Malice of Crows

by Lila Bowen

  “I know my numbers,” Rhett said irritably, although he didn’t. But she was right – the combination of lines and circles was easy enough to remember. “So I go in here and… what?”

  Inés… well, he didn’t know if she was staring at him. All he could see was her veil. But he got the distinct impression she was silently laughing at him.

  “You go in and rest, or sleep, or watch people through the window.” She did laugh, then, a surprisingly light and girlish chuckle. “You are like a wild dog forced inside, aren’t you? Just keep yourself occupied until supper. Then we’ll go down to the during room and see if we find your lich… wait. Can you feel him? Where he is?”

  Rhett faced one direction down the hall, then the other. “I think he’s downstairs.”

  “But you haven’t felt him move since we arrived?”

  Rhett wanted to spit, but he didn’t dare, not on the thick, fine carpet. “I don’t think so, but I’m not a goddamn bloodhound. I never done this before, really. Cannibal Owl scooped me up at the last, had me carried right to its door. Trevisan had me trussed up in his trailer. I’m pretty good once a monster’s got me cornered, I guess. Can I just mosey on downstairs and grab him?”

  Inés shook her head. “No. You’re in a civilized place now, or so we tell ourselves. Every move you make, someone is watching. See there?”

  She pointed down the hall, and Rhett’s eye flicked that way just in time to see a little white girl gasp and duck her sleek blonde head back inside her room.

  “So I sit in my room and sip tea with my pinky up and wait until it’s time to eat with the queen? Hell, Inés, I could just storm on down there now and end this.”

  When Inés put her hand on his arm, he went totally still. It was like being touched by a snake, like if maybe he didn’t move, he wouldn’t get bit. “It’s about self-control. You must learn if you wish to survive. Your natural face isn’t the only one you can show the world. Practice patience. Do this right. If you are not patient, innocents will die, and neither of us need more blood on our hands. Sí?”

  He exhaled, let his head hang. “Sí.” He took out his key and held it while he stared at the door. It should’ve been easy, but he’d never actually used one of the damned things before.

  Taking pity on him, Inés stuck her key in her own door, turned it, and pushed the door open. She waited while he did the same, then pulled out her key and waited. After he’d managed to open his door, she softly called his name.

  “Rhett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do not leave your room until supper.”

  Her door clicked shut, and he realized that he was being treated like a naughty child. Which maybe he was. Good thing Inés hadn’t seen what he’d done to her chapel before they left. That had been one hell of a temper tantrum. He could do just as much damage to the hotel, if he lost his temper. He could picture it: the pretty white hallway filled with bullet holes, the paintings and mirrors and gas lights just shot to hell, broken glass fallen on the soft carpets. Women and children ducking into rooms, screaming as their soft, citified men barreled out, silver guns drawn.

  Inés was right, much as he hated to say it. The chances of him getting into a locked room and dragging a six-year-old child out against (supposedly) her will was very small, especially once somebody raised a call to the local authorities. Seeing a feller like Rhett, badge or no badge, they’d shoot to kill. He’d just have to do his least favorite thing: wait.

  The room inside was fancier than just about any place he’d ever seen, with clean swept wood floors and a nice rag rug and a bed with turned-back blankets and two fluffy pillows. He closed the door gently and hopped onto the bed, admiring the cushy mattress that felt like he was lying on a cloud. It would be mighty nice, being in here with Sam —

  The door pushed open, and he had his gun out and pointed. Inés peeked around the dark wood, the small brass key dangling from her fingers.

  “You must take the key, or else anyone can open your door,” she explained, placing it on a chest of drawers.

  “Well, sure,” he said, as if he already knew. He didn’t know if he had to lock the door from the inside now, or what, but he wasn’t about to reveal his ignorance again, so he just said, “Many thanks.”

  Her veil hovered outside his door for just a moment, making him nearly squirm. “Do not,” she said stiffly, “leave this room. I will fetch you when it’s time to go.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I’m saying it again.”

