The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  It sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? But in that moment, with the witch’s brew of emotions bubbling inside me, it felt anything but simple.

  “It’s hard to put into words,” I said. “This past week has felt almost like a dream. As if it weren’t quite real.”

  Thomas didn’t interrupt. He just watched me intently, those pale blue eyes unreadable in the lamplight.

  “I hope that doesn’t sound silly. It’s just … This place is unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s so … unshaped, I guess, like raw clay. Full of possibilities. And I felt unshaped too, or at least like I could be reshaped. These clothes…” I glanced down at my trousers, at the gun belt around my hips. “And nobody here but you and me … even the ghost, in a way, pulling me out of myself, and…” I trailed off with a sigh. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  “You’re making perfect sense,” he said quietly. “Please, go on.”

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve felt free. Maybe for the first time. And it’s been wonderful, and I don’t regret a moment of it.”

  Thomas shifted a little in his seat. There was clear tension in his posture now, apprehension in his eyes. He’s bracing himself, I thought. He’s afraid you’re going to put him on the spot. I started talking faster.

  “But of course I knew from the start that it couldn’t last. That it was a life for out here, and here is where it would have to stay. Nothing has changed for us back home. We’re still partners. I’m still…” Beneath your station. A scandal waiting to happen. I couldn’t be that blunt. It would only make him uncomfortable. “I’m still making a name for myself as an agent. All the things you said that night in the parlor six months ago … they’re still true. It’s still complicated.”

  He sighed and glanced away. “More than you know.”

  What does that mean? I started to ask, but what would be the point? We just had to get through this and be done with it. Like pulling a tooth, or tearing off a sticky bandage. “It’s just as you said, isn’t it?” I tried for a brave smile. “Civilization was bound to catch up with us eventually.”

  “And now it has.” He stood abruptly and crossed the room, fetching the teapot. “Would you like another?”

  He said it cool as you please, as if we were merely discussing the journey home. Shall we overnight in St. Paul, or press on to Chicago? I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Nobody buttoned himself up faster than Thomas Wiltshire. “No, thank you. I just wanted you to know that it’s all right. When we get home, everything will be as it was.”

  He poured himself some tea.

  I waited, but he didn’t say anything. “Your turn.”

  He shook his head. Abandoning his tea, he walked over to the window and gazed out into the street. “I find I have little to add.”

  “That’s hardly fair.”

  I could see his reflection in the glass, and a spasm of pain crossed his features. “What would you have me say, Rose?”

  “Whatever you feel. What’s so hard about that?”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. Then he turned back and took my hand, pulling me up out of my chair. “Everything is hard about it. But I will say this. If it was a dream, it was one we shared. And in spite of everything, it’s been the happiest time of my life. Thank you for that.”

  Hard as that was to hear, it was a balm, too. It meant I hadn’t imagined the feelings between us. Later, when I let myself, I’d be furious at the world for standing in the way of that happiness, but right now it was enough to know that we’d both felt it, however briefly. It gave me hope that maybe someday, somehow, we’d find a way.

  Thomas reached for me, his gaze wistful as he brushed the hair back from my face. “Just as it was, then?”

  “Just as it was.”

  He nodded and let his hand fall away. “Good night, Rose.”

  “We’re not in New York yet.”

  A sad smile. “Aren’t we? The decision is made. What would be the point of pretending for one more night?”

  “The same as it’s always been. Because we want to.”

  “Yes, but it will only—”

  “Thomas Wiltshire, you think too much.” I pulled his head down into a kiss, and we stayed in the dream just a little longer.

  * * *

  “Oof,” said Henny Weber. “That is a big kitty.”

  She regarded the alraun with a twinkle in her eye, as if the moment we turned our backs she would slip him some sweets. Henny Weber looked at everyone that way, which was why she was not only my favorite witch, but one of my favorite people in the world, period. I hadn’t seen her since the Hell Gate incident, when she’d sealed the leaking portal in the East River, but she looked just the same as I remembered: round and rosy, her cherubic face framed by golden hair streaked with gray. She smelled the same, too: like cookie dough, with sprinkles of mischief.

  Maybe the alraun thought so too, because he sniffed at her with obvious interest, and when she started whispering sweet nothings in German, he actually relaxed a little. “I think he understands you,” I said, sensing it all through the enchantment.

  “Of course he does. The magic is German.” She laughed.

  I was pretty sure she was joking, but either way I was glad her presence brought the creature some comfort. We had a long ride ahead of us to reach the portal, which meant his suffering—our suffering—would continue for a while longer. His sadness still weighed me down, and though I grew a little more accustomed to it with each passing hour, I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  “Will you be able to help him?” White Robes asked.

  “Oh, yes. I can send him home. And don’t worry, it will be painless. Like going to sleep, no?” Henny murmured to the alraun some more.

  White Robes looked relieved. “My brother and I would like to accompany you. Is that possible?”

  “Of course,” I said. “We’d be happy to have you.”

  And so we set off: Thomas and me, Henny and Mr. Roosevelt, and White Robes and Little Wolf, with the alraun padding along behind us. We stuck to the back trails to avoid being seen, and by the time we reached the looming white spire that marked the portal, it was already well into afternoon.

