The Damnation Affair

Charter was solid this morning; what the hell?”

Russ’s palms clapped together, shorting the mancy. It died in a cascade of heatless iridescence, and he was already rolling his sleeves down and reaching for his coat. “Where?”

At least the man didn’t drag his feet. “The schoolhouse. They’re not rising again, but we need to find the breach. God damn it, Russ.”

“There is no breach. We rode this morning.” Russ’s eyes closed, briefly. “All the compass markers are in place. I can feel them. Gabe…” He licked his lips, a quick nervous flicker of a dry-leaf tongue. “The schoolhouse, you said. Did any of them—”

“She’s safe.” Gabe folded his arms, glaring. “Goddamn good thing I was there, instead of a passel of kids.”

Russ paled further at the thought. It was nightmarish, and Gabe normally wouldn’t have said such a thing. But damn it, if that first undead had sunk its teeth into Miss Barrowe…

Well, it didn’t bear thinking of. And he didn’t like the sinking, empty sensation in his gut when he thought about it. So he wouldn’t, would he? There were plenty of other things to think about at the moment.

He could ignore that sinking sensation. Sure he could.

Russ grabbed his gunbelt, hung over a sturdy wooden chair. Papers stirred on a stray breeze, ruffling as the mancy-laden atmosphere twitched inside the narrow office at Gabe’s back, full of shelves of bits and herbs and other things, charmer’s books stacked haphazardly on a taboret near the desk. He buckled the belt with quick habitual movements. “I meant to ask if any of them looked familiar.”

Oh, for the love of… He could have cheerfully throttled the man. “I didn’t stop to ask their names. But no, none of ’em looked familiar. Bunch of strangers around here anyway.”

“Gabe.” Russ halted, his black Gladstone clutched in one hand. His hat was askew, and his blue eyes were shadowed. “What if it’s…that?”

A cool fingertip touched Gabe’s nape. “We sealed that claim up solid. And nobody’s been showing up with marked bars recently. Dust and nuggets, but no bars.”

“But what if—”

“It’s gone. And that stupid kid, too.” What was his name? Face like a blank slate, you could forget it in a heartbeat. The eyes had just slid right over him, and sometimes Gabe wondered if it was a type of mancy that had made the kid so forgettable.

“Well, the markers are all in place, and the charterstone’s solid.” Russ shook his head, straightened his hat. “Let’s go.”

Gabe held the door. Russ stamped, his bow-legged gait just like a clockwork toy’s. He was through the office and out onto the porch in a heartbeat.

Sweeping the workroom door closed, the sheriff had to shake his head, thinking of Miss Barrowe’s wide dark eyes, swimming with tears and terror. The unsteady feeling hit him again, like a fist to the gut.

Then he remembered the kid’s name.

“Robert Browne.” He actually said it out loud, but Russ was outside already and didn’t hear. It was a damn good thing, too.

Because a chartermage wouldn’t take kindly to having a dead man’s name breathed in his office. Jack Gabriel shook his head, ran his fingers over the butt of a gun, and hurried to catch up.

Chapter 6

Cat stared at her front door. She had her gloves on, and carried her second-best parasol, the one with fringe that quivered as she walked. Her yellow silk was quite cheerful, and had the not-inconsiderable advantage of being almost comfortable. Her hair was perfection itself, and she had clasped her mother’s pearls about her neck. Her boots were buttoned firmly, and there was just a breath of rosewater remaining from her toilette.

But there was the front door, and here she stood, unwilling to open it.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered. “You’re being ridiculous.” How Robbie would laugh.

But that was just it. No Robbie. Her plans had come to fruition; she was here, hundreds of miles from civilization, and she had not the faintest clue of how to go about finding him. She had thought it a dead certainty he would find her.

If he had moved on…but how likely was that, given what he’d written? No, there was another possibility, one she did not wish to think upon, but which must be faced nonetheless.

Foul play.

And here she stood, stupid as a toadstool, afraid to open her front door because of an irruption of undead. Quite reasonable, actually, given what a bite could do to one even if one had enough mancy to inoculate oneself against the worst effects. But there had been no harm done, because of Mr. Gabriel.

Who had called at the back door during breakfast, again, to express his hope that she was not too upset by recent events. She had reassured him with brittle calm that she did not intend to return to Boston with her tail tucked like a cur’s just yet. Maddeningly, the man had simply smiled, tipped his hat, and vanished.

Li Ang had said something in her native tongue that sounded like a curse, and Cat was forced to agree. The man was a nuisance, and entirely too sharp under that slow, sleepy drawl of his. She was even beginning to believe him of a quality, though he sought to hide it.

Yet he had been practical and helpful enough, when the situation required.

Catherine, you are being worse than ridiculous. You are, as a matter of fact, being a coward.

Which, for a Barrowe-Browne, could not be borne. That forced her to move another three steps toward the door. From the kitchen came the sound of splashing water and Li Ang’s odd atonal humming. The Chinoise girl was quiet, efficient, and discreet; there would be no trouble there.

You are being a coward—and Robbie needs you. If he has met with foul play, you are his only hope.

So much of life was merely doing what one was required to. It smoothed the way wonderfully to have no choice.

Another two steps, and her gloved hand played with the locks. The knob turned smoothly, easily, and a fresh morning breeze filled the hall behind her. Her reticule dangled. Her eyes opened, cautiously, and she saw the sun- drenched garden. It would, in all likelihood, be another incredibly, mind-numbingly hot day. She would have to be home before luncheon.

Then it’s best to get started, isn’t it? If the undead were in the town streets there would be more noise, one fancies.

While eminently logical, the thought was not as comforting as it could have been.

Chin raised, eyes flashing, palms sweating, and her dress rustling, Cat stepped over her threshold.

* * *

Damnation. A main street with others branching away at right angles, build Cang >

In her bright yellow, Cat stood out far more than she’d thought possible. The men hurried to raise their hats, and she was greeted on all sides, hailed with an intensity that was a touch embarrassing. Had they never seen a schoolteacher before? Of course, she was a bright bird in a sea of dusty pigeons, and she would have been writhing with embarrassment had she not been so occupied in making polite gestures. Her mother’s Greet the Peasants smile had rarely been so useful.

She had not passed more than a few sun-bleached building fronts before Mr. Gabriel appeared, falling into step beside her with a tip of his hat. “Ma’am.”

“Mr. Gabriel.” She stared straight ahead. “You look well.”

“You haven’t looked at me enough to see, Miss Barrowe. But yes, I’m well. Pleasure to see you out and