“I never had the opportunity to thank you for saving my life.”
“Don’t have to. Thank Auggie.”
“I understand,” she said. “But I wanted you to know you have people who care about you, Clay. Auggie cares about you so very much, and so do I. You’re our family.”
She released the door and he closed it. She stood for another moment, hoping there would be more, but that was not Clay Turlough’s way.
She walked back to the wagon where Auggie waited.
“Well?” he said, taking her hand and helping her up onto the buckboard. “Is he all right?”
“He took the food,” Gillian said as Auggie climbed on the wagon beside her. “That’s a start.”
“Speaking of starts,” he said. “I want to show you the property up on Rose Hill I’m looking at buying. It’d be a good place for a house.”
“Shouldn’t we take care of fixing up the store first?” she said.
Auggie laughed, it was a beautiful sound to Gillian, any time she heard it.
“Ja, we probably should, but no work today! Today I want to show you where our home is going to be, where I’d like it to be.”
She smiled at him and took his thick, rough hand in hers.
“I’d like that very much,” she said.
He shook the reins and the wagon jumped forward, down the road, toward Rose Hill.
From his window Clay watched them depart. Behind him on the worktable was the blackened and warped jar holding Gert’s head. The head was mostly mummified by the heat of the fire. The brass cogs and wires below the jar were a melted, twisted mass. Hoses, tubing and wires ran from a box-like device into the tank and attached to Gert’s head, which nodded lazily, immersed in a new, bubbling nutrient solution. The eyes were squeezed closed in a shriveled mask, like the skin was too tight. Her hair tumbled, drifted in the currents.
“I know you were sad this way, Gertie,” Clay said, “powerful sad, but I ain’t never had much of anything in this life that mattered to me … ’cept you. I love you. I need you. And I’m gonna make this all better for you. Just like it was before you got sick, even.”
He turned away from the window. On the wall behind the worktable there was a drawing, an anatomical sketch of a woman’s body. The drawing had no head. Clay had done his best to make the drawing perfect. Mathematically perfect.
“I swear,” he said.
Malachi Bick drove another nail into the new wall, replacing some of the damage done to the Paradise Falls. He wore shirttails and suspenders as he worked.
“Making good progress, Malachi,” Highfather said as he entered. The sheriff’s arm was still in a sling, and his face was still covered with cuts and bruises. “Should be open by the end of the month.”
“That’s my intention,” Bick said.
“You’re going have to go pretty far ways to find another mirror for behind the bar.”
“There’s a place in Virginia City that makes them,” Bick said. “Surprisingly, they get a lot of business in replacing barroom mirrors.”
Highfather nodded. “I came to pay my respects, for Caleb.”
“I see; thank you, Sheriff.” Bick steadied another nail and began to drive it in.
“I lost the saber!” Highfather shouted above the hammering.
Bick stopped and turned.
“In the mine. After the explosion. I lost it. I’m sorry.”
Malachi nodded, put the hammer on the bar. “It’s all right. It served its purpose, and I doubt I’d ever be able to use it anymore, anyway.”
“What was its purpose, really, Malachi? What is yours?”
“Whatever I was, I’m not anymore. Not really. And for the first time in a long while, I’m good with that,” Bick said. “As for what I am, I am a businessman. I see opportunities and seek to profit from them.”
“The mine,” Highfather said, shaking his head.
Bick smiled. “And I am a civic leader. Those poor souls up in the squatter town deserve a fair shake, don’t you agree, Sheriff?”
Highfather laughed. “I thought all of this might have changed you, but I guess not.”
“It did, Jonathan,” Bick said. “It did. But you must understand I doubt I’ll ever be able to give you the full story of what I do or why.”
“Then I’ll keep poking around on my own,” Highfather said, “till I get the answers.”
He walked toward the doors, and then stopped, smiling.
“I’ll be keeping on eye on you, Bick.”
