Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(76)

All the air leaves my body in a rush. “So,” I say, grinning. “Tell me how your power works!”

She shrugs, seeming more resigned than happy with our new arrangement. “Let’s say a fellow, like your friend Henry, comes into Hardwick’s gambling den to win some money. I get glimpses of him—his intent, his need, a direct thought if it’s strong enough, sometimes a peek of him at the end of the night. Maybe he’s got all the chips, maybe he’s about even, or maybe he’s flat broke and crying into his mead.”

“How does that help Hardwick?”

“I steer him toward the tables with the losers and away from the winners.”

I think back to the first time I met her, with Becky in the law offices. “You saw Mrs. Joyner coming with Henry in disguise to claim her house? That’s why Frank Dilley was waiting for us.”

She smiles. “Yes. One of my clearer visions.”

“But you can’t change the future, even when you see it?”

“I tried. My mother and I both tried.” Bitterness tinges her voice. “I’ve learned to accept what I see, work with it instead of against it. Good men or bad, it doesn’t matter—luck flows downhill. There’s no point in fighting upstream against it.”

The Charlotte notwithstanding, she’s giving everything away more freely than I expected. Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’s as eager as I am to talk to someone else with witchy gifts. I nod toward the gambling tables. “So what do you see for my friend Henry tonight?”

“Oh, Henry’s going away broke, but you don’t need to buy him a drink. He’ll be perfectly happy.” She pauses. “And I’m not sure why.”

“Because he’s always happy. It’s his nature.” I glance over my shoulder to look at Henry and smile.

And freeze instead.

Tom is strolling through the tables with an arm around Mr. Keys, who staggers drunkenly. Together, they are singing loud enough to drown out the band.

Henry laughs out loud, delighted to see Tom in his cups. He stands to say hello.

But this is my cue. Henry doesn’t know this part of the plan. He could ruin everything. I need to reach Tom before Henry does.

I pick up my skirts and run. “Tom! Thomas Bigler!” Becky once used some choice words, and I mine my memory for them. “Thomas Bigler, you no-good, rotten, pusillanimous snake!”

The shocked crowd parts to make way for me. Henry sinks back down to his seat. I reach Tom and shove him in the chest.

“Hello, Lee,” Tom says. Mr. Keys shrinks away from us both, eyes wide.

“Don’t ‘Hello, Lee’ to me,” I shout. “I can’t believe you work for that scoundrel Hardwick. Not after everything he did to us. He just took the roof right from over our heads. Becky lost her house because of you! Jim got shot because of you!”

I keep advancing on him as I talk, grabbing and pushing, grabbing and pushing, until he has to grab me in return just to keep his balance.

I can’t stop now. “You sold us out. You told Hardwick that Becky and Henry were going to pick up her house from the customs officer!”

“Don’t blame any of those things on me,” he says. “A man has to earn a living.”

Party guests gather to watch the show, and a few good Samaritans try to intervene, gently coaxing us apart. Tom and I elbow them back.

“You don’t have to work for him,” I snap.

We’re all tangled up, and I’m right in his face, close enough to feel his breath on me. But it’s the last thing I get to say. Hands pry us apart, and rough knuckles on my collar drag me back and fling me to the ground.

Frank Dilley looms over me, Mr. Keys at his side. Tom stands beside them like a brother-in-arms, yanking down his vest and checking his pockets.

“You can’t talk to Mr. Hardwick’s employees that way,” Dilley says. “Now get to your feet, so I can throw you out on the street where you belong.”

First I smooth my dress and pat my pocket, noticing that all my coins are gone—even the original stake I painstakingly preserved. I take my time rising as the crowd presses in, every eye on us.

A baby’s cry penetrates the din. Becky appears, angry infant in her arms, and stands over me like a shelter in a storm. “You can’t treat a young lady that way,” she says.

“Lee Westfall ain’t no lady,” Dilley says. “Way I remember it, she prefers to wear pants.”

“You’re just steamed because I wear them better than you.” Dilley raises his hand as if to strike me, but Hardwick arrives, giving Dilley pause. Becky helps me to my feet.

“There’s no need for trouble here,” Hardwick says.

I back into the crowd, until there’s no room to back away farther. Several hands reach out to steady me, and I’m not sure if they’re trying to be helpful or just looking for an excuse to lay hands on a young woman. I glare at Hardwick. “You’re not content to rob me, you have to threaten me, too! You’re a lowdown thief.”

“Miss Westfall, you can’t be a guest in my home and impugn me with that kind of language,” Hardwick says very reasonably.

“It’s not impugning if it’s the truth,” I shout. “You’re a thief! You sell land that isn’t yours. You kick people out of houses they paid for. You steal people’s most treasured possessions, the things they shipped to San Francisco, and then sell them at auction.”