Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  He slid his knife from its sheath and carefully, slowly, cut off a long, thick lock of Chimera’s hair. Tying it securely to his gun belt, he watched it flow down to the toe of his boot. There would be no mistaking whose hair it was, he knew—only Chimera had hair like this.

  Bending, he kissed her damp cheek and tasted her tears. His damsel had known sorrow this day. “I swear,” he whispered, “he will pay a bitter price for hurting you. By destroying what you loved, he has begun his own ruination, and I’ll see him in hell before it’s over.”

  His heart lurched when she sniffled and moaned. Straightening, he touched his loaded Colts that lay heavily upon his thighs, and allowed their cold steel to penetrate his soul. He quietly left her bedroom and entered the great room, where he snatched one of her incantation books from the shelf. He thumbed through the book of spells, ripped out a suitable page, and stuffed it into his pocket.

  He left the cabin, mounted Gus and galloped into the night-black forest.

  He felt every inch the knight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sterling was not fooled by the tranquility at the Dragoon Diamond. Many of Sprague’s hands were undoubtedly on duty, protecting the damn bastard while he slept.

  Shadows, thick and black as his own hair, shielded Sterling as he left Gus and crept from the forest into the clearing. His steps were soundless, he knew, and not even his breath would give his presence away, for he dared not breathe before reaching the huge barn only a short distance away.

  But his heart would not be silent. It beat as loud as a thousand drums. If he were killed, Chimera and the children would also die. That thought was uppermost in his mind as he made his way to the barn and slipped inside. He saw some fifty horses peering from their stalls, obviously trying to sense if he was friend or foe.

  Friend, he willed them to believe, and was relieved when not one of them let out as much as a quiet nicker. In the tack room, moonlight fell upon dozens of saddles and bridles. The saddle girths hung neatly from nails in the walls. “Try saddling the horses without girths,” he whispered as he deftly cut through every strap. “Try controlling your mounts without bridles,” he added, and destroyed the bridles also. “And try catching me without horses, you damn sons of bitches.” He would return later to the barn and set free the horses.

  The damage done, he melted into the same ebony shadows that had hidden him earlier, and reached the structure he sought. The pungent, acid smell of gunpowder assured him it was the ammunition room.

  A man drawing lazily upon a cheroot sat leaning against the door. Sterling’s hand tightened around the hilt of his knife at the knowledge of how many men were undoubtedly nearby. He went over his plan again, branding it into his memory, then cautiously approached the guard.

  The man’s head snapped erect, and he flicked away his cheroot. “Somebody there?” His eyes widened when he caught the shadowed form of a man. Snatching his gun from his belt, he curled his finger around the trigger and took aim.

  Sterling leapt toward him, his knife promptly ending the man’s struggles. Swiftly he propped the body back against the wall, pulled the man’s hat over his forehead, draped the man’s serape across his bloodied chest, and eased into the shadows once more.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he heard another man shout, footsteps nearing. “Who the hell you talkin’ to, Bud?”

  Sterling saw a white streak in the man’s hair and felt a horrible hatred. “Thought I seen a snake,” he answered, and feigned a yawn. “Go away and lemme sleep.”

  Willard paused. “What’s wrong with your voice, Bud? You don’t sound the same.”

  “Bone tiredness is what’s in my voice, a damn temper is what I’ve got in my head, and I’ve got a friggin’ itch in my trigger finger. Now leave me the hell alone.”

  Willard smiled. “Just checkin’, Bud. What with Sprague as fired up as he is over that witch and her damn bodyguard, I ain’t takin’ no chances. Just checkin’. Ain’t no kind of reason to kill your old friend Willard.” He looked at the ground and saw his friend’s lighted cheroot. “You still ain’t learned how to roll a smoke right, Bud. You ever gonna learn?”

  Damn! Sterling swore. Would Willard never leave? He pretended to yawn again.

