Revenge and the Wild(28)

“Later,” she said. When she saw the dubious look on his face, she added, “Promise.”

He nodded with a resigned smile and led her into the house, where she pulled the parasol from its leather scabbard and placed it in the stand by the door that held the other umbrellas.

Westie hesitated, eyes scanning the foyer, when she noticed that a black suede coat lined in purple silk, smaller and more expensive than Nigel would ever buy himself, hung on the rack next to the umbrella holder.

“Who’s here?” she asked.

Nigel’s jaw tensed. He tried to smile through it, though it looked more like the grimace of a man constipated with secrets. “James stopped by for a visit today. He wanted to look at some of my inventions.”

Westie wondered if James had been eavesdropping, for he walked into the room as soon as he heard his name.

“So good to see you again, Westie,” he said. Westie said nothing in return, only fussed with Jezebel, who had been particularly invasive in seeking her attention, nearly knocking her over. She tried to shoo the beast but failed. “How was your trip to the city?”

She thought about the wide, unseeing eyes of the dead leprechauns and the outlaw whose body she’d sliced in two like an anatomy lesson. Her body gave an involuntary shudder.

“Fine,” she said. “Where’s your family?”

Nigel gave her a stealthy shake of the head. She ignored him.

James shrugged. “Off spending money, I’m sure. I don’t really know and I don’t really care.” The piqued tone he used to speak of his family intrigued her, but not enough to ask why.

Jezebel’s behavior had gotten to where it could no longer be ignored. The chupacabra had nearly lifted Westie off the floor with her enormous head. When Jezebel started to tear the fabric of her shirt, Westie had had enough and pushed the beast away.

James leaned in as if he were going to whisper into her ear, then stepped away with a frown. “Is that blood on your clothes?”

“What?”

The entire hem of Westie’s shirt was crusted brown with old blood and swatches of dried skin.

“I reckon it is.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide some of the bigger patches of blood with her hands. “We, um, went hunting, caught us some rabbits . . . could you excuse me? I need to get some air.”

Once outside, she sat on the stoop, head tucked between her legs until the sickly feeling passed. When she lifted her head, James was sitting beside her. She held back the sigh waiting in her lungs.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

“Fine. It’s a little stuffy in there, is all.”

“Maybe this will help.” He pulled a silver flask from his trouser pocket, offering it to her. “Scotch, single malt. Not that it matters. Still tastes like hot piss, but it gets the job done.”

Westie hesitated. Before drinking at the saloon, she’d gone two years without even a sip, and she’d managed without alcohol on the trip to the cabin. But that was before she’d killed a person, before Alistair was shot. Her resolve couldn’t take much more.

Just one drink to take the edge off, she told herself when she reached out and took the flask. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tipped her head back, shivering as she felt the familiar burn.

James picked up a dried leaf on the porch. “I think I’m going to like it here in Rogue City,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

He discarded the leaf in exchange for a passing ladybug. It crawled across his fingers. “The company, of course,” he said with a wink. Westie rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment as flattery. “There are other reasons too, though. In the city I’m always on guard. Here I don’t have to worry about creature attacks or the Undying wandering in.”

“The Undying?” An image of the Undying snapped in her mind, blood weeping from their eyes, noses in the air as they sniffed out their prey. She took another long drink and handed the flask back to him. “As far as I know, there were never any in California to begin with, and from what I hear, there’s no such thing anymore. President Pierce wiped them out and gave that land to the creatures as part of the treaty to end the war.”

James smiled. “I suppose my sheltered city upbringing is really shining through. I didn’t know anything about that.” The ladybug spread its wings. With a gentle flick of James’s hand, it flew away. “Still, it’s a strange and wonderful place.”

“I’ve grown up here and even I find it strange sometimes,” Westie admitted, looking up at the dome. Again she thought she saw it flicker, but couldn’t tell for sure. It might’ve been the alcohol playing tricks on her eyes. “You don’t see all the different species of creatures much on the road, but here in Rogue City, where there’s some semblance of law, you’ll find every creature you once thought was legend sipping on a tumbler of whiskey at some point or another.”

James’s smile revealed the little white scar on his lip. “I shared a pint with a vampire last night, and he even offered to pay. It’s almost like they’re human at times—but don’t let Lavina know I said that. She’d probably disown me.”

With the mention of Lavina, the scotch in Westie’s stomach went sour. Her nausea returned, and so did the tears pushing at the backs of her eyes. The entire trip to the cabin was a waste, and Alistair had nearly been killed because of it. She was no closer to finding any evidence against Lavina and her family. Maybe a ball wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps she could learn something about the Fairfields in a social setting.