Bulletproof Witch

by F J Blair

  Eventually her anger simmered down, and her thoughts began to turn to more immediate problems, such as the matter of getting out of here and back to where she could give her teacher the tongue-lashing he deserved.

  Martin had said that the only way out of the valley was by the rope ladder, but Temperance’s grandfather had trained her well enough to know better than trusting what she was told without question. She set to studying her surroundings.

  Most of the immediate area was hidden from view by the trees, although the cliff wall did appear to run off in both directions as far as she could see. Temperance glanced both ways, then turned to the right and started following it, running a hand along the stone as she walked.

  The cliff dipped up and down a bit with the landscape, but never got closer than thirty feet or so, and in some places looked to be over a hundred. Most of the surface was smooth to the touch, any handhold few and far between. With the right tools she probably could have worked her way up it, but something told Temperance she wasn’t likely to find any. Martin might claim to be more straightforward than her grandfather, but it would be foolhardy to assume he wasn’t just as clever. Hard to ride so many years with the Brimstone and not pick up a few of his tricks.

  She kept on walking, and after an hour or so of following the cliff line found herself back where she had started. So Martin hadn’t lied about that part: wherever she had been left was a natural bowl in the landscape, surrounded by steep cliffs on all sides.

  The only other possibility of escape had been a stream she crossed on the far side, but it had disappeared under the cliff, and there was no telling how far it went before returning to the surface, or if it did at all. She would have to be far more desperate before attempting that route.

  Instead, she tried climbing a nearby tree. Unfortunately, the ones that grew here were mountain-bred, thin and stunted from the higher altitude, and not a one of them even got within ten feet of the top. She dragged up a long branch on her second attempt and used it to try to snag the rope, but the distance was still too far and escape remained just out of reach. Temperance climbed down after she felt the flimsy tree start to give beneath her weight.

  Grandpa showed me how to make a rope once, I think I still remember the trick of it. She eyed one of the nearby trees, then peeled back some of its bark. The fiber beneath looked usable, but given the weak nature of the tree itself, she wasn’t certain how much she could trust it. Let’s see what’s in the cabin first. Maybe I’m making more work for myself than I need to.

  The cabin door creaked as she pushed it all the way open, but otherwise appeared in good shape. She stepped carefully through the doorway, mindful of any traps that Martin might have left behind to catch her. It wouldn’t have surprised Temperance if the whole building had been rigged to explode, knowing the old gunslinger’s distaste for unwanted visitors. Fortunately, nothing awaited her other than the smell of dust and old timber.

  Inside, she found a neat but sparsely decorated room. Two glass-lined windows let in a bit of filtered sunlight to the left of the door, and against the wall to the other side sat a small potbelly stove, the black iron seeming to pull in the sunlight.

  In the center of the room was a square wooden table with a matching chair, and against the far wall was a bed that looked just barely big enough to hold a man of Martin’s stature, but could easily accommodate three of Temperance. Shelves of canned goods lined the walls to either side, their labels faded but still mostly legible.

  And that was it. Other than a pot hanging next to the stove and an axe beside the woodpile, there wasn’t hardly anything in the cabin that Temperance would consider a usable tool. Martin had meant what he said about her being here a while.

  At least I won’t go hungry, she mused, studying the lines of canned goods. Or thirsty, with the stream out back. The axe should come in handy for harvesting fiber. Shouldn’t take more than two, three days before I can climb my way out of here.

  That thought settled the last remnant of anger smoldering inside, and her stomach took the opportunity to remind her of its presence. Deciding that the work would go much faster after a little breakfast, Temperance closed the cabin door and stepped closer to inspect the cans.

  Hanging from a peg behind the door was her grandfather’s jacket. No guns, no hunting knife, just the solid, comforting leather that had been her first line of defense against the elements for months now. She reached out and ran a hand down one of the sleeves. The leather felt cool and comforting to her touch.