“I feel safer already, Sheriff,” Bick replied, returning the smile.
The saloon doors thumped open, then closed, swinging for a moment. They stopped suddenly and the noises from the street faded to silence. Bick picked a bottle of rotgut off the bar and poured two shot glasses.
“Care for a drink?” he said.
“Always,’ Lucifer replied, stepping from the cool shadows by the faro tables. “Congratulations are in order. Your pawns succeeded in sealing the bottomless pit and restraining the Darkling. Most impressive.” He picked up the shot glass. “Why reopen the mine, though?”
Bick raised his glass.
“It would draw more men like Deerfield and Moore if left unattended,” Bick said. “Open, under my auspices, I can direct them away from the chamber and the pit. And I get to make a fortune in the process. Oh, and by the way, not pawns,” he added. “Part of a design.”
“Oh please,” Lucifer said, eyes rolling. “After all of this, you honestly think the Almighty had a hand in how this shook out. He was pissing Himself, just like the rest of us.”
“Why give the greatest power in all creation to a bunch of monkeys?” Bick said. “A power greater, stronger, than the will of God itself? Why give them free will? Why give them a world they can damn or save, all on their own?”
“A test?” Lucifer said. “You think all of this was just another one of His little experiments? I think you give the Architect far too much credit.”
“To the human soul,” Bick said, raising the shot glass.
Lucifer tapped it with his own. “Keeping us all in business for a long, long time,” the Devil said.
They tossed back the shots.
“You water down your whiskey,” Lucifer said incredulously.
“The good stuff is for paying customers,” Bick replied.
“Offer still stands, Biqa,” Lucifer said. “A job, a home. The company of your kin.”
“I have those,” Bick said. “Just took me a spell to realize it. Besides, despite your opinion, I think the Almighty is a hell of showman and I can’t wait to see what He’s got in store for them next.”
“You’re not going to hear from the home office, you know that?” Lucifer said. Bick nodded. “You are alone here, Biqa. This place has tainted you, in their eyes. There will be no order to return, no reward for being a good soldier. You never get to go home.”
“I know,” Bick said, picking up the hammer. “But this will do.”
He looked up. Lucifer was gone. Bick gathered the nails and got back to work.
Mutt, hat in hand, knocked on the door. Maude Stapleton opened it, dressed in black. The purple smudges of bruises covered her face. She was still beautiful, Mutt thought.
“See you made it out in one piece,” he said. “Good.”
The deputy’s face was a road map of pain and suffering. Swollen, broken, split and jagged. He somehow managed a smile through the wreckage.
“Your face!”
“Not as bad as it looks,” he said. “You should see the other fella.”
“I did. I was very proud of you down there, Mutt. Even if you were a stubborn fool.”
“Thank you for saving me,” he said. “You really did, you know?”
“Thank you for trusting me,” she said. “When I had trouble even trusting myself.”
They stood silent for a moment, but more passed between them than words were capable of holding.
“Have you been to Dr. Tumblety?” she finally said.
/>
“Nah, I heal pretty quick, and he’s a jackass.”
They both laughed. They both winced from the pain the laughter brought.
“I just wanted to check on you,” he said. “Make sure you and your girl were okay.”
“Yes,” she said. “She’s sleeping a lot. There are nightmares, but she remembers less every day. She is mending, getting stronger in fact. Thank you. I’ll tell her you asked after her. I appreciate your concern.”
They stood there, no words again, and that was all right. The afternoon wind was blowing up clouds of dust in the bright sunlight.
“I gotta go,” Mutt said. “Just wanted to, you know.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He started to walk away.
“Why aren’t you asking me?” she said. “You must have a lot of questions.”
“Not really,” he said. “I know what I need to know. I know what counts. The rest is just conversation.”
He began walking again.
“Mutt,” she said. He turned back. “Arthur’s funeral is tomorrow. Most of our associates are really Arthur’s associates. I was hoping you could attend, as my friend. I don’t have too many. I never have.”
