Revenge and the Wild

by Michelle Modesto

  “I don’t see how I could possibly mess things up worse than I already have.”

  He tossed a hammer to the side. “None of these will work. I’ll go check Nigel’s office.”

  “I’ll go get the horses ready.”

  Westie went down to the barn. She was glad for the chore, needing to spend some of her nervous energy. She didn’t like keeping secrets from Nigel, especially after what had happened when she took the Fairfields’ gold. Perhaps he would have approved of them breaking into the mayor’s office and might’ve even offered to help. On the off chance that he would forbid it, she thought it best they go alone. Besides, his faulty leg would only slow them down. What really worried her most was the uncertainty of what they’d find in the safe. What if it were just money? She pushed the thought aside and tried not to get her hopes up. The disappointment of such a discovery might be the last thread to break her.

  She was lost in her own head when she heard the shuffling of feet on the ground behind her. Old habits got their grip on her and she spun around, expecting to see the Undying at her back with their grabby hands and snappy teeth. She relaxed when she saw it was only James.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, trying to keep the pity she felt for him from showing on her face.

  He wore a sloppy grin and held a bottle of Heck’s moonshine in his hand. His hair stuck out at all angles. She almost didn’t recognize him without his slick hair and expensive suits. Instead, he wore brown trousers, a rancher’s plaid shirt, and scuffed boots.

  “I come to help with the chores.” Each word slurred into the next until it became a jumbled heap of sounds.

  “What are you talking about? Or better yet, what in blazes are you wearing?”

  “Oh, this?” he said, pointing to his shirt. One of his eyelids was so heavy he looked as if he were winking. “Trying on poverty to see how it fits.”

  He spun around in a slow circle so she could get a better look, but lost his footing and stumbled into her. She caught him before they both took a tumble.

  “Sit. You’re drunk.” If she hadn’t known the pain he was in, she might’ve laughed at him.

  “I can’t sit. I don’t have that sort of leisure time anymore,” he said with dramatic flair as if he were on a stage. “I have to get a job!”

  Westie wondered if the concept of work was so confusing that he had to get into character to make sense of it.

  The act fell away and he looked at her with sad eyes.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, even though she already knew.

  “Haven’t you heard?” He flopped down on a bale of hay. “I’m broke.”

  She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. If he thought he suffered now, he had another think coming. Eventually James would learn that not only was he broke, but his entire family were cannibals.

  “I hadn’t heard,” she lied. “What happened?”

  He looked ready to cry. Westie hoped he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t know what to do with a crying man.

  “I told Lavina not to keep our gold at the inn. There were all sorts of feral people going in and out of that place. It was only a matter of time before someone broke into our rooms and stole it.”

  Westie squeezed his hand. He looked so much like a young boy sitting there in his crumpled state. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that his money was safely hidden away beneath a loose floorboard under her bed and he would get it back soon.

  “There anything I can do?” she asked.

  He looked up at her through glassy eyes. “You can help me forget.”

  “All right. How?”

  He leaned over and kissed her. She sat there a moment, her eyes wide, too stunned to move. She was afraid to push him away at first, afraid to crush his fragile heart. She used her machine to put an arm’s length of distance between them, gently so as not to bruise his ego.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He sighed, turning back into a sad boy. “Is it because I’m broke?”

  “No, it’s not because of stupid money. It’s because I’m with Alistair.”

  “The mute?” he said with disgust.

  Her eyes shrank into a glare. “And because you’re an ass.”

  A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I am an ass and everyone knows it. You’re the only one brave enough to say it.” He leaned his head against her shoulder and promptly began snoring.

  She laughed, nudging him awake.

  “Come on, let’s put you to bed.” Westie helped him into the house and up the stairs to her bed. The oil from his hair made a black smear against her pillow.

  Alistair stepped into her room, holding several glass bottles from the collection in Nigel’s office.

  “Are you—” His voice cut off when he saw James. “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s not feeling well. Just found out he’s broke and went on a bender.”

  Alistair glanced ruefully at the boy before looking away. “Oh, I see.”

  “He’s going need a safe place to stay.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What are those?” she asked, pointing at the bottles.

  “Rust, aluminum powder, and magnesium strips” was all he said.

  “Well, what are they for?”

  His eyes turned to slivers when he smiled beneath the mask. “You’ll see. We should be on our way.”

  They punched the breeze to get to town. Once they made it, they tied their horses up in front of the general store, slinking among the parade of vendors and prospectors to get to the mayor’s office.

  Alistair and Westie slipped into the alley behind the mayor’s office and found a window. Alistair hoisted her onto his shoulders so she could look inside.

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  She tried to climb off his shoulders but got her foot caught up in his holsters and toppled to the ground with a grunt despite Alistair’s best efforts to catch her.

  Alistair’s metallic laughter bit at her patience. He tried to help her stand, but she pushed him away.

  She cleared the web of hair from her face. “Let’s get on with it.”