  Willard took a seat against a fence post. “Bud, I been thinkin’. As soon as this business with the witch’s guardian angel is over, we should go out and find us another squaw. Them Indian girls fight, and there ain’t nothin’ that makes me hotter. I ain’t had a woman since we got hold of that pregnant one a while back. You know. Bud, we shouldn’t’ve killed her. We could’ve kept her hidden somewhere. She’d have had her brat soon and been a right purty piece for us to visit when the itch hit us.”

  Sterling yearned to put a hole through Willard’s head, but he forced his rage down and concentrated on how to make the bastard leave. If he stayed any longer it was certain he’d discover his friend Bud was dead. Sterling picked up a rock and tossed it toward the forest.

  Willard whirled toward that direction. “You hear that?”

  In response, Sterling shouted, “Apache!” and let out a sharp whistle.

  Willard gasped as a silvery horse appeared, then vanished. “Apache!” he repeated hysterically. More ranch hands came from all directions. “I saw a horse! Then it disappeared! Bud said he seen Apache!”

  Sterling watched the men tear into the woods, but knew no one would catch his fleet stallion. He emerged from the shadows and retrieved Bud’s smoldering cheroot. He stuck it between his teeth, then pried open the gun room lock with the blade of his knife, muffling the splintering sound of cracking wood with his body. Quickly, he picked up Bud, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

  Dynamite. There had to be some here, he knew, and cursed the viscous darkness. Dammit! Why wasn’t there a window? He swore and noticed a wan light in the corner.

  There was a window, he found. It was blocked by a stack of wooden crates, and he wasted no time removing them. His efforts were rewarded with a bright flood of moonlight, which illuminated the room sufficiently for him to see.

  Dios mio! Sprague had enough artillery in here to fight the entire U.S. Army! “Chimera, you are avenged, enchantress,” he whispered, and proceeded to quietly pry lids off the many crates.

  He soon came upon the dynamite he suspected he’d find. Picking up a few sticks of it, he sat on the crate and went over each detail of his plan. He’d have only a few minutes to accomplish much, he thought as he lit the fuses of the dynamite with the end of the cheroot.

  When the fuses were lit, he tore out of the building, into the shadows, and headed for the barn. He raced inside and through it, pausing at each stall to free the horses. They fled as one herd, their hooves sounding like thunder in the quiet stillness of the night.

  Shouts went up, but Sterling paid no attention to them. In only seconds the ammunition room was going to blow through the clouds. The explosion would buy him time.

  He left the barn, ran toward the huge paddock he’d seen easier, and yanked open the gate. Cattle, probably a hundred head or so, stampeded out, the din of their escape joining with that of the running horses.

  He saw another large barn. Upon reaching it, he smiled broadly. Another fifty or so horses were secured in it, and he lost little time in correcting that matter. The nervous steeds vanished into the night.

  The explosion he’d been waiting to hear suddenly shattered the darkness with pieces of fire that shot through the sky. He heard hysterical screams, some of pain, some of horror, some of disbelief. From all around him came the noise of running. Animals and men fled together in chaotic confusion.

  Sterling melted in with the ranch hands. He knew no one recognized him. Indeed, not one man seemed interested in anything but saving his own hide. He opened all the animal pens he found before he arrived back at the first barn and withdrew the page from Chimera’s spell book from his pocket. After hanging it on a nail, he read it again.

  By light of the sun, by light of the moon.<
br />
  May misfortune strike and maim.

  May horror be yours, may death be your prize.

  And may they befall you soon.

  Smiling, he untied Chimera’s long hair from his belt and looped it around the same nail that held the spell. As an afterthought, he cleaned his bloodied dagger on the white page and stared at the crimson smear. There would be no mistaking who’d caused tonight’s disaster.

  He had no idea if Sprague believed in magic or not, but he suspected that many of the ignorant ranch hands would be sufficiently frightened to quit their jobs and flee. And after the number of thugs had dwindled, it wouldn’t be as hard to defeat them.

  Satisfied, he raced into the woods, whistled for Gus, and rode home to the damsel he’d avenged.