  If her eyes could’ve burned a hole through the fabric, he reckoned she would’ve enjoyed that. And Rhett refused to kowtow to anyone, not even a gorgon nun, so he just inclined his head the tiniest bit to let her know he’d consider it. His response must’ve been sufficient, as she closed his door and left him in peace.

  The peace lasted about five minutes. Then he started to get itchy. Although the room was about the size of Mam and Pap’s entire shack, Rhett had since grown accustomed to living under the stars or having the freedom to come and go at the ranch or the Ranger outpost. Not since being locked up in the train camp had he been so goddamn penned in like a cow in a chute, blocked in every direction. The neck of his shirt started to feel tight, and he tugged on it and took off his hat and set his Henry on the floor and got to pacing, but that only made him feel more desperate. Pacing wasn’t much fun when a feller’s boots didn’t even clomp. Going over to the window, he tugged it up and sucked in the gust of cold air that rushed inside, glad to smell the stink of the street and the pleasant whiff of horses, at least. Once he could breathe again, he closed the window most of the way and sat in a tall chair in the corner, daring to put his boots up on a little tufted stool.

  Before he knew it, Rhett Walker was asleep.

  A knock woke him up. The room was dark and cold, and he was huddled down in his chair. The knock came again, more urgent, and he jumped up and slammed the window down, muttering, “I’m awake, goddammit.”

  “Supper, Rhett,” Inés called softly through the door.

  He used the chamber pot and was glad to find his courses finally over, which meant he’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable without his rags, although he had no idea what to do with them now. He ended up just stuffing them under the chest of drawers in the corner, although he felt bad for the maid who would have to deal with it eventually. That taken care of, he went to the mirror and arranged himself into as respectable a figure as he could. Tied a clean kerchief over his eye, got his hat on straight, rebuttoned his shirt. He’d kept the piss pan and bible in his binder and had grown accustomed to its weight, and he reckoned he might as well keep it there, over his heart, just in case Trevisan had men with guns nearby. And even though he’d heard hotel rooms were generally safe, it wouldn’t do to have the Captain’s bible stolen while he was out chasing Trevisan. Just before he left, he remembered to take the key Inés had left on the dresser and lock the door, which would keep his Henry safe and help him not feel like an idjit.

  Inés waited outside, watching silently as he locked and tested the door.

  “You were good,” she said.

  “I was asleep.”

  “So I assumed.”

  “Well, what the hell did you do, then?” he said, annoyed.

  “I did what needed to be done. I read the books, looking for more answers.”

  “But you already found the answers.”

  A chuckle. “That’s the thing about books: There are always more answers. It’s never over, really.”

  She led him down the hall and back downstairs, where a loud din was echoing throughout the lobby. They followed the noise to a big dining room filled with long tables and folks helping themselves to what smelled like a mighty fine supper.

  “This ain’t so bad,” Rhett observed.

  But then he realized it wasn’t just his hunger talking. His belly was flip-flopping all over the place, and it wasn’t long before he found his prey.

  Trevisan.

  In th
e body of Meimei still, thank goodness. She was no longer in her little red jacket and Chine silk outfit, but was now dolled up in a long, white dress like any fancy white child in town, her hair in neat pigtails. And she was staring daggers at Rhett from her place at the long table. The eyes may have been Meimei’s, but the cold look was all Trevisan.

  “That’s him,” he said to Inés, giving a big, toothy grin. “But why the hell is he just sitting there?”

  Her head swiveled to follow his gaze. “I couldn’t say. There are open seats. Let’s go see how the cards fall.”

  “Didn’t take you as one to gamble, nun lady.”

  “I’m not. But I wasn’t always what I am now.”

  Inés headed for the table where Trevisan sat and found two seats. Inés sat first, and Rhett squeezed in beside her, barely noticing the press of bodies in his hunger for his prey. He wanted nothing so much as to leap across the table and throttle Trevisan to death, for all that he looked like a sweet if grumpy little girl. Trevisan was staring back through Meimei’s dark eyes, furious and disgusted and full of hate. Rhett drank it in, loving that his enemy was finally so close, and yet unable to do anything. Because sitting next to Trevisan were two of the most dangerous creatures Rhett could imagine.