  “Where would you like this, Mrs. Weber?” Thomas gestured at the bundle of wood tied to the back of his horse.

  “Just there, please, at the foot of the monolith. We will need the fire to burn down to coals first, so we had better get started.”

  It was a little odd, the six of us gathered around Henny’s fire as though we were a group of friends out camping. Just a couple of Pinkertons, a politician, two Lakota hunters, and a witch. Oh, and a very big kitty. The alraun crouched a good distance from the rest of us, which was just as well, because he made the horses terribly nervous.

  “Tell me, Wiltshire,” said Mr. Roosevelt over the crackling fire, “are you quite confident the portal played no role in these affairs? Other than magnifying the magic, that is?”

  Thomas sighed. “Can one ever be truly confident when it comes to portals? I scanned it quite thoroughly with Mr. Tesla’s luck detector, and there was no sign of radiation. The portal isn’t leaking, which means my initial theory about an elemental was incorrect.”

  “Not necessarily,” Henny said conversationally.

  Thomas blinked. “Come again?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I don’t know anything about your mysterious winter. I only know that a portal doesn’t have to be leaking for an elemental to come out.”

  “Excuse me,” said White Robes, “what is an elemental?”

  “A winter spirit,” Little Wolf explained. “Rose and I talked about this on the way here. There are some among the white men who believe the bad winter was the work of such a spirit.”

  White Robes furrowed her brow. “White men don’t believe in such things.”

  “Some do, obviously.” Little Wolf shrugged. “Just as some of us do not. I will not remind you that
you didn’t believe in this creature.”

  “Thank you for not reminding me,” she said wryly.

  Thomas, meanwhile, looked a little pale. “Mrs. Weber, would you mind expanding on that? Why wouldn’t the portal have to be leaking for something to come out?”

  “A leak is an accident, yes? Something broken. An elemental does not need something to be broken. It can just…” She mimed drawing a curtain aside. “Just like the fae.”

  “Wait.” I felt the blood draining from my face, too. “Are you saying the fae can come and go as they please?”

  “Of course! They don’t, but they can.”

  “Good heavens,” said Mr. Roosevelt. “What a disconcerting thought.”

  Disconcerting wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. “I thought the whole point of the monoliths was to seal off the passages between their world and ours.”

  “The point is to keep us out,” Henny said. “Not to keep them in. But we shouldn’t worry. They left because they didn’t like what we do to the world. They will not come back.”

  Even Thomas looked disturbed at the notion. “I’d like to speak more about this at some point, if you don’t mind. It sounds as though you bring a perspective not widely represented in our circles.”

  “We Germans have long memories,” she said with a wink.

  “But what does it mean?” I asked. “If an elemental did come out, it would leave the same radiation, wouldn’t it? And we didn’t find a trace of it.”

  “True enough,” Thomas said, “but it’s been months. Perhaps it just dissipated in the meantime.” Sighing, he turned to Mr. Roosevelt. “I’m afraid we may never have an answer for you, sir. It’s simply too long after the fact to establish anything with certainty. Unless it were to happen again…”

  Mr. Roosevelt patted his shoulder. “If those are my choices, I’ll take the mystery, and gladly. I hope we never see a winter like that again, at least in my lifetime. I far prefer this nice warm weather, don’t you?”

  “Talking of warm…” Henny poked the fire with a stick, breaking down some of the wood. “These coals are ready. It’s time to begin. Come, kitty.”

  At my wordless direction, the alraun walked over.

  “He must lie down in the coals there. Don’t worry, he won’t feel any pain. He is not vulnerable to fire, any more than to bullets.”

  Even with that assurance, it was hard to watch the creature step into the glowing coals. I bit my lip, expecting a howl of protest, but he didn’t seem to mind, flopping down onto his belly. Perhaps the spirit trapped inside understood what was happening. That this was the only way it could be free.

  Henny knelt over the coals and poured out several vials of liquid, sending little puffs of odd-smelling vapor into the air. Then she held out her hand to me, and I slipped off the ring and gave it to her. She dropped it onto the fire, poking around with her stick until it was buried in the coals, and then she stepped back. “There,” she said. “It won’t be long now.”

  “Really?” Mr. Roosevelt looked a little disappointed. “I expected something more elaborate.”

  She smiled. “Alchemy is like chemistry, no? Maybe sometimes you get smoke, or something fizzes or goes boom, but that is not the usual. Most of the time, what happens is quiet. But that does not mean it’s not powerful. Just wait.”

  So we waited. In the meantime, White Robes and Little Wolf knelt by the fire, each of them placing a bundle of herbs in the coals. “Sage,” White Robes explained at my questioning glance. “To honor the spirit, and the animals that gave their lives to bind it here.”

  The sage took light, sending fragrant smoke into the air. The alraun, meanwhile, didn’t have so much as a singed hair … and yet something was clearly happening. The ground beneath our feet grew warm, like a stone under a strong afternoon sun. Then, slowly, the smoke around the creature began to coalesce into a distinct form, a bit like a cloud assuming a familiar shape.

