Or even,
It had been years since he’d felt this tightness in his chest. Annie hadn’t made him feel silly and stupid; or at least, maybe he’d been young enough that he hadn’t cared. She had been sweet and soft, not prickly and precise as this little bit of a thing with her head down and the leather satchel swinging from her left hand pulling her to the side. She was listing like a ship limping into port, and Gabe swallowed dryly.
The wind picked up, and dust swirled against her skirts. She halted by the white-painted garden gate, staring at it as if she could not for the life of her figure out what such a contraption might be for.
“Don’t fall asleep, now.” His hand closed around her elbow, gently.
Her head tilted up, a slow movement. She blinked, weariness etched on her soft face. She searched his features, as if he were a stranger. “Mr. Gabriel?” Wondering. “Is Li Ang well?”
“Ah.” Miss Barrowe nodded. “I see. Well, you may come in briefly to see her, but I warn you, she is still very tired.”
“Then what are you…oh,
“I hope I am not keeping you.”
“You treat all your visitors this way, sweetheart?”
“Sir.” Frosty and sharp, now. “You shall address me as
Well, now he had her measure. And braving that prickliness was worth what was behind it. “Sometimes, yep. Other times, not so much.”
At least the irritation had given her a little energy. She sashayed up the walk at a good clip, and he watched the swing and sway of her skirts. How did women move with all that material tied on? No doubt it weighed like panniers stuffed with gold dust.
Something bothered him, but he couldn’t rightly figure it out. Something about gold, and Miss Barrowe.
She reached the steps, gathering her pretty blue skirts with her free hand. “I hope she hasn’t barred the door. That would be simply terr—
Her hurt little cry pierced the moan of the freshening dust-laden wind, and he had no memory of the intervening space. He was simply
He found himself with a shivering woman in his arms, staring at the shadowy writhing thing nailed to the porch. It had probably been a rabbit once, but bad mancy was all that was left, corkscrewing and flapping the dying tissues. An unholy spark flashed inside the thing’s half-peeled skull, and whatever tortured bit of soul still remaining in its tiny bone cage let out a piercing little moan.
She shuddered again, and his fingers were in her hair, cupping the back of her skull, a hatpin’s prick against his wrist. “Shhhh,” he soothed, only half-aware of speaking. “Shh, don’t look. God
The wind crested, and he had limited daylight to take care of this thing and get to the circuit. Russ wouldn’t take kindly to riding alone at twilight. Dawn was one thing, but dark was another, and Gabe didn’t blame him.
“L-l-l—” She gulped, tensed, and tried to pull away. “Li Ang! She’s inside—what if—”
He found his other hand was pressed against the small of her back, and the fading whiff of rosewater mixed with clean linen and a spice-tang of healthy female to make something utterly unique. She didn’t have any idea how good she smelled. “Then I’ll find out. Now come along.” He didn’t have to work to sound grim. “Back door. Step quiet, and stay behind me.”
“What…who would…”
“Don’t know.”
A nod. He was all but crushing her, he realized, and loosened up just a little. Then a little more. She might scream, or faint—no, this miss wasn’t the fainting type. Even if she had swooned a little when she arrived. Who wouldn’t have?
He trawled through memory and found what he wanted. “Catherine.”
“Wh-what?”
“Just sayin’ your charing-name. Makin’ sure I’ve got your attention, like.”
“I believe you do, sir.” With nowhere near her usual snap.
“You can call me Jack.”
“Thank you.” A little prim, now, which cheered him immensely. She was nice and steady, and she didn’t try to struggle away. Instead, she just stood there, and he let her. “Jack?”
“Hm.” He kept his gaze on the twisting, flopping thing. It was nailed in solid with what was probably false- iron, and it let out another agonized little sound.
“It’s screaming. Could…could you possibly…”
“I shall.” Her eyes were tightly closed, and she flinched when the no-longer-rabbit thing screeched. Jack’s chest cracked a little, and he found, to his not-quite surprise, that everything in him still remembered what came next, as if the intervening years had fallen away and he was still the orphan boy sold to the Ordo Templis and the man who had left the knights behind for a woman’s arms.
This, he knew how to do.
It was a moment’s work to mount the steps, a trifle more to take a long considering look at the mancy pinning the thing. No use rushing.
It looked odd, and his mouth thinned. He shook out his left hand, keeping his right away from a gun with an effort. A bullet wouldn’t end this misery.
He closed away the moaning wind and the falling dark. The sun was a bloody clot in the west, its light dipping and painting Damnation in vermilion. The thought of the schoolmarm at the foot of the stairs wouldn’t go away, so he breathed into it. Let it fill his head, and relaxed.
His left-hand fingers made a curious, complex motion. It was not quite charter-mancy; nor was it sorcery. A trace-map of golden veins lit the flesh of his fingers, and he
Then there were times like these.
His fingers tensed, the golden light casting dappled watershadows on the roof and floor of the porch. He had a moment to hope she had her eyes closed—this would create all manner of fuss and undue questions if she saw grace upon him instead of plain mancy—before he jabbed his hand forward, a softly spoken Word resonating with hurtful edges as it sliced the knot of bad mancy clean through.
False-iron popped blue sparks, and the sodden little rag of fur and meat and splintered bone sagged. His left hand, a fist now, flicked down as if he were casting salt. Fine golden grains of pure light showered over the thing, and the blot was cleansed. A brief burst of fresh green scent, like new-mown hay, washed away on the breeze.
Grace was never in short supply. Faith, though, was far rarer than the gold they dug and panned for. And he was—was he?—oddly relieved that grace had not left him.