  Smiling a little wider, she went in search of breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sweat dripped into Temperance’s eyes. She grunted, refusing to even blink lest it break her focus. Men in rough work shirts and overalls shouted encouragement or lewd jeers, depending on which side of the table they currently stood.

  The burly train worker flexed his muscles even more, his hand pushing another inch lower. Temperance strained against it, but it took every ounce of her strength just to keep her arm from buckling.

  Her own hand quivered, the muscles worn raw from the continued pressure. Every part of her wanted to loosen her grip, if only for a moment of relief. She gritted her teeth until she thought they might break apart.

  A grin appeared on the burly worker’s face. He knew he had her.

  Well, isn’t he the confident one? Time for a lesson in humility, I think. She rolled the whalebone needle concealed in her other hand between her fingers. Runes scored the bone’s surface, crude but still effective, and a sprig of Camellia twined through the needle’s eye.

  With a squeeze, the whalebone cracked like it was made of thin ice, sending a chill shooting up her arm. At the same time, she spoke the word of power, trying to disguise it as an angry grunt.

  “Intevoroso!”

  The train worker’s grin disappeared, replaced but a sudden look of surprise. He sucked at his teeth, and the veins along his arms strained outward as he found himself now fighting just to maintain his grasp. While the roar of the crowd grew louder and more frantic, his arm rose in a slow arc, passing the center line of the table before plummeting towards the other side. Temperance slammed the man’s hand against the wood with enough force that she heard his bones crack, although she doubted anything was broken. Then she released her hold, fists pumping the air in triumph.

  Groans and curses rippled through the crowd, broken by an occasional laugh from one of the few gamblers who had been brave enough to bet in her favor. Men began to file towards the door, or drifted back to the seats and beer mugs they had abandoned earlier.

  Temperance let herself relax, taking a nice, slow pull from her own mug, and watched as grumbling traders and ranch hands dropped their kos in her pile. Combined with the winnings from earlier, that left her with enough kos to pay for all the equipment she might need in Messanai. Maybe even a few hexbullets too, if she wasn’t too picky.

  She looked around the room as men sidled away. “Any more takers? Same odds as before, plus I’ll even use my off-hand this time. C’mon, don’t be shy, boys.”

  A few of the saloon patrons glanced in her direction, but most just returned to their other activities. It appeared the well had run dry at this particular locale.

  Temperance leaned back, fiddling with another of the whalebone needles. The needles had been an idea curdling in her head ever since she and William escaped from Whittaker’s camp. While something like a knife was hard to conceal, a needle could be slipped into pocket or sewn along the hem of her skirt. Perfect should she need a burst of strength to escape a binding—or to win a bet. Not that there was likely to be much more of that here.

  Now what should I do? There’s hours until the train leaves for Messanai. She scanned the room, then took another drink. I suppose I could always try my hand at cards, instead. May not know any spells to help there, but I’m usually lucky enough that I shouldn’t need to. Just need to get a few drinks to set my poker face—

  “What sort of odds would you giv
e on me?”

  Temperance glanced up, then up again. Sweetwater’s sheriff grinned back at her, hands resting on her hips, one of those short-brimmed hats that appeared to be the style in Messanai perched upon her head.

  “Shoot, arm wrestling against you? That’s not a contest, it would be a damn murder. Might as well just rip my arms out now.”

  The sheriff’s grin spread wider. “Just as well. I don’t consider myself the gambling sort, anyway.”

  “So what can I do for you, Miss . . . Wolf, was it?” No chance that the sheriff’s appearance here was a mere coincidence. Either she wanted something, or there was about to be trouble. Temperance wasn’t sure which she would prefer.

  Either way, it never paid to be inhospitable. She gestured to the chair across from her. The sheriff nodded in thanks and settled down, the wood giving a slight groan of protest under her muscular bulk.

  “Please, call me Bella, everyone else in this town does. We don’t stand on formalities the way they do back in Arkton, Miss Whiteoak.”

