to tuck it behind her ears, or drop it forward to try to hide the burn on her cheek and neck, which had thankfully not blistered.
The townsfolk were riled up and skittery, holding to clumps in the street and talking about the happenings of last night—from the witch burning to the rail explosions, likely caused by some sort of malfunction of the strange matics and tickers under LeFel’s lock and key. The townsfolk had quickly cleared out of Cedar’s way once they saw him come riding. Word of the night’s fight with the matics out on the rail had come to town, probably from the surviving railmen.
Cedar didn’t know whom they had painted as in the right or the wrong, nor if any of the men had spotted Rose, the Madders, or Mae, and truth was, he didn’t much care. He’d be riding east. East to see Mae Lindson safely to her sisters she’d left at the coven. Then east to find the universities, the scholars, the devisers, who might know of a way to break the curse he and his brother still carried.
Rose Small stubbornly insisted she wanted to go east too, and when both women had stood side by side against him, he knew there wasn’t a man born who could convince her the road was no place for a lady such as she.
But looking around the town at the suspicious gazes the men and women cast at him, and in equal measure Miss Small, he got to thinking Hallelujah might not be a place for a lady like her anymore either.
They had ridden straight through to the blacksmith’s shop, and word had preceded them.
The blacksmith strode down the main road, his wife beside him.
At the first sight of Cedar and the bundle in his arms, Mrs. Gregor cried out with joy.
Cedar was careful to hand the boy to her, after he dismounted, but Mr. Gregor interrupted his intent, and took the boy his own self. He unwrapped him and pulled up his shirt to reveal his back, scratched and weeping with small punctures, but not bearing the mark of the pentagram Rose Small had told Cedar had been carved into the Strange changeling.
“Papa!” the boy cried, catching the big man in a hug. It was the first word Cedar had heard out of him.
Mr. Gregor pushed him back gently