  Rich white folks.

  A lady and a man, just a little too old to have babies of their own, probably, and full up with righteousness and evidence of too much cash. The lady was big and busty like the lead heifer, all dripping with diamonds and lace, and she had a long ribbon tied around her wrist and attached to Trevisan’s belt, almost like he was a dog on a leash. The man looked like an overstuffed chair and had a bristly mustache and a very tight hat, and Rhett felt at any moment the feller’s buttons might start popping off and pinging across the room. He was very busily eating, but the lady was fussing over Trevisan.

  “Here come the delicious greens! Open up like a bunny!”

  Trevisan’s dead, angry eyes stared at Rhett. He did not open up like a bunny.

  Rhett helped himself to fried chicken and smothered a laugh.

  “What a lovely child,” Inés said, and the woman just ate that up like syrup.

  “Oh, how polite of you to notice. An orphan, the poor dear thing. We’re adopting her. But she just won’t eat her delicious greens, will you, Mildred?”

  Rhett took a big bite of his biscuit and leaned over. “C’mon, now, Milly. Be a good little girl and take a bite.” His grin just about split his face in half.

  “Your boy’s a bit familiar,” the lady said to Inés, and Inés put a hand on Rhett’s arm.

  “Let the child eat, Rhett,” she said.

  He nodded and leaned back. “Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t want to get between a child and vittles, that’s for sure.”

  “Is the child giving you trouble?” Inés said, one hand indicating the ribbon. And, Rhett noticed, the second ribbon attaching Trevisan to a bored-looking feller sitting on the child’s other side, a teddy bear stuffed under his arm and huge pistols poking up at his hips.

  The woman tsked. “Oh, you know how these abandoned foreign children are. Feral as wild coyotes. Poor Mildred keeps trying to run off. She doesn’t know what’s good for her. So we’ve had to take precautions, with good Mr. Franck to help keep her safe. I don’t know what she thinks she’s running off to that’s better than us, but we’ll get through to her. I’m sure of it. Love always finds a way.”

  Inés nodded. “I will pray for you, Señora…” She trailed off, questioning.

  “Josephina Mallard. And this is my husband, Herbert.”

  Herbert took a moment out of stuffing his face to tip his hat and mumble something.

  “And are you just passing through, or have you plans in the area?”

  Josephina put a hand over her heart like she was about to tell her favorite story. “Sister, you’ll appreciate this. The hand of God brought little Mildred into our lives. We were scouting a ridge for our ranch when we saw a figure on a dying mare struggling across the prairie. And I told Herbert he had to go see what it was, because it was either someone who needed our help or someone trespassing, and he sent one of his boys down, and they brought back this poor heathen child, just kicking and screaming. She was skinny and dirty and carrying saddlebags filled with all sorts of filth, bones and jars of smelly plants and great, ugly books, and if you’ll believe it, a box of gold. Even a crow in a little cage. The horse was wearing old wagon traces attached to her bridle. I imagine her whole caravan of people got ambushed, and she’s the only one who survived, and God sent her right to us, right onto our land. She tried to escape, but we had our boys bring her up on the wagon box with us, and now we’ve decided to build the ranch on the very spot where we found her. We’ll call it Provenance Ranch, and the sign will have a little horse in traces. Isn’t that perfect?”

  “Just perfect,” Rhett said. Then, quickly, “What’d you-all do with the crow and the bones?”

  Josephina’s mouth puckered up like a cat’s angry butthole. “They seemed downright unchristian, so we had the trail boys start up a fire and just throw everything in. You should’ve seen it! I swear those flames turned green. Thank the Lord!”

  Trevisan’s hate was like a fog rolling across the table, and Rhett just wallowed in it. To think: All this time he’d been chasing the man, and now Trevisan was stuck here. Whenever Josephina had burned his things must’ve been when the animal attacks stopped, and Trevisan had been trapped ever since under the watchful eye of this well-meaning lunatic and her paid muscle. As for Josephina, Rhett wondered what kind of fool would set themselves up as guardian to an unholy terror and keep at it even when it was clearly not working. The woman had to be raving mad. Or richer than God and bored to death. Probably both.