  They snuck through the back door. Once inside Alistair busied himself with the bottles he’d brought with him while Westie kept vigil. She imagined the things they would find in the safe, perhaps keepsakes from victims. She was sure the mayor knew about the Fairfields’ particular tastes. It was possible the mayor was also a cannibal. Maybe they would find the bones of victims, stuffed heads like the animals on his walls, or some macabre trophy inside—something they could take right to the sheriff.

  They needed to find something to incriminate the Fairfields as well as the mayor. It wasn’t just about revenge for Isabelle and the family Westie had lost in that cabin anymore. The fate of the Wintu and the creatures depended on getting Emma up and running. For that, they needed copper. To get copper, they needed to be able to spend that gold. When people realized the gold was stolen from cannibals, they’d stop looking for the thieves. She was certain it would all work out if only the Fairfields were behind bars.

  There was a burst of light and a searing sound when Alistair ignited the powder mixture. Within seconds the locks were off. “I’m in,” he said.

  Westie rushed over to him, heart hitting her ribs like a bedpost in a brothel hitting the wall on payday. When she knelt beside Alistair and saw the single item inside, her excitement withered away.

  “That can’t be it,” she said.

  Alistair picked up the piece of paper with the list of names on it. Some of the names had been crossed out. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, what’s it say?”

  Alistair read the names to her. On the list were the Fairfields’ and the entire Lovett family’s names, written small and neat in black ink. Beside them were the names of Westie, Alistair, Nigel, and Amos Little, written in sloppy slashes of red.

  “Amos Little?” she said.

  “He’s a banker in Sacramento. I recognize the name
.”

  “I remember him,” Westie said. “We met at the ball. There seemed to be some sort of grudge between him and the mayor.”

  She leaned over. “Why do you suppose the Fairfields’ and Lovetts’ names are crossed out?”

  “I’m more concerned why our names are on this list.”

  “Maybe it’s about Emma.”

  “Maybe. If it is, why hide it? And why are some of the names crossed out?”

  “I don’t know, but we should probably find out.” Westie groaned. “We’ll have to tell Nigel.” She wasn’t looking forward to telling him she’d been snooping around again behind his back.

  “I’m afraid so. And I think we’ll need to have a chat with Amos Little too.”

  “All right. Let’s get on with it.”

  Thirty-Four

  While Bena was there, Alistair broke the news to Nigel about him and Westie leaving for Sacramento. Bena always knew exactly what to say to Nigel to calm him down.

  Westie went to check on James. The floor creaked as she stepped up to the open door of her room. He continued his drunken snoring without pause.

  He looked so young sleeping in her bed. She was tempted to touch his cheek, tell him things would get better. Instead she got on her hands and knees, wriggled beneath the bed, and lifted the board, revealing the stack of gold bars. They’d need money on their travels, money she didn’t want to ask Nigel for. She pinched a piece of gold from one of the bars with her machine, put it in her pocket, then slid the board back into its place. It would be hard to find someone who would take raw gold as payment without alerting the authorities, but she was sure she could find some crook willing to make a trade in the city.

  After tucking James in, she went downstairs to face Nigel.

  He was in his office waiting for her. Alistair and Bena were leaving just as she walked in.

  “I’ll get our things,” Alistair said on his way out.

  Bena gave her a wink and a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. Westie wanted to stop her and ask about Nigel’s mood, but couldn’t without him hearing.

  “Shut the door,” Nigel said when she was in his office.

  He was either nervous or angry, judging by the way he kept rearranging his desk.

  “I seem to remember things going terribly wrong the last time you were in someone else’s room without being invited—yet here we are again,” he said, but he didn’t sound upset.

  Westie sat down in the chair opposite Nigel, propping her boots up on his desk. “And I seem to recall someone saying they’d help take the Fairfields down no matter what scheming had to be done.”

  Nigel’s lips twitched but didn’t quite turn into a smile. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Are you angry?” she asked.

  Nigel leaned back in his chair, looking up at the sepia-painted Vitruvian Man on the ceiling that used to give Westie a touch of the giggles when she was younger. “No, but I am concerned about your healing process should your travels not yield the results you want.”

  “You’re talking about me drinking.”

  He nodded. “I just want you to be all right.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that anymore—trust me on that one.”

  He opened his mouth to say more, but she interrupted him, wanting to escape the subject. “James is upstairs in my room. Take care of him while we’re gone. He’s in a bad way now that all his money’s gone.”

  “I’ll be happy to have him. While Alistair’s away, I’ll need the extra pair of hands to help me move Emma into the mine. I plan to attach the engine, and once I do, it’ll be too big for the great room..”

  “Take care of yourself too. Both your names are on that list we found,” Westie said.

  Nigel stood and forced Westie into a hug. Once the awkwardness of the embrace wore off, she settled in and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about us,” he said. “I’ll take care of James. And we have Jezebel and Lucky looking out.”

  “We’ll be back day after tomorrow,” Westie said.

  With a final squeeze, she let go of Nigel and went to meet Alistair.

  They left soon after Westie’s conversation with Nigel and rode through the night without stopping, and without sleep. Westie had forgotten how peaceful the road could be away from the clicking of so many inventions. Even with the silence and tired eyes, she couldn’t turn off the sound in her mind.

  It was morning. An overcast sky threatened rain. Autumn was beginning to show in all corners, but the cold gusts made it feel more like winter. Crisp air stung Westie’s nose with the scent of pine. The closer they got to the city, the more maples they encountered until they were swallowed up by them, enchanting splashes of color in an otherwise dreary landscape. Deep orange, scarlet, and purple leaves fell from the sky like embers from a burning airship. Westie raised her parasol to keep the sugar sap of the leaves from sticking to her hair.

  She’d stayed quiet during the ride, but there was a question that had been nagging at her ever since their kiss.

  “I want you to tell me something, and I need you to be honest,” she said through chattering teeth. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten her duster. Her fingers and toes had gone completely numb.

  Alistair looked at her, raising his brows. “Of course. What is it?”

  Now that she had his full attention, her courage leaked away. She opened her mouth and closed it. After three more tries, she finally found the right words. “Three years ago, at my birthday party, you put on your mask and never showed me your face again. Why?”

  He looked down, face going red, mask humming loudly. “Oh, that,” he said.

  “Yes, that. It’s hard for me to believe, after all those years of you hating me and avoiding my very existence, that you love me all of a sudden.”

  He shook his head and made a sound she thought was laughter. “I never hated you. The opposite, in fact.”

  “You could’ve fooled me—and everyone else around for that matter. Everyone saw it. Even Isabelle.”

  She choked on Isabelle’s name. It was still difficult for her to say out loud.

  He took a breath and let it slowly whistle out through the mask’s air filter. “I’d never seen the way others treated you prior to that party. Once you left school, it was just me and you. I’d assumed they were afraid of you like they were of me—especially after you crushed Isabelle’s hand.”

  He chuckled at the memory, but when Westie didn’t join in, his laughter trailed off into a hum. “I was happy that you had friends, and I enjoyed watching you interact with them and be a normal girl for a change.” He sighed, a long hissing sound. “While I watched, I saw how the boys looked at you. I recognized the stares because I’d caught myself doing the very same thing.”

  She looked at him, surprised.

  “Just one year earlier you were thirteen, all bones and skinned knees, climbing trees and crying when I wouldn’t play stickball with you because you could hit the ball so much farther than I. You seemed like a child then, while I was a man of sixteen. Then suddenly, at fourteen, you didn’t seem so young anymore.” The redness in his face deepened. “I was terrified by the way I’d started to feel about you. I knew that I’d always loved you, but it had changed into a . . . mature kind of love.”

  His words floated in the air above her. Just letters and sounds she couldn’t make sense of. When they finally fit together, all piled up and heavy, they came crashing down on her. For the first time in her life she was speechless.

  He hung his head. “After seeing how those boys were with you at your party, I knew it wouldn’t be long before there were more. With all those admirers, why would you choose a mute with scars on his face when you could have the James Lovetts of the world?”

  Sadness welled up inside, burning her nose and chest as if she’d breathed ammonia. The pain of it grew and grew until she was drowning in tears. She was overwhelmed with—she wasn’t sure with what, joy, confusion, an anger as str
ong as dark whiskey.

  “You are a coward!” Things would’ve been so different had she known his true feelings. Maybe she would never have left Rogue City to hunt cannibals, or fallen prey to the bottle. She wouldn’t have felt as used up and poisoned as she had.

  When she spoke again, it was with a sad lilt. “You broke my heart, Alley.”

  His eyes were wide and glittering. “I know. And I’ll spend every day of my life trying to make it up to you.”

  Gentle rain tapped against Westie’s parasol. It was just a few drops at first, and then the sky opened and rain spit out like sharpened spears. She could hardly see what was right in front of her face. The lace of her parasol wilted, useless. She folded it up and attached it to her saddle.

  The valley was known for its flashes of rain and quick floods. The storm turned the road to glue, and the horses struggled to move in the mush collecting beneath their hooves. Then the hail came.

  “We need to get off the road,” Alistair shouted.

  The hail chased them into the maple forest, beneath the canopy of leaves where the beating was less abrasive. Westie’s clothes soaked up the wet, chilling her to her core.

  Henry stumbled in the muck. She fell but managed to grab hold of the saddle horn with her machine before hitting the ground. Spooked by the sudden shift of weight, Henry took off at a full run, dragging Westie through the brush, knocking her against trees. Branches reached out like clawed hands scratching at her skin until she finally let go and fell into a pile of leaves.

  “Westie!” Alistair slid from his saddle and rushed toward her.

  He helped her to her feet and led her below a sturdy tree. Nothing hurt more than a bruise. The scratches weren’t deep enough to draw blood. She knew there were no broken bones, but the cold she felt was just as crippling. Alistair grabbed his pack from his horse. He used a large sheet of hide to make a shelter and laid out his bedroll and wool blankets.

  Westie had started to peel off her clothes when she noticed Alistair frozen in place. The exposed skin around his mask made him look like a child who had gotten into his mother’s rouge.