  Temperance froze, then cast a quick glance around the saloon to see if anyone had overheard. Fortunately, it appeared the sheriff’s presence had scared most of the patrons from the nearby tables, and the two of them had their own little island of space for the moment.

  The sheriff leaned back, watching her. The grin from earlier was back again. Temperance resisted the urge to grind her teeth.

  “How did you know?”

  Her question brought a barking laugh from the sheriff. “Oh come now, you didn’t expect that to stay quiet, did you? Word came in from the east valley that there was a Whiteoak about shortly after you left my office. Doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together from there.”

  Figures that’s what I get for helping the Dunpeal family. Never trust a farmer to keep his mouth shut, they’re worse gossips than a church sewing circle. Out loud, Temperance said, “I’d appreciate it if you kept that particular bit of information to yourself all the same. Only thing my family name ever seems to earn me is more trouble.”

  “Of course, if that’s what you prefer. Before that though, would it be too much if I ask to . . . see it?”

  Temperance didn’t need to ask what the Sheriff was referring to. With a sigh, she pulled out her soul symbol and slid it across the table. The sheriff quickly covered it with an enormous hand, peeking at it like a card player studying their draw.

  “That’s an authentic Warlock symbol, alright.” She returned the badge to Temperance. “Let me just say that it is an honor to make your acquaintance. I grew up on stories of the Brimstone, heard so many that it felt like I knew him myself. I can only imagine the wonders you learned, studying at his knee. What I wouldn’t have given for that same opportunity when I was younger . . . .”

  “Trust me, you got the better deal of the two of us. What is it you need, Miss Wolf?”

  “A job, actually. I’m currently deputizing every able-bodied gunslinger I can find to help round up the Gunpowder Gang. Having a bona fide Whiteoak riding with us would go a long way to keeping my men breathing.”

  “I’ve already got a job at the moment.”

  “You mean that boy you were traveling with? I’m sure he won’t mind waiting here a day or two. I can pay enough to make it worth both of your whiles.”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “Five hundred kos,” the Sheriff said matter-of-factly.

  Temperance nearly choked. It was a ridiculous amount of money, even accounting for the risk involved. Not as much as she made capturing the daemon Belial, perhaps, but enough to see her back in hexbullets again.

  “At least give my offer the consideration it deserves,” Bella went on. “Richard Whittaker and his men have been a thorn in both the Messanai and Ozaka territory for years now. Every time we come close to catching them, they managed to give us the slip. If it means putting an end to them once and for all, I’ll gladly pay what the Whiteoak name is worth.”

  “I—I’ll have to talk with my companion,” Temperance said, her mind running faster than a downhill freight train. “There are other matters at play here, bigger than just your group of outlaws. I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes, either.”

  The sheriff nodded, as if she hadn’t expected anything else. “You know where to find me. We’ll ride out at first light tomorrow.”

  She stood up, stretching to the tip of her seven-foot height. “I do hope you’ll say yes, Miss . . . Miss. It would be good to see what a disciple of the Brimstone is capable of.”

  Temperance sat for some time at the table after the sheriff departed, staring at the last dregs in her mug. At last, she gave a sigh and pushed her own chair away.

  Don’t know what Miss Wolf is so concerned about. The Gunpowder Gang will be a pushover, with or without me. By all the Divines, though, that is an outlandish amount of kos. With that, I could restock on silver spikes. Use those to take down a few daemons and I’d have enough to get back to chasing Varconis. Not to mention buying enough reagents to seal away that thing inside Astor for good.

  Perhaps I could send William on ahead to Messanai, to keep him safe. Give him enough coin to survive until he finds his people or I catch up with him. That shouldn’t be too difficult. How much trouble could one fifteen year old boy really get up to?

  Dammit, I’m not actually considering this, am I?

