Revenge and the Wild(12)

“I don’t drink,” she said.

Westie watched as Alistair took the rope and was lifted into the air with the other men.

“Looks like your friend could use some help,” James said.

Westie laughed, but the sound was lost in engine noise. She ran—as much as one could run beneath the weight of all that fabric—and stood below them. Reaching up with her machine, she took hold of the knot at the end of the rope, pulling the men to safety.

The airship sank toward the earth and bounced to a stop. She cringed at the wail of the engines shutting down. Nigel was a genius, she knew, but she’d never imagined him capable of inventing something so immense.

Westie joined her family to watch the people on the airship emerge from their cabins onto the deck.

“There he is,” Nigel said warily as the mayor climbed down the companionway and descended the gangplank.

Westie had never seen the mayor before. Though he was in charge of all the territories in the Sacramento Valley, he rarely, if ever, came to town. He was soft pink and nearly bald, pushing fifty if not already there. He wore a green paisley suit, rattlesnake-skin boots, and a bolo tie adorned with turquoise even though it was an Indian stone, and, according to Nigel, he’d fought diligently to keep the natives out of the city.

The mayor talked around a cigar clamped between his teeth. “Nigel, my good man.” He patted Nigel on the shoulder with a pudgy hand. He had a hearty laugh. Pearls of sweat hung from his upper lip. “These must be your automatons I’ve heard so much about.”

Westie’s hackles rose. She doubted the insult was intended, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to shove her machine up the fat man’s—

“Alistair Butler, at your service.” Alistair stepped forward, offering his hand. Though Nigel had never officially adopted him, Alistair used his surname.

The mayor gave it a quick tug.

“How do you do?” Westie extended her copper hand for the mayor to kiss or shake, it didn’t matter which—either way she meant it to be an introduction he wouldn’t forget. Nigel had warned her to behave around the investors, but he hadn’t said anything about the mayor.

Nigel stepped in before she could make contact. He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a painful squeeze. Wincing, she smiled at the mayor.

“And this beauty is Miss Westie,” Nigel said.

“A beauty indeed.” The mayor was full of smiles until his gaze wavered on her copper arm. “Indeed,” he said again with less enthusiasm.

“How was your flight, Mayor?” Nigel asked.

The mayor patted his ample belly, where the buttons of his shirt stretched holes into the fabric, showing the sweaty hair matted beneath. “Just fine, thank you, but please call me Ben. There’s no point in using formalities when we’re in wild country surrounded by creatures and Indians, wouldn’t you say?”

He glared at Bena, who stood beside Nigel looking unimpressed by the mayor, the airship, and the people getting off it.

“Where are the investors?” Westie asked. It was a hundred and hell out, and it felt like swampland beneath her skirts.

“They should be coming.” The mayor looked toward the ship. “Yes, there they are.”

Westie followed his line of sight toward the passengers on the ship. It was as if someone had reached into her chest and pulled out her lungs. Suddenly the air around her disappeared, stolen by the couple walking down the gangplank.





Six


The woman stepping off the ship was a wraith from the past clad in flashy red traveling skirts, expensive city fashions with matching hat and gloves. Her dark hair fell in waves over one shoulder and bounced with each step. Her attire hid the fact that she had a plain face with pockets beneath her eyes and irises like two brown scabs. She was short and thin, and the severity of her features gave her a raptor-like quality.

Westie couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, her thoughts spinning in violent circles between past and present. Beside her, someone was talking. Whether to her or to someone else, she didn’t know, for she couldn’t think beyond the sight before her. Next to the woman stood a man, a head taller than those around him, stout of chest, with arms as thick as smokestacks and a pocked face. He too was finely dressed, wearing a high-collared shirt, tan sack coat, and breeches. He wasn’t ugly, but he also wasn’t someone anyone would think twice about after he’d walked away. The couple stood within a group, all vying to get off the ship first.

Westie’s throat tightened. She’d imagined catching the cannibals who’d killed her family a million times, but never like this, never caught off her guard.

The sight of them conjured a fear so powerful it threatened to shake her world apart. Her head felt loose, like it would float away if it weren’t for her spine. She tried squeezing her eyes closed again, pressing her hands against her lids to block out any light. When she opened them, she was sure the couple would be gone, and in their place would be nice people who looked nothing like the cannibals from her past.

That wasn’t the case.

Confusion held her tongue. The people she remembered from the cabin in the woods were vile, dirty things, not society folks. It had to be a mistake.

Alistair was beside her. He said, “Didn’t you hear me?”

She didn’t dare take her eyes off the man and woman. “What?”