Revenge and the Wild

by Michelle Modesto

  Tears stung Westie’s eyes. Her little brother, whom she’d spent seven years mourning, had been resurrected and was going to kill her. She doubted she’d survive the attack, but if she did, she really would hunt him down the rest of her years. And even if she didn’t survive, she planned to haunt the little shit.

  James’s face was crushed into a look of molten aggression as he brought the branch down. Westie rolled away, hearing the splash of mud when it hit the spot where she’d just been lying. With what little strength Westie had left, she sprang to her feet and swung her machine at him with enough force to kill a vampire. The damage it did to James’s beautiful face left him unrecognizable.

  So much for postmortem photographs, she thought before falling to her knees.

  Alistair yelled out her name, but she couldn’t call back. She couldn’t even stay upright. Rolling onto her back, she closed her eyes to fight the nausea she felt. When she opened them again, Alistair’s face floated above her, his head framed with stars.

  Westie tried to speak, but all that came out were wet gurgles. She wanted to reach out and hold him, rejoice in their victory. But she couldn’t move. Her eyes couldn’t focus. She felt as if she were on the wrong end of a bola being twirled in the air. Looking at the sky for something solid and unmoving to focus on, she didn’t see any stars. With a sick feeling, she realized it wasn’t just the sky that had gone dark, but her vision too, and then suddenly there was nothing.

  Forty

  Westie opened her eyes in spasms. She was in her room, on her bed. There was a clatter of chairs and shuffling feet as Nigel, Alistair, and Bena swarmed her. She blinked. The first clear memory that came to her was drinking Costin’s blood and the cramping in her stomach. But no, that wasn’t right. That had happened a while back, and her stomach felt fine. It was her jaw that hurt.

  Another memory flashed in front of her, as crisp and startling as a slap in the face: Cain with his knife to Alistair’s neck, about to spill his blood until Costin came to his rescue, tearing out Cain’s throat. And then . . .

  Westie looked up at the ceiling, at the different patterns in the wood, the knots that looked like screaming mouths. She wanted to join them. It was hard for her to believe that such a short time ago she’d thought of creatures as nothing more than vicious talking animals put on the earth for her amusement. Never imagined one could be as selfless as Costin. She never could have pictured herself calling one a friend. He had been a friend, though, the best kind, the kind who was there for her even when she didn’t deserve it.

  Westie tried to sit up, but the throbbing in her head knocked her back onto her pillow. She tried to speak but couldn’t open her mouth, and all that came out were incoherent mumblings.

  “Relax,” Nigel said, peeling a damp cloth from her head. “Don’t move your mouth. Your jaw is broken. I had to wire it shut.”

  Had it been any other time, she was sure Alistair would have had something smart to say about that. Instead he stared down at her with open worry, a bandage covering one of his eyes.

  Without a voice she had to sign. Is James dead? she asked.

  Everything had been a blur in those last moments. She wanted to make sure her memories weren’t skewed by the hit she’d taken to the head.

  Nigel’s brows came together. “Is James . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  Nigel’s signing was adequate enough, though not fluent, which turned out to be tiresome.

  “Dead,” Alistair translated for her. “She wants to know if James is dead.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m afraid so,” Nigel said.

  Westie closed her eyes and sighed. It was over, finally. James and the Fairfields were dead. She had her revenge, but the loss of Isabelle and Costin made it bittersweet. She opened her eyes and felt a tear slide down her cheek.

  “It must be hard to learn that James was the brother you’d mourned for so long,” Nigel said, confusing the reason for her tears.

  She moved her hands in lazy arcs.

  “She doesn’t care about James,” Alistair said for her.

  It was true. She didn’t care about James. She cared about Tripp, but the real Tripp had died a long time ago, and the man who’d almost killed her was a demon who had possessed her brother’s body. She had already mourned her brother. That time was over, and now she had someone else to grieve for.

  She took a breath that whistled through her teeth and tried to gather her emotions. She would mourn Costin on her own time, when there was space to weep without making everyone around her feel uncomfortable.

  She signed again, and again Alistair spoke for her. “At least you have the money to finish your machine. Something good has to come from all this madness.”

  Optimism hadn’t quite settled in yet, but it didn’t stand a chance once she saw the miserable look on Nigel’s face.

