Revenge and the Wild(88)
“But how, and why?” Westie turned to Lavina. “Why would you kill my folks and try to kill me, but keep Tripp alive?”
If Lavina felt any remorse at all, she did a good job of hiding it. “I never planned to keep your brother alive, but at the time he was too sick to feed us. Hubbard wanted to kill him and throw him out to the chupacabras, but I felt it was in our best interest to nurse him back to health just in case we needed to feed on our way to the valley.”
Westie looked at James, but he remained unperturbed by Lavina’s admission. “Then Olivia got attached to him. He was so frail and weak. I think he reminded her of one of her dolls. We decided to keep him and raise him as one of our own. It’s a good thing, or we would’ve had to keep the real James Lovett Junior alive. I’d never been around such an annoying child in all my life.”
Westie continued to stare at James, his green eyes, the spatter of freckles on his slim nose and cheeks, and watched as Tripp’s features slowly leaked through James’s cocky facade. Part of her wanted to take him in her arms and hold the boy she’d loved so dearly as a child. It wasn’t his fault he was a monster. His mind had been twisted by Lavina’s deception.
A tear slipped down her cheek. Whether it was his fault or not, he was already ruined, she knew. Once you kill your own kind and eat their flesh, there’s no going back.
Westie shook her head. “God, Tripp, how could you stay with these people? They killed our parents.”
His smile wavered, then fell from his lips. “We do what we need to do to survive. You should know that better than anyone, since it was you who left me back at the cabin to be eaten.”
The more Westie looked at James, the more he took on the features of her brother. But he didn’t look exactly as she remembered. What she saw in his eyes was not the kindhearted little boy she had once loved, but something else, something dark and evil.
“This isn’t you, Tripp. You were a good boy, a sweet, loving—” Her voice got trapped behind the wall of emotion building in her throat.
“I’m not Tripp any longer. I’m James now.”
“So everything you’ve told me about your life has been a lie.”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Enough of this.” The mayor’s voice exploded in the night, startling everyone. “You’ve had your family reunion, now let’s find some copper and get on with the business at hand. That machine won’t finish building itself.”
Lavina nodded. Westie felt her fear and desperation rise up again when she looked at Cain with his knife at Alistair’s jugular.
“What do you care about Emma?” Westie asked the mayor, hoping to keep him talking while she thought of something, anything, to get them out of the mess they were in. She was sure when Emma was up and running there would be no need for the Fairfields to keep her family around. “I know you’re not a cannibal. I saw you in the mine—by the way your face turned green when you looked at the sheriff, your last meal was fixing to come back up for a greeting.”
“Heavens no, I’m not a cannibal,” the mayor said, flexing his face into a cringe. “I’m just in it for the money. Co-inheriting the Lovett fortune has helped my station plenty, but selling a machine like Emma will help build my empire.”
“Aren’t you forgetting you need magic for that? There’s no way the Wintu will help the likes of you.”
“The Wintu aren’t the only ones with magic. I know a fine shaman in the valley willing to help us out. He has a taste for the firewater, you see, and has made some poor choices in life that only a mayor can help him with—for a favor, of course,” he said with a grin.
Westie looked at Nigel. The sadness in his eyes bled into her heart.
Their situation was bleak, and it was all up to her to fix it. Her reputation for mangling past endeavors didn’t leave much space for hope to set up camp, but she refused to give up.
“Enough chewing the fat already,” James said. “Let’s deal with this machine so we can be on our way.”
“That’s it?” Westie said. “After the machine is built, you’ll just let us go?”
His smirk said that wasn’t the plan. They had no intention of leaving witnesses behind.
Westie’s voice sounded more frightened than she wanted it to when she said, “If you plan to kill us anyway, there’s no point in Nigel finishing it now, is there?”
“There is, actually. You have two options. Either Nigel can finish the machine, and you can all die together quick and painless as a family, or Nigel can sit there while I kill you and Alistair, slowly and painfully.” His eyes grew big and so did his smile.
A string of curses erupted from Westie so foul even James blushed.
“Cain,” James said. A look passed between the false cousins that Westie understood enough to spew apologies.
“No, please. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” she begged. “I won’t say another word, honest I won’t.”
Nigel roared beneath his gag, thrashing in his chair, trying to rid himself of his restraints when Cain pressed his knife against Alistair’s neck, hard enough to draw out a line of small blood droplets.
“No!” Westie cried. She tilted her parasol so the tip of her gun faced Cain. It wouldn’t misfire again, for Alistair had fixed it and he didn’t make guns that failed.