  “My word,” Mr. Roosevelt murmured.

  First, it was a long-legged cat with a short tail. Just an outline, a shadow made of smoke, but there was no mistaking its form. The bobcat sprang away from the alraun’s back and vanished like … well, like smoke … only for another animal to rise up in its place: a long, slim rodent that might have been a weasel, or a mink. It too scurried off and scattered in the wind.

  One after another they lifted like steam from the alraun’s fur: coyote and bear, fox and otter, cougar and marten and wolf. The breeze blew each of them away in turn, making room for the next. And as each shadowy form materialized, the alraun itself grew a little paler, more faded, until at last it was white as bone.

  No, not bone. Ash.

  I realized it in the same moment the wood finally caught flame, and the figurine carved by Kit, made life-size by magic, began to burn. I lifted my gaze to the sky, watching as the smoke curled into the endless blue. A tremendous feeling of relief came over me. Of release. Some of that feeling was my own, but much of it, I knew, came from the spirit. Reaching out with my thoughts one last time, I bade it farewell. Wherever you are, I hope you find peace.

  By the time I looked back it was over, and all that was left of the monster of Medora was a glowing pile of coals and the lingering perfume of burnt sage.

  * * *

  The goodbyes came hard upon one another after that. First, to Little Wolf and White Robes, at a crossroads heading back to town. “Do you think you will ever come this way again?” White Robes asked me.

  “I don’t know. I hope so, someday. What about you? Will your people hunt here again next year?”

  Little Wolf shook his head. “We will wait a year or two. Let the animals recover.” Grinning, he added, “And the game, too.”

  I never did find out what it would take to repress that humor, and I was glad of it.

  After that it was John Ward, who’d gathered up his things from Cougar Ranch and was planning to head west. “Helena,” he told us when we asked. “After that, who knows? I’m looking for a new line of work.”

  “Perhaps we can help with that.” Thomas took out a silver business card and wrote something on it. “If you’re interested, get in touch with this gentleman in Chicago.”

  John Ward lifted an eyebrow. “Pinkertons?”

  I smiled at him. “Why not? You already think like a detective.”

  “The special branch is looking for resources out west,” Thomas said. “An experienced frontiersman such as yourself would be a tremendous asset.”

  Finally, it was our client, who would be staying on for a day or two to get things straightened out with the sheriff and anyone else who came around asking after recent events. There was the matter of Kit’s lands to decide, too, along with any leftover gold they turned up at his cabin. “We’ll sort it out, don’t you worry,” Mr. Roosevelt said, shaking our hands. “In the meantime, I’ll see to it your hierarchy hears of your good work.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Thomas said. “Until next time.”

  “And there will be a next time, I imagine.” Mr. Roosevelt flashed a toothy grin. “If I should continue to serve in public life, that is.”

  I would take that bet. Both of them.

  One goodbye we would not be making was to Luna and Gideon, much to my relief. Thomas had arranged for them to travel in the livestock car, and though I didn’t think they would much enjoy the journey, I promised Luna I’d make it up to her with a luxurious paddock in Mr. Burrows’s stables.

  The last goodbye, and maybe the hardest, was to Medora itself, and I couldn’t suppress a pang of melancholy as the train pulled away, feeling like I’d left a little piece of my heart behind. I had no doubt the ride home would feel twice as long as the one we’d taken to get out here, but at least I had good friends to help pass the time. Edith, Mr. Burrows, Thomas, Henny, and I played a lot of cards over the next four days. Euchre and hearts, but mostly poker.

  I really did get to like that game.

  CHAPTER 31

  ONE-WAY TICKET—RINGING IN THE NEW Y
EAR—TIME

  “Porca Madonna!” Pietro sat back in his chair, wide-eyed. “Was everybody in the whole of Dakota trying to kill you?”

  We were in the parlor, enjoying the sunshine streaming in through the big bay window. I’d been home for two days already, but this was the first opportunity I’d had to tell Pietro the real story—or at least, the parts of it that didn’t involve the supernatural. Maybe someday, we’d agree on a policy of full disclosure, but until then the Containment Protocol was firmly in place in this household. That meant Mam got fluffy tales of elegant parties in Oyster Bay, while Pietro got the gritty truth—minus the bulletproof cougar-bear.

  “Some days it felt that way,” I said, sipping my tea. “It really is the Wild West out there.”

  “How did you manage with all the cowboys? They probably hadn’t seen a dress in months.”

  I laughed. “They didn’t see one on me, either. I ended up looking just like them in the end.”

  “And now you’ve got a horse. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Why, ride her, of course. Mr. Burrows’s groom will take good care of her while Thomas gets his own stables in order, and I can take her around Central Park on Sundays with Thomas and Edith.”

  Pietro’s expression curdled, as it always did when a certain name was mentioned. “It’s Thomas now, is it?”

  I tsked. “It’s been Thomas for a year, and you know it. Really, Pietro, you’re going to have to give up this silly dislike you have. Just because he’s wealthy doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”

  “That’s not why I don’t like him.”

  I made a wry face.

  “All right, but not only. He’s dangerous for you.”