between the wooden trinkets on the shelf?
“I’m fine, just fine,” she said. “Have a seat. This will be hot, but we’ll wrap it tight to keep the injury clean.”
Cedar hesitated a moment. He glanced out the cracks in the shutters, and held his breath. Listening, she realized. Listening for whatever thing had distracted her.
“Suppose you didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said as she brought the pot over to the table and used a clean knife to draw up the soaked cloth.
“Not so much as I prefer, but enough.” She opened the cloth with her fingertips, and scooped out the leaves and bark and seeds.
“That Strange, the one that looked like little Elbert,” she said, “you said it smelled of his blood. Do you think the boy, the real Elbert, is still alive?” She folded the cloth around the herbs like an envelope, then wrapped it up in a long strip of cheesecloth she would tie around his ribs.
“The blood was fresh,” Cedar said. “And it was Elbert’s.”
Mae pressed the compress against his skin. “Hold this.” Cedar held it in place with his right hand. “So there’s a chance the boy’s still alive?”
“I’ve seen Strange, Mrs. Lindson, but none that uses gear and bone and blood like a child plays with sticks and mud. These are something more. Stronger. Wicked.”
Mae walked across the room and pulled down extra strips of cloth and brought those over. “Mr. Shunt. Do you think he somehow devised that Strange boy?”
“Yes.” Cedar grunted as she bound the cheesecloth, then the length of cloth, around his ribs. “But I don’t know why he would want to. And I don’t know why he would want such a fine woman as you, Mrs. Lindson.”
Mae swallowed at those words and kept her eyes and attention on laying the cloth down smooth and wrapping it evenly. She didn’t want that compress to slip.
“He has killed my husband. The one true love I vowed my life unto. I don’t know what he wants with me. Now that Jeb is dead, there’s not much of me left to hurt. Maybe the Strange don’t approve of our marriage vows. A colored man and a white woman.”
She stood and handed him Jeb’s shirt.
Cedar paused before putting it on. “Don’t think the Strange much care about the color of a person’s skin. Don’t think love much cares either.”
Mae held her breath at those words. They were likely the kindest thing she’d ever been told in her life.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Cedar shrugged his good shoulder and buttoned the shirt, not meeting her eyes. “You suppose the Strange want you for the spells at your disposal?”
“Spells?”
“You are a witch, aren’t you, Mrs. Lindson?” Cedar tipped his eyes up and caught her gaze. He was not afraid of her—no, she’d be surprised if he were afraid of anything or anyone. He wasn’t encouraging nor demanding. And yet, she felt a need to answer him, to tell him what so many had gossiped, what so many had feared.
And putting this truth in his hands could mean her life. The townsfolk did not like her, were afraid of the simplest blends of herbs she made for healing. What would they do if Cedar told them she was indeed the ungodly thing they feared?
And what would they do if they found out the hunter they trusted with their herds, with finding their children, was a cursed and killing beast?
It seemed they both had equal to lose, and to gain. That made up her mind.
“Yes, Mr. Hunt, I am a witch. And I trust my secret is as safe with you as yours is with me?”
“Yes, Mrs. Lindson, it is.” Cedar smiled, and it did his face good. She found herself smiling too.
“I’d wager,” he said, “that particular skill is why the Strange are looking for you.”
“Well, I can’t undo what I am. It’s not so much a choice, Mr. Hunt, as a way you’re born. I’d follow the ways of magic whether I knew to call myself a witch or not.”
“Wasn’t saying anything needed undoing. Are there others of your sort around these parts? Your . . . sisters?” he added.
“I don’t really know. I’m from a small coven—a community. And I was seventeen when I came this way with Jeb. Hallelujah is tucked off of the trails. Well, until the rail finishes, that is.”
“If there were a witch nearabouts, do you think they’d contact you?” he asked.
“Perhaps.”
“Could be just that you are the only witch in a hundred miles, and that’s why the Strange are looking for you. Or it could be that you have something particular that they want. Something particular Mr. Shunt wants.”
“All that I have you are looking at now. Do you see anything worth killing me for?”
“Never know what whets the interest of the Strange. Sometimes it’s a bit of metal, a bob of glass. Sometimes it’s a song or a dream, or a rare skill. Is there something you specialize in?”
“Weaving and lace, though I imagine there are those better than I at it. And vows, bindings, and curses,” she added quietly.
“What?”
“It’s not something that’s spoken.”
“Maybe not. But I think it’s something that needs to be heard.”
Mae walked over to her spinning wheel and dragged her hands over the blankets in the basket. She didn’t want to give this secret words to cling to. Didn’t want to give it shape to fill. Even words—no, especially words— carried magic.
“I am particularly gifted to using magic with vows, bindings, and curses. It’s not approved. It is not even the correct way to guide magic. But it is the way of me.”
“Must be that,” Cedar said as if talking about magic in this civilized world were commonplace. “Though I still don’t know why Mr. Shunt would want to harm you. Maybe he’s doing Shard LeFel’s bidding. Maybe it’s Mr. LeFel who wants what you have.”
“I don’t see as how that can be. I don’t think I’ve seen Mr. LeFel but once since he’s come to town.”
“Once is enough when a man sees what he wants.” Cedar said it slowly, softly, his gaze holding her. He hesitated, as if he would say more, then cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you have a pair of boots I could borrow?”
“I should.” Mae oddly found it a little difficult to breathe. There was something about Mr. Hunt. Being near him caught her up in most confusing ways. “Let me go fetch them. Then will you be leaving?”
“I’ll follow the trail of the boy’s blood. See if I can find Wil. See if I can find Elbert.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said over her shoulder.
Nothing but silence filled the room. Mae found Jeb’s old boots near the bed. They had holes in the sides, and might be too big for Cedar’s feet, but she had spare socks he could use to take up the difference.
As soon as she stepped back out into the main room, he stopped pacing and slanted a look at her. “No, you most certainly will not.” It was a commanding voice. A stern, lecturing voice.
Mae ignored it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a lawyer, Mr. Hunt. Declaring your opinions as if they were fact.” She held out the old boots and socks for him.
He scowled. “A teacher,” he said.
Mae smiled. “I’ll be going with you. That shotgun is the only thing I’ve seen that can stop Mr. Shunt in his tracks. Not that it kills him, no, he snaps and pulls and stitches himself back together again as easily as he falls apart.” She swallowed hard at the memory of him. “He’s not made of the natural world.”
“Not this natural world, at least,” Cedar said. “Which is all the more reason you should stay here where it’s safe.”
“There is no safe place for me.” Mae didn’t mean it to come out quite so plainly, but there it was. So long as she was a witch in this God-fearing land, with Strange things that crept through pockets of shadow and cozied up to nightmares, she would be pointed to as different, and killed for her ways.
“Mrs. Lindson,” Cedar tried, then, “Mae.”
She looked up at her name, surprised.
“Listen to me. To reason. I know you can stand on your own. You’ve proved you have a strong spine. But first I’ll be headed back to the Madders to reclaim my weapons and clothes. There’s no need for both of us to deal with