Mutt nodded. “Me too. I’d be honored.”
“Thank you.”
He stood in the street, watching as she closed the door. He put his hat back on and then walked away.
Many families held vigils with the bodies resting in Clay’s barn. With so many dead, it was taking a while to bury them all properly.
Tonight, Harry was alone with Holly on the black watch. The huge barn was silent except for the sounds of the wind coming off the desert, rustling through the high sacaton grass. The moon was swollen and bright—almost like day—and the stars chased each other like cats, racing across the desert sky.
Ringo and Sarah had both offered to sit the night with him, but Harry had declined. This was his duty alone. The least he could do for her after all he had stolen from her—the chance for a family, for a man who could love her as she had deserved to be loved. For failing to save her, for killing her. For every lie, every bitter, hurtful word. For not being able to say good-bye to her, just the thing that wore her body those last days. For not being able to tell her it wasn’t all fake, it wasn’t all untrue. There had been love, but she would never know that now. Her soul was gone, devoured.
He wanted to cry, but there was nothing left. He hadn’t been home to the mansion, to their home—her home—since the night she died. He knew who he was, why he was, and he accepted it. But the price she paid had been too high for his security, his fear and denial. Harry sat looking at her shroud-covered body, wishing it could be him there.
A few more tears arrived from the dregs of his soul. He lowered his head, shook.
“Mr. Mayor, sir?”
Harry looked up; he wiped his wet eyes and sniffed. It was Jim Negrey.
“Yes, Jim, what can I do for you?”
Jim’s hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, his head down.
“Sir, the last time I saw my pa alive, he was drunk and angry and in pain. I wished that wasn’t the last living memory of him I had, but it is. The last time I saw my ma and sister, they were scared and hurt and it was all on account of me.”
He looked up at Harry.
“Regrets will eat a man up. My pa told me that. Said you should always try to make your peace when you can, ’cause no man knows what the Lord has in store for us tomorrow.”
“I’m burying her tomorrow,” Harry said. His voice was small.
“Yessir,” Jim said. “That’s why I’m here.” He pulled a rawhide cord with a small leather bag from around his neck. He placed it in Harry’s hand. “I’d give anything to hug my pa again,” he said. “To kiss my ma and tell her how sorry I was, to see my little sister smile and know she’s all right.”
Jim walked out the huge, open barn doors.
“Good night, sir,” he said.
Harry opened the bag; the jade eye dropped into his palm. He lifted it to his own eyes to examine it and the brilliant moonlight fell upon the orb. Glittering motes of emerald drifted in slow orbits around the eye. The barn began to fill with cool green light.
“Hello, Harry,” the woman’s voice said from the shadows on the other side of the body. She stepped forward and Harry’s eyes widened. He began to smile and to cry.
“Hello, Holly.”
The sun was huge and red, crawling down behind the jagged peaks that were the sentinels of the desert, casting long twisted shadows on the floor of the wasteland.
Jim sat in the saddle. Promise waited calmly, nibbling on a patch of grass. Golgotha was behind him. There was a thud of hooves and Mutt, astride Muha, pulled up next to him.
“Thought I might find you out here,” Mutt said. “You figuring on leaving?”
“Well, things have kind of quieted down, now, and…” Jim let the words die. He didn’t know what else to say. “Yeah, I reckon.”
“Virginia City or back to … where the hell was it?”
“Kansas,” Jim said, smiling.
“Right, Kansas,” Mutt said. “Here.” He tossed him the leather necklace and pouch. “Mayor said, ‘Thank you.’”
“Mayor,” Jim said. “You called him Mayor, not Harry, not Pratt, or sumbitch. Mayor.”
“Yeah, well, don’t mean nothing,” Mutt said. “He’s still a Fancy Dan.”
They sat quietly and let the time pass. A covered wagon ambled over the dunes and climbed onto the road toward Golgotha. Dark bird silhouettes sailed into the ruby eye of the sun.
