Revenge and the Wild(21)

“Don’t go,” Alistair said, interrupting her memories. “Creatures and bandits are all that travel the wagon trail now that the trains and airships have come back from the war.”

Westie closed her eyes, memorized how his touch felt against her skin before shaking him off.

“I have to.”

“I am going with her,” Bena said. “She will be safe.”

Alistair wouldn’t give up that easily. “Why are you going back there?”

It wasn’t the first time Westie had tried to get into that cabin to learn more about her family’s killers. Once, two years ago, she and Bena had ridden out to the cabin in search of clues. An old man had made the place his home and refused to let them in. This time Westie wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Proof,” Westie said. “Solid evidence is the only way I’ll convince Nigel that the Fairfields are cannibals, and Nigel’s word is the only way the sheriff will believe it.”

“It’s been seven years since your family died in that cabin. What do you expect to find?”

“A photo, a piece of paper with their names—I’ll know it when I see it.” From what Westie had seen of the old man living in the cabin, he didn’t throw anything away.

“What about Emma? Nigel needs the Fairfields’ money to finish it.”

Westie glanced at Bena, who checked her paint’s hooves and acted like she wasn’t paying attention, though Westie knew better.

“I won’t say anything till they hand the money to Nigel. That’ll give me enough time to gather the evidence I need to build a case against the Fairfields, one as solid as a steel wall that neither Nigel nor the sheriff can deny.” She mounted Henry and pulled the reins to face Alistair. “We need to get on before Nigel wakes up.”

Alistair took a deep breath that made his mask hiss. “I’m going with you.”

It had been so long since they’d spent any length of time together that she wasn’t sure how to act around him. She tried to breathe around the lump in her throat.

“Suit yourself.” She clicked her tongue, urging Henry out of the barn.





Ten


They left as soon as Alistair’s bags were packed. The shock of him wanting to travel to the cabin with her had yet to wear off. She’d been making bad decisions all her life and he’d never been concerned before. She wondered what the real reason was for him wanting to go, and refused to let herself believe it was because he’d missed her.

Bena rode ahead, leaving Westie and Alistair alone. Westie started to think about the red huntress. She thought about James too, wondering what part he played in the family, and if he was one of them. Shaking her head, she rid herself of the thoughts before they consumed her.

She needed a distraction, a way to pull herself out of her head and away from the Fairfields and James for a time. She looked at Alistair. Despite the oppressive heat, he wore a bowler hat atop his thicket of dark tangles, a black wool duster buttoned up to his neck, black leather riding gloves, black trousers, and his mask. He looked like a henchman. Sweat spilled down the sides of his pale face into his mask.

“You’re looking a little green, Alley,” she said in a goading tone.

There was nothing that chafed him more than Westie pestering him to take his mask off. And there was nothing that gave her more pleasure than chafing Alistair. Picking on him was the distraction she needed.

“You should take a drink of that cool water I packed in your canteen. This trip’s going to be a long one—don’t want to dry up without Nigel’s medicines around,” she said.

Alistair’s head bobbed lazily with his horse’s stride as if he were agreeing with her, which he was not, at least not openly.

“Take that damn thing off,” she said. “Don’t be such a stubborn ass.”

She wanted so badly to see her old friend.

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” he said in a metallic voice that reminded her of the idling purr of a steam engine. “Speaking of drying up, perhaps you should be more worried about yourself. You’re looking a little sober. Shouldn’t your face be planted in Henry’s mane by now? I mean, since you’re drinking again.”

She snarled, wanting to spit an insult back at him, but he had a point. If she was to face the nearly three-day round-trip journey to the cabin where her family died and the memories that went along with it, she’d need more courage than she had.

Reaching into her bags, she shoved her clothes and food aside, but found only leather at the bottom.

“Alley, where’s my flask?” It had to be a mistake. She’d packed it the night before, she was sure of it. “Alley?” She looked into his eyes for answers, for guilt. There was no guilt, but there were secrets. Her next words came out like a coiled snake ready to strike. “What did you do?”

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he said.

Suddenly she felt every step Henry took, every hobble, every bounce. Her head was thick with desperation. Like Alistair’s presence, sobriety had not been part of her plan. She strangled her reins and dug her heels into the gelding’s sides to catch up with Bena.

When she reached her, Westie’s neck was hot, but not from the sun. Bena rode with a swayed back, her eyes scanning the forest around her, stoic like the braves of her tribe.