  Sterling dug the huge hole just as Chimera had asked him to do. It took both Pegasus and Gus to drag Athena’s corpse to her grave, but again, Sterling did exactly what Chimera had requested. He laid Apollo to rest in the same hole and waited patiently as Chimera and the children tossed wildflowers upon the bodies of their pets before he covered the animals with the freshly dug dirt.

  With great reverence, he fashioned a wooden cross, carved Athena and Apollo’s names upon it, and secured it at the head of the grave. He helped Chimera and the children scatter more flowers, recited what he could remember of a suitable psalm, and prepared to deliver the eulogy, just as Chimera wanted.

  Clearing his throat, he surveyed the five sorrowful faces around him. “Athena was a good cow. She gave her milk, she gave her—She gave her other fluids also, all with the affection she had for her family.”

  He felt ridiculous praising the lifetime achievements of a cow, but the look in Chimera’s eyes told him this was not silly to her. “She was a gentle friend to us all, and may she be just as good a friend to the angels.

  “And Apollo,” he went on, trying to think of something wonderful about the scraggly rooster, “made sure we knew the arrival of each day. He made us laugh with the way he strutted around the yard. He tried to make us believe he was very important, and now that he’s gone...it’s evident he was important, for there exists a sense of great loss here without him. The magnificent Apollo is gone. May he find peace and many hens where he is now. Amen.”

  “‘For the dead there are no more toils.’ Sophocles,” Chimera said softly. “Rest, dear friends. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the children chorused.

  Sterling allowed them to dwell on their memories for a while longer before he took Chimera’s hand. “Are you all right?” he asked tenderly.

  Huge tears coursed down her cheeks. “‘He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it.’ A Turkish proverb. But then, as Thomas Fuller wrote, ‘To weep excessively for the dead is an affront to the living.’”

  She took a long moment to ponder her sadness, then gave Sterling a weak smile. “I’m fine now, Sterling. I’ll never stop missing Athena and Apollo, but in this instance, I think I shall follow the wise advice of Dr. Fuller. And you know, Sterling, I really try to do the wisest things. I’m not always successful in choosing what is wise and what isn’t, but it’s probably very wise to allow for human error. If I do an unwise thing, then the next time I’ll do it wisely. What do you think of that wisdom, Sterling?”

  He didn’t bother trying to unsnarl her tangled explanation, but only smiled. “I think your wisdom is very wise,” he teased. “So wise that it actually goes beyond wise. It goes beyond the mind’s comprehension. It soars so out of human range, that it—”

  “Oh, Sterling,” she scolded, and gave his shoulder a gentle push. “How you do go on.”

  “How I go on!” He laughed out loud and squeezed her hand. “Chimera, I’ve a surprise for you and the children. Come on.” He escorted her to the new barn, the children following, and untied the strong knot he’d made around the door handles.

  When the doors opened, Chimera and the children saw that each of the ten stalls was filled with animals. There were three cows, two with calves, four pigs, at least two dozen chickens, a yellow and red rooster, and five horses, four small and one as big as Gus. “There’s a bull tied up in the back,” Sterling announced.

  The triplets squealed and raced inside. Even Archibald hobbled along hurriedly. But Chimera did not follow. “Where did you get all this livestock?”

  “I found each and every animal loose in the forest,” he assured her in all honesty, seeing no reason to tell her that he was the one who’d let them loose in the first place.

  “That’s where you were last night? I woke up and you were gone. So was Gus. I worried, but what with the funeral, I’ve had no time to ask you about it until now.”

  “I—Yes. The animals—I heard them in the woods and went to investigate. Imagine my surprise when I saw them!”

  “You stole them, didn’t you?”

  “Stole? I just told you, I—”

  “Do the cows and horses have brands?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “You’ll be found out, Sterling,” she warned, and stepped into the barn to watch the snow-white mare that was restlessly turning circles in the stall.

  “No one will find—”

  “‘Commit a crime, and the earth is made of glass. There is no such thing as concealment.’ Emerson.”

  “Chimera—”

  “You stole them from Everett, didn’t you?” she guessed when she saw a small diamond branded on the white horse.

  “Well, think about all he’s done to you! To the children! He’s done more evil than—”

  “‘The number of malefactors authorizes not the crime.’ Thomas Fuller.”

