what Mr. Gabriel Caine was doing or what he thought. When he spoke again, therefore, his tone as nonchalant as if he were accustomed to such overt antagonism from pretty young females, she was somewhat nonplused.
“What’s that you’re doing, Miss Madrigal, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”
Sophie thought sourly that the damned man could use more words to ask a simple question than anybody she’d ever met except her own father. Which, all things considered, figured. Gabriel Caine seemed to be cut of the same charming—and transitory—cloth as Martin Madrigal. Sophie heaved an internal sigh as she recalled her deceased, dynamic father.
“Oh, la, Mr. Caine,” chirped Juniper. “I’m reading the Tarot.”
“The Tarot, ma’am?” He sounded suitably puzzled. Tarot decks weren’t easy to come by in the United States, and most people had never heard the word. Juniper had cherished her own deck for years. It had been hand-painted especially for her by Señora Esmeralda, a Gypsy woman from Spain. Today Juniper was using a plain deck of playing cards since she wasn’t about to entrust her pampered Tarot deck to the questionable mercies of territorial train travel.
“The mystical cards, Mr. Caine,” Juniper explained. “The Tarot. I am a medium, you see.”
Although Sophie didn’t turn her head to look, she could tell her aunt was blushing and bowing her head. Juniper considered her talents a gift from God, and was always humble in acknowledging them. Sophie, who figured God had better things to do with His time than confer mystical powers upon people, considered Juniper’s gifts a family legacy handed down through a long line of humbugs and charlatans. Juniper irritated the life out of Sophie at times, although Sophie loved her dearly.
“Is that so?”
Gabriel Caine sounded honestly interested. Shooting him a narrow look from under her flowered bonnet, Sophie acquitted him of subterfuge, although she reserved the right to change her mind later, if she ever got to know him better. She hoped she wouldn’t have the opportunity.
“Yes indeed, Mr. Caine. The gift is in the blood, you see.”
Gabriel blinked at Aunt Juniper. If Sophie didn’t hate him so much, she might have laughed. Nobody in the world was more sincere than Juniper.
“The Madrigals have been in the fortune telling business for generations, Mr. Caine,” Sophie said. The sound of her voice, hard and cold, surprised her, as she’d planned to ignore Gabriel Caine until he went away. She cursed herself for a fool and turned back to the window.
“Is that so? It sounds like an interesting line of work.”
“Oh, it is, Mr. Caine. And when one has the gift, you know, one must use it judiciously.”
“I see. And Miss Sophie Madrigal has this gift too, does she?”
Sophie figured he was aiming one of his snake charmer’s grins at her and was glad she couldn’t see it. She still burned inside from the first one.
“Yes indeed. She certainly does.” Aunt Juniper sounded troubled. Which made sense, as Sophie did not honor the family gift as Juniper thought she should. Sophie honestly wished she could oblige her aunt in the matter, but her life had taught her that this so-called family gift was, for the most part, nothing but a sham. She treated it thus, hurt Juniper in the process, regretted that, and couldn’t help it.
Which didn’t explain away that sudden, unexpected vision she’d had. Ah, well, it was undoubtedly a momentary aberration, and would not recur. If it did recur, Sophie would ignore it. Just because she’d been born into a family of crazy mentalists didn’t mean she had to succumb to the nonsense engendered therefrom. She prided herself on her commonsense, even in the face of mystical visions. Not that they were truly mystical, but . . .?
Fiddlesticks. Sophie decided not to think about it anymore.
“My goodness,” the man purred. “Such beauty and talent in one lovely package. My, my.”
Sophie imagined the look on his face as that of a cat about to pounce on a tasty mouse. She told herself not to be fanciful.
“Oh, yes. Sophie is very talented, Mr. Caine. She’s—very talented.”
“I look forward to learning more about her talents one day, Miss Madrigal.”
There were all sorts of subtle meanings in his tone of voice, and Sophie would have slapped him if Juniper weren’t present. Juniper wouldn’t understand, and Sophie felt guilty enough about her poor aunt as it was. She did nothing, therefore, and proceeded to stroke Tybalt, who snored blissfully.
“I fear,” continued Gabriel, “that my own lot in life is to dwell among those uninitiated into the cabalistic arts.”
Lord, the man could talk. Sophie almost admired him for it.
Juniper cleared her throat timidly. “Er, would you care to learn about the cards, Mr. Caine? I find them fascinating myself, and enjoy teaching people about them. I, er, sense that you might profit from the experience.”
Good Lord! Juniper only offered to teach people whom she considered blessed with the gift. Sophie couldn’t even imagine why she’d consider Gabriel Caine so blessed. The man was a devil, for heaven’s sake. She bit off a hot remonstrance, and stared with increased venom through the smudgy glass.
After a small pause—Sophie would have given her eyeteeth to know what he was doing but she’d die before she looked—Gabriel said, “I’d be honored, ma’am. I’d be genuinely honored. A fellow doesn’t get an offer like that every day in the week.”
Juniper giggled.
Thinking he’d never know how true those casual words of his were, Sophie glowered at the scenery.
Chapter Two
The dining car wasn’t crowded this early in the morning, so Sophie and Juniper had their choice of tables. They opted for one in the middle of the car, and Sophie settled Tybalt’s wicker basket in the chair beside her. Aunt Juniper sat across from her, her sweet face wreathed in one of her charmingly vague smiles as she surveyed the car. Juniper had, as she always did, tried to persuade Dmitri to join them for breakfast, but Dmitri preferred to dine out of the public’s eye.
Juniper had tried to tell him that people didn’t really stare at him, but Dmitri didn’t buy it. So
phie considered that sensible of him, since she knew as well as he did that most people considered him a freak of nature because he was a midget. It wasn’t fair, but life wasn’t fair.
Sometimes she wished she had control over life and death and the world in general; there would be many fewer people in the world.
Sophie had slept well on the train after an initial bout of internal turmoil, and was glad of it. Sometimes when they traveled, she found it mortally difficult to get a good night’s rest. The only thing that had troubled her rest last night was a recurrence of that odd vision. She wished she could capture it and study it. Or maybe she didn’t. Actually, all things considered, Sophie guessed she’d better leave the visions to Juniper, who valued them. Sophie’s as soon skip them altogether.
They ordered breakfast. Juniper folded her hands and placed them primly on the table in front of her. She cocked her head to one side the way she did when she was about to take Sophie to task for something. She reminded Sophie of a sweet little sparrow when she positioned her head thus. Sophie braced herself to endure one of her aunt’s lectures, although such preparation wasn’t really necessary. Her aunt’s fiercest scold didn’t carry a sharp enough edge to slice through butter. Aunt Juniper, unlike Sophie, was a very nice person.
“All right, Aunt Juniper, what’s the matter? What have I done now?”
Sophie smiled when Juniper gave a guilty start.
“Nothing is the matter, Sophie,” said Juniper nervously.
“Come along now, don’t fib to me. You’re mad at me, Aunt Juniper. Admit it.”
Juniper could no more admit to being angry than she could admit that most fortunetellers were frauds. Sophie knew it, and felt mean about teasing her. Her aunt was spared an answer when the porter brought their breakfast. Because she felt penitent about needling Juniper, Sophie smiled at the man. He smiled back, his black face shining. At once she felt better about life.