  Outside, the streets were busy with traffic. The clock in the square showed that it wasn’t quite noon yet, which caught Temperance by surprise. She had thought her routine in the saloon had taken longer than that. Still, William should be up and about by now. It couldn’t hurt to wander back to the hotel and at least discuss the idea with him.

  A good night’s sleep had gone a long way to restoring Temperance’s usual humor, but the lingering effects of their harried flight still clung to her. William had appeared even worse off when they had parted company last night. Hopefully sleeping in an actual bed had left him in a mood to talk.

  She passed several workers seated along a low wall, taking their dinner from metal pails and passing a canteen back and forth. Further on, a mother escorted two small children down the street, all of them dressed in matching outfits of a pale green. Life in the city continued on as it always had. Temperance shook her head at the thought. It was hard to believe that they had left all their troubles just a few hills and a river behind them.

  Beneath her shirt, the stone chunk of native ruins brushed against her skin. Temperance touched it lightly through the fabric. At least that’s one problem that appears to be dealt with for the moment.

  Where would the horse-beast go once it could no longer sense Temperance? Would it just run in circles? Would it attack anyone and anything it came across? It occurred to her that all the farms in the east valley were in danger as long as that creature was wandering loose. After what it had done to Whittaker’s men, she shuddered to think of some poor, defenseless farmer coming face to face with those spider-like legs, or the creature’s slathering jaws.

  No sense feeling guilty about it. Nothing I can do until I have the proper reagents.

  Besides, this upyr, Lucius, was a far greater concern. Temperance kept waking from dreams of black ships sailing under a red sky, and more and more she was convinced the upyr were the source. After William’s revelation the other night, Temperance had awoken in a cold sweat so bad her clothes had been soaked clean through. She kept seeing citizens being led away like the ancient natives, never to feel the light of the Korvana sun on their face again.

  Yes, the upyr had to be dealt with, and soon. Perhaps once she had Astor back, he would be able to track the creature like he could a daemon’s trail. If it came to it, Temperance would follow Lucius all the way back to Isterial if it meant keeping more of his kind from crossing the ocean.

  Bandits. Astor. Lucius. If only there weren’t so many complications piling on at once, I might actually be able to get something accomplished around here. Instead I seem to just keep acquiring new proble
ms at every turn.

  She pushed open the door to the Wellspring Hotel, an establishment of dubious quality straddling the line between the more acceptable areas of the city and the parts where citizens only ever traveled while armed. The hotel was cheap, though, and had several nice amenities, including pipes for heated water. Beyond that and a minimal number of bloodstains on the sheets, Temperance wasn’t too particular.

  It appeared that William had been taking advantage of the modern conveniences city life afforded. Steam billowed from the partly open door of the hotel bath, clearly just recently abandoned. Temperance turned and knocked on the door to William’s room.

  A muffled voice came from within. Trying the handle, Temperance found it unlocked. She pushed her way inside. “Mind if I come in? I just spoke with the town’s sheriff, and—”

  She froze.

  William stood in the room, one of his new shirts held at arm’s length, brow furrowed as he studied it. Other than the shirt, he didn’t have so much as a stitch on him.

  He turned as the door opened. Eyes went wide, mouth pulled open in surprise. They stared at each other for a moment in stunned silence.

  “Sorry!” Temperance slammed the door closed so fast it shook in its frame. Then she stood there, blinking in the dim light of the hallway, heart racing as if she had just run across the entire town. Inside of her skull a myriad of thoughts tumbled about, crashing on each other like waves on a rough sea. At last one of them managed to float to the surface.

  I think I might have another complication to add to the pile.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Somehow, without noticing, Temperance found herself back in her own room on the other side of the hallway. She closed the door behind her, then collapsed onto the small bed. There wasn’t much beyond that in terms of luxuries. Just a chair next to the window, her saddlebags draped over the back. Noonday sun streamed through the glass, lighting up every crack and corner of the plain, whitewashed walls.