  Mr. Franck, he noticed, didn’t take his eyes off the child. He was clearly being paid well to prevent Trevisan from escaping again. Even as he took out a fine, antler-handled knife and picked his teeth, he didn’t look away. Silent but deadly, that one, Rhett reckoned.

  “So you’re staying here at the hotel while your ranch is built,” Inés said. “How lovely.”

  Josephina nodded. “It’s a bit rustic, but the doctor said Herbert needed a dry heat for his gout and eczema. He looks healthier already. And soon sweet little Mildred will have her own suite of rooms to explore. And she’ll be the luckiest little girl on earth, won’t you?”

  She reached over to pinch Trevisan’s chubby cheek, and he grunted and turned away. His arms were already crossed, and the sight nearly made Rhett pee his pants in amusement. The three-hundred-year-old necromancer, stuck in the body of a child and trapped by these great fools, shackled to a hired gunman. It was a fitting punishment. But it was nowhere near enough. Meimei might still be in there, and Trevisan still had to pay for his sins.

  Rhett refilled his plate and kept eating as he scanned the dining room. There were windows everywhere, opening out onto the front street and into a brick-walled alley on the other side. The folks eating at the table were all human and mostly white, but the men were in general all armed, and several of them looked like they might actually be familiar with the trigger. Women and children were in full force, as well as old folks and a couple of small dogs. It was not a good place for a gunfight, nor would it be possible to steal Trevisan and hurry out the door without someone calling an alarm – or Mr. Franck throwing that shiny knife. Wherever the sheriff’s office was, it was bound to be close. You didn’t build a hotel like this one unless you had the law nearby and on your side.

  So his posse had been right, then. This job would take more than his usual frontal attack. He had to get Trevisan away from the assholes who’d adopted him and drag him into the desert, alone.

  “Until Sunday, then,” Inés said, and Rhett realized Trevisan’s folks were getting up from their meal. Herbert had gravy stains all down his front, and Josephina and Mr. Franck had their hands full with trying to hold Trevisan’s arms. The child very clearly did not like being carried around like a sack of grain and
was fighting like a mad badger.

  “Good night, Mildred,” Rhett called.

  When Trevisan glared at him from under Mr. Franck’s arm, Rhett blew him a kiss.

  He was pretty sure Trevisan would’ve killed him for that alone, had he been able.

  “You shouldn’t taunt him,” Inés murmured, lifting her veil just enough to slip a spoonful of soup underneath.

  “I can’t help it,” Rhett whispered back. “He’s my enemy. He cut off one of my toes. If I can make him squirm, I’m gonna.”

  “Did you hear the last of the conversation?”

  Rhett pulled over a pie and helped himself to a generous slice. “Nope. I was busy figuring out how to kidnap the little shit without killing everybody.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re going out with them Sunday morning, to see the new homestead.”

  Rhett dropped his fork with a clatter. “Well, damn, nun. You done good.”

  Inés slid his pie across the table and used her own fork to finish it. “I have my uses. I told that fool woman I would consecrate her ground in the name of God. If she knew anything about religion other than how to show up on Easter Sunday in her finest dress, she would know that I don’t have that power, but lucky for us, she has no idea. So be ready. Sunday morning is our chance.”

  Rhett nodded. “Grab Trevisan, spook their horses, and start the spell. Day after tomorrow.”

  “Day after tomorrow. As long as nothing goes wrong.”

  “But something always does.”

  “Amen to that, Sister.”

  Rhett knew how to work his ass off until midnight and then fall asleep, but he was utterly unfamiliar with finishing supper and going to his room to be alone all night. Nobody to talk to, nothing that needed mending, no horses to pat and brush until a feller felt tuckered out. He kept waiting for Dan and Cora to show up, maybe figure out a way to sneak Sam and Winifred into the hotel, too. He sat in his room, then paced it again, then looked out the window at the folks scuttling down the street in the dark. He knew exactly where they were going. The saloon was lit up like Christmas and featured the only monsters in town, if the harmless little wobble in Rhett’s stomach was any indication.