  He said, “I’m sad to say the gold is gone.”

  What? she signed in an explosive hand movement that needed no translation. She sprang into a sitting position, ignoring the pain, even though it felt like someone was mining for gold fillings in her teeth.

  “Relax before you pop your stitches,” Nigel said.

  What happened? she signed.

  It was Bena who answered. “The mayor took the sheriff’s horse and slipped away with the gold during the chaos. He was the least of our concerns.”

  Nigel finished by saying, “We haven’t been able to find him. With that amount of gold, it’s doubtful we ever will.”

  Westie wanted to crawl under the covers and scream. She didn’t want to believe that her epic search for justice would conclude with the last of the bad guys getting away with the gold meant to save magic.

  Her hands felt like clumps of lead as she began to move them. So that’s it—it’s over?

  With slower and more deliberate hand signs, Nigel seemed to understand well enough without Alistair’s help.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Nigel said.

  What do you mean?

  “I mean I found another investor for my machine.”

  What? Westie didn’t want to get excited for fear of being let down, but she couldn’t help herself. Who?

  She watched Nigel’s mouth, waiting for his lips to open and a miracle to slide out, so when she heard the smooth, rich voice come from the doorway opposite him, she started.

  “I’ve been looking for investments,” Costin said. He leaned against the door frame, not a scratch on him. He smiled his arrogant grin when he saw the shocked confusion muddying her features. “What’s the point of being disgustingly wealthy if you can’t brag about all the little people you’ve helped along the way?”

  Westie jumped up from her bed, nearly tripping over her sheets, and threw herself into his arms. His body was cold and stiff and more comforting than she could ever have imagined possible. She held on to him like a vise, with her face against his neck. His cold skin brought some comfort to her aching jaw. After a few minutes in his embrace, she suddenly remembered everyone else in the room and stepped away.

  I thought you were dead, she signed.

  “Oh, this is delightful,” he said with a full body laugh. “I don’t suppose it’s permanent?” He pointed to one of the metal wires that stuck out of her mouth and curled around her bottom lip in a decorative loop.

  She hit him in the chest with her machine, nearly knocking him to the ground, unperturbed by his teasing.

  Alistair laughed too until she turned her glare on him. He cleared his throat. “She wants to know how you survived.”

  Costin’s laughter trailed off, but his smile remained. “I’m not exactly sure, but I believe Bena had something to do with it.”

  Westie looked curiously over at Bena, whose cheeks were the color of overripe peaches. Embarrassed, Westie thought with some amusement. The only other time she’d seen her friend that ruffled was when Bena had let it slip that she had feelings for Nigel.

  Bena raised her chin as if that might drain the blush
from her cheeks. “Big Fish has informed me that I will succeed her as chief when the time comes. She has been helping me to talk to the spirits. I was able to reverse the effect the protection ward had on the vampire before it was too late.”

  Westie didn’t ask Bena why she had kept such important news about becoming the next chief from her. It didn’t matter. All Westie cared about was that her family was with her.

  I don’t have to tell you how glad I am the two of you saved us, and that Costin is alive, Westie signed, but how did you find us out there?

  Alistair translated for her.

  Bena said, “The sheriff sent for us as backup when he received your telegraph bird. Unfortunately, he was closer to the mine than we were and went in without us.”

  Westie pulled her fingers through her hair with a trembling hand. Nothing had gone according to plan, but it could’ve gone so much worse. A heavy fog of relief settled over her. Her family was safe and Costin was alive. That was all she wanted to think about.

  Westie had Jezebel and Lucky on leashes standing between Alistair and Nigel in a large gathering in front of the mayor’s mansion in Sacramento. There was a slight breeze, but not a cloud in the sky. Folks from all over had flooded into the north valley to hear Costin, the new mayor of the Sacramento Valley—and first creature to ever become an elected official—speak.

  Costin wore his authority well. He stood on a platform with Bena and Emma, hands clasped behind his back. The Wintu made up a large portion of the crowd. Now that the old mayor had been replaced, there was no one to keep the the tribe out of the city. Once folks had learned it was the Wintu who were responsible for the magic ward that would keep their town safe, they didn’t seem to mind the tribe’s presence—even if they did stand feet away.