  Hell, he swore silently. He stood no chance of winning an argument when she had all those damn philosophers on her side. “Sprague won’t even miss them, Chimera. You can’t believe how many animals he has! But I tell you truly, I did find this livestock running loose. I swear I—”

  “Are you defending yourself for stealing these animals. Sterling?” she asked, and crossed to examine the cows.

  Dios mio. He’d taken the animals to provide for her and the children. It bothered him greatly that he’d had to kill a man in the process, just as it still bothered him that he’d killed three other men during the months he’d been at Misfit Mansion. But he felt not a shred of regret for stealing livestock from the man who had caused such misery. Why couldn’t Chimera understand he’d only wanted to replace the animals Sprague had taken from her?

  “No, I’m not defending myself,” he snapped and prepared to do verbal battle with every great writer who’d ever existed.

  “Good,” she said, her eyes on Snig as he mounted one of the smaller horses and promptly fell off. “You’ve no need to do so, you know. In the words of the great Seneca, ‘Successful and fortunate crime is called virtue.’”

  “Virtue?” She was calling him virtuous for the crime of theft. He’d thought she was angry! Dammit, would he ever understand how her mind worked?

  “I suppose, though, that we should also consider the sage advice of Pubilius Syrus. ‘God looks at clean hands, not the full ones.’”

  Sterling felt frustration grip his insides. “So what am I, Chimera? The scum of the earth or a virtuous man?”

  “Well,” she began, “there are two sides to it. Alexander Pope wrote, ‘An honest man’s the noblest work of God.’ But then I’ve never argued with Plato, and he wrote, ‘Honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty.’ What do you think of the matter, Sterling?”

  Think? he repeated mentally. Since meeting her, he’d almost forgotten the meaning of the word! How was it possible to think when his mind was such a seething mass of confusion? “I say,” he started, and swallowed a curse, “‘Heed not a raving lunatic, lest you become one yourself!’”

  “‘Heed not...’ Who wrote that?”

  “Sterling Montoya!”

  The look of fury in his mesmerizing silver eyes made her smile.

  Her smile tempered his anger. “These animals will breed, Ch
imera. For as long as you allow nature to take its course, there’ll be plenty of meat and eggs. Not to mention that you can sell some of the stock every now and then. With the money, you can buy things you and the boys need. The five of you are going to be just fine.”

  Chimera felt her smile fade; a terrible and fearful sadness permeated her. The five of you are going to be just fine. Like great, banging cymbals, Sterling’s words crashed through her mind. The five of you... That meant the boys and herself. It did not include Sterling or Venus.

  He still had every intention of leaving. Her love, all her efforts to reach him...everything she’d tried to do had been unsuccessful. Sterling was going to leave her. The agony she felt at that moment almost knocked her to her knees.

  Sterling watched the flames vanish from her eyes. In their place was a dull, lifeless sheen. Dios mio, what the hell was wrong with her? He tried to remember if he’d said something that might have upset her. “Chimera, does it bother you to have to slaughter these animals?” he asked, wondering if maybe her compassion was too great for the task. “You can always take them to a town and let someone do it for you. I didn’t mean to upset you, but surely you can understand that this stock means food on your table for a very long time. Doesn’t that rid you of a great source of worry, estrellita?”

  She struggled with her dread. “Yes,” she managed to say, forcing a light note into her voice.

  Sterling smiled and led her back to the alabaster mare. “You said you always wanted a white horse, estrellita. She’s as hot-tempered as Gus once was, but I’m going to work with her. You can retire Pegasus, and—”

  “Retire Pegasus?” she gasped. “I’d never do such a thing. It would hurt his feelings if he ever saw me ride this horse. And believe me, I’ll never ride her. Look at her! With that wild mane standing out all over her head, that savage expression in her eyes... She looks like the Medusa!”

  The Medusa. Sterling chuckled. The Medusa was a monster in Greek mythology that had snakes for hair and whose horrible looks turned men to stone. “Medusa. Is that to be her name?”