“It’s pretty here,” Jim said. “It’ll kill you, if you’re not careful, but it’s the prettiest place I ever did see.”
“I talked to Jon,” Mutt said. “Says you can keep that star you’re wearing, if you want—you earned it. He wants you to stay on, be a deputy.”
“Mutt, that’s gonna get complicated. I’ve got a price on my head. I done wrong, back home.”
“Well, you did right here, and that counts more in my book, Jon’s too. We’ll stand by you, come what may.”
“Where is the sheriff?”
“Old cemetery, said he had some business to attend to before sundown—make sure all the commotion didn’t stir anything up. Old, bad business.”
Jim shook his head. “It’s a miracle anyone stays around here.”
“Maybe,” Mutt said. “But more folks came back after this mess than kept going. It’s a good town, with good people. Worth protecting. Good place for a man to pay off a debt, if’n he had one.”
Jim smiled. “Really?”
“Yup,” Mutt said. “Credit would pile up quick, I’d reckon.”
“I already gave my notice at Mrs. Proctor’s,” Jim said.
“Yeah, I told her to never mind that.”
They both laughed. “Pretty sure of yourself,” Jim said.
“I know a sure thing when I see one,” Mutt said.
Jim stuck out his hand. Mutt shook it.
“Let’s git home,” Jim said.
“Nice to have one,” Mutt said, “ain’t it?”
They turned the horses and began to gallop back to the road and into town. The sinking sun was at their backs, painting the sky, smearing it, in oranges, reds and purples. Behind it was the cool, whispering promise of night, of stars and moon, silver and shadow.
“Be dark soon,” Mutt said. “Time to earn our pay.”
Golgotha, mother to the lost, destination of all the hardest roads, opened her arms to them, and to the coming night.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my mother, Mabel T. Belcher, for a lifetime of encouragement, guidance, friendship and love. You always believed in me, supported me and taught me to never give up. I love you, Mom.
To my wonderful children: Jonathan, Emily and Stephanie. You are the light of my existence and each of you has made me so happy and so much more than I would have ever been without you. Thank you for the love you show me every day. I love you all
to the moon and back.
To Leslie Barger: my editor, my fan, my muse. Your love is my cool water in the desert. You are my moon and stars. Thank you for your dedication to my writing and for your belief in my ability, even when I had none. I love you.
To Phil Rowe: Smartest man I know, full of wisdom, kindness, patience and affection. Thank for all your help in editing and sage counsel. Thank you for Robert Parker and John D. McDonald and William Goldman and a million, million other treasures. Most of all, thank you for your friendship and brotherhood—the greatest treasures of all.
Thank you Pam and Allen Trigger for your gracious generosity; you have truly been my patrons and truest friends in dark days. I hope this thank-you in some small way shows you how much I truly appreciate all you have done for me and my family.
Thank you to Vicki and Tony Ayers and David and Susan Lystlund for love and support over all the years. Thank you for being my family; my brothers and sisters.
Thank you to Bob Flack: brother and wisest man I know. Your friendship has kept me sane and alive. Thank you.
Thank you to Meg Hibbert and Dan Smith for having faith in me as a writer and for giving me my shot. I owe you both so much.
Thank you to my uncle, John Weddle, for being a father to me every time I needed one.
Thank you to Stacy Hague-Hill and Greg Cox of Tor Books for taking a chance on me, and my writing, and for patience, unwavering support and guidance.
Table of Contents
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Half Title
The Page of Wands
The Moon
The Star
The Hanged Man
The World
The Queen of Swords
The Seven of Wands
The Three of Swords
The Ten of Pentacles
The Queen of Cups
The Six of Cups
The Devil
The Wheel of Fortune
The King of Wands
The Lovers
The Seven of Pentacles
The Empress
The Hermit
The Queen of Pentacles
The Six-Gun Tarot Page 40