  Westie laced her fingers with Alistair’s and leaned into his ear so she could whisper.

  “Isn’t it something to have a creature as our new mayor?”

  It had been six months since her broken jaw, yet it still clicked every time she opened her mouth. She didn’t care about that, though, and was just thankful to have kept all her teeth.

  Alistair touched the small of her back and rubbed slow circles as he spoke, a new habit of his that Westie adored.

  “Something indeed,” he said. “It’s too bad what happened to the old one.”

  A smile grazed Westie’s lips. “Sure is. Bandits can be mean ol’ suckers, can’t they? I do wonder who will change his diapers while he’s convalescing.”

  Costin went on to finish his speech about the machine, about mankind and creaturekind coming together, and how Nigel’s invention was a symbol of hope and tolerance. He told the people it was a step closer to a united America, where humans and creatures might one day live in a world without the need of wards.

  Westie thought he was full of shit, but it was a nice speech nonetheless. When Costin finished speaking, he stepped back and let Bena take center stage. She took a nugget of gold the size of a marble and placed it inside the machine’s amplifying compartment, then began to speak the words of the Wintu incantation.

  Westie squeezed Alistair’s hand. It was Emma’s first time out.

  When Bena was finished, she stepped back. Westie held her breath. At first nothing happened, and worried murmurs skittered across the crowd, but then the trees around them started to turn blue, the color starting from the base and rising up to fill the leaves. Westie looked up when the sky took on an opalescent skin as the magic dome materialized over the town. Laughter and applause broke out all around her, and finally, for the first time in a long time, Westie could breathe again.

  Acknowledgments

  First I want to thank my agent, John M. Cusick. I couldn’t have asked for a better champion for my book. I also want to thank my editor, Kristin Rens, and assistant editor, Kelsey Murphy, two very smart and insightful women. I’ve learned so much from working with both of you, and it’s been an absolute pleasure. I also want to thank Caroline Sun, Nellie Kurtzman, Renée Cafiero, Alison Donalty, and Jenna Stempel for my beautiful cover and Nim Ben-Reuven for the lovely hand-painted title. Next is Jerry Gannon and my dauntless mother, who’s always supportive even when I’m a nightmare to be around; my daughter, Haydn, who skipped fireworks with friends to talk characters; and my son, Xander, who only complained a little when I turned his closet into my writing space. You two delightful turds own my heart. Next I want to thank my best friend, Alena Clark, my first reader and my loudest foul-mouthed cheerleader. My critique partner, Heather Roetto, and her husband, Nick Roetto, for moral and technical support. Our weekly gatherings keep me sane. Also, Sam Snoek-Brown and Bonnie Cox for our early discussions about craft. This long journey began with you. Last but not least, I want to thank Xanax. Because stress.

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  About the Author

  MICHELLE MODESTO is a writer, hockey fanatic, art lover, and terrible cook—and her social skills aren’t that great either. This is her debut novel. She lives in Northern California in a double-wide mobile asylum with two mastiffs who don’t listen to her and two teenagers who also don’t listen to her. You can visit Michelle online at www.michellemodesto.com.

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  Credits

  Cover art © 2016 by Nim Ben-Reuven and photographs © 2016 by Rick Ohnsman—True Light Photographics and Lee Avison / Trevillion Images

  Cover design by Jenna Stempel

  Copyright

  Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  REVENGE AND THE WILD. Copyright © 2016 by Michelle Modesto. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.epicreads.com

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Modesto, Michelle.

  Revenge and the wild / Michelle Modesto. — First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: Seventeen-year-old foul-mouthed Westie, the notorious adopted daughter of local inventor Nigel Butler, lives in the lawless western town of Rogue City, where she sets out to prove the wealthy investors in a magical technology that will save her city are the cannibals that killed her family and took her arm when she was a child.

  ISBN 978-0-06-236615-3 (hardback)

  EPub Edition © January 2016 ISBN 9780062366177

  [1. Fantasy. 2. Revenge—Fiction. 3. Magic—Fiction. 4. Cannibalism—Fiction. 5. People with disabilities—Fiction. 6. West (U.S.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.1.M637Re 2016 2015015885

  [Fic]—dc23 CIP

  AC

  * * *

  15 16 17 18 19 PC/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FIRST EDITION

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