“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cedar said.
“Taking care of our needs, Mr. Hunt.” Alun swung down off the wagon and landed with enough force to shoot mud up to his elbows. “We need the Holder. If it’s here, we get it, and all leave town together.”
“Mr. Hunt?” Mae said. “Are we stopping now?”
Cedar walked up to Alun and grabbed his shirt. “If Rose dies because of this stop, I’ll dig out your guts with my hunting knife. Understand?”
“The day that you and I come to cross odds won’t end in both of us breathing,” Alun said without an ounce of fear. “Is that day today, Mr. Hunt?”
“When that day comes,” Cedar said, “you won’t have a chance to ask me, Mr. Madder.” He took a step back. “Re-hitch the horses. Now.” He turned toward the jail and strode to the door.
It opened easily. Seemed the whole of the town had been left unlocked when the Holder had killed them all.
He placed his palm on the wood of the doorframe. The echo of Mr. Shunt lifted beneath his fingers. Shunt had been here. The song was stronger than he’d felt before, which meant Mr. Shunt had spent some time here. Maybe a day, maybe three.
Bryn sauntered in behind him with a lantern and the big open room shot full of light.
In that light was a wide desk. And on top of that desk were fist-sized clumps of flesh, several piles of bones sorted by size, and a wide, bloody stain blooming out dark across the wooden floor.
“Think this is where the Holder’s hid up?” Bryn asked, as if a desk full of body parts wasn’t anything of note.
“That way.” Cedar pointed toward the hall. Bryn started off and the lantern light stretched bars of shadows across the ceiling. The jail cells must be down there.
“Here we are now,” Alun said, coming up behind him. Only it wasn’t just one pair of boots Cedar heard crossing the floor.
He turned. Alun was carrying Rose and Cadoc was helping guide Mae, who looked near exhausted on her feet, into the room.
“What are you doing?” Cedar said.
“Giving the witch what she needs to tend to Rose,” Alun said. “You didn’t tell me she’d been struck by a piece of the Holder, Mr. Hunt. If you had, I would have given a stronger ear to your complaints earlier.”
“The Holder?”
Alun laid Rose down on a cot by the wall.
He shook his head slowly. “She should have died from this wound by now. Even a sliver of the Holder will strip a mortal soul from the body easy as shucking corn. There’s something more to our Miss Rose Small,” he said with something close to pride in his voice. “I think she’s got a bit of the old blood in her.”
“Old blood?” Mae asked. “What old blood, Mr. Madder?” She had allowed Cadoc Madder to help her sit on a chair near the foot of the cot.
All of them were mostly ignoring the gore-covered desk.
“The sort of blood that still flows in the veins of a few people who walk this land. Rare. A gift from the El.”
“El? A people like the Strange?” Mae said.
“As much as light is like shadow, I suppose,” Alun said. “There isn’t much crossing of their kind to this world, but sometimes, sometimes. Makes me a tad more curious as to who, exactly, her parentage is.”
“Will it do anything to help her endure the wound?” Mae asked.
“Oh, I think it will indeed,” Alun said. “But we’ll need to get that key out of her. Even someone with her strength can’t hold up a fight against the Holder for long.”
“Can we cut it out?” Cedar asked.
“No. Once a strangeworked thing hooks into mortal flesh, it begins to consume, to spread and devour. But if we can find the piece of the Holder this key came off of, then it will call to itself. Like a magnet to steel. The pieces weren’t meant to be changed or altered or broken to bits. But someone has found a way to break this much off. This key. That,” Alun said, “is a problem, Mr. Hunt. A grave problem.”
“Cadoc,” Cedar said, “you can put some water on to boil for Mae.”
“Yes,” Mae said, perking up. “Hot water. It will help. And I’ll need my herb satchel.”
Cadoc Madder frowned. “Your satchel, Mrs. Lindson?”
“Canvas thing she keeps at hand,” Alun said. “It’s likely in the wagon. See to fetching it, will you, brother Cadoc? Mr. Hunt and I will see if the Holder might be found in these walls.”
“Her bag of blessings,” Cadoc Madder said as he walked to the door. “I know it.” He opened the door a crack and looked outside. “Not even a soul to scrape together among them,” he noted. “No souls to fly. No wings to rise.” Then, shotgun in hand, he went out into the night.
Mae strode to the stove in the corner of the room. “I’ll need a kettle, or a pot,” she said more to herself than anyone in the room. She pulled the kettle from the back of the stove and checked the flue. There was a pile of kindling in the wood box and Mae stoked the stove, then took the box of matches off the shelf pegged to the wall.
“Mrs. Lindson,” Cedar said, “Cadoc Madder will be right back inside and Alun, Bryn, and I won’t be far off. If you need anything, call.”
She nodded and nodded. “I’m coming. As quickly as I can.”
She wasn’t talking to him.
“Mae,” he said a little quieter, but stepping closer, “did you hear me?”
She blinked hard, then looked up at him. For a moment her eyes were filled with a wild panic, and he could tell her heart was beating fast. She was afraid.
“Mr. Hunt,” she said as if just noticing him. She glanced quickly at the room, her eyes pausing on Rose. Her hand flew up to the tatting shuttle she wore on a string, almost like a talisman, around her neck. That touch seemed to calm her, and a bit of color came back to her pale cheeks.
“I’ll be fine. I am fine,” she said, correcting herself. “It wouldn’t matter if I was out of my mind or not. I know the herbs. I can tend to Rose.”
“The undead are not far in the night,” Cedar said. “Keep your gun ready.”
“You’ll be in the building?”
“Yes.”
She placed her hand on his arm and Cedar caught his breath at her touch.
“Don’t look so concerned, Mr. Hunt. I’m well. Well enough. Find the Holder, if it’s here. And hurry.”
The three windows of the jail, two set high on either side of the door, the other set high on the other side of the stove, were shuttered. Suddenly, those shutters buckled inward, slammed by something heavy from the outside.
Hands.
Cadoc Madder’s blunderbuss fired three roaring shots, but that didn’t stop the pounding on the shutters.
The undead were out there, close, and they were impatient to be inside.
“Put your spurs to it, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “I’ll hold here.”
One of the window shutters near the door burst open, hands and arms reaching into the room. Alun strode over to Mae.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Lindson.” He opened the firebox and pulled out a piece of kindling. Then he pulled a bottle from inside his coat pocket and lit the cloth hanging out of it. He stormed across the room toward the door, but looked over his shoulder at Cedar.
“What are you waiting for? I don’t believe the Holder’s in this room, now, is it?”
“No,” Cedar said.
“Well, then.” Alun made the shoo-shoo motion with both hands, the flaming wick and kindling stick crackling with small sooty sparks. “On with it.”
Cedar jogged across the room toward the hall of cells.
“Fire, brother Cadoc!” Alun yelled.
Cedar was in the mouth of the hallway, and glanced back.
The muddy miner cocked his arm and let the lit bottle fly. It hit hands, arms, and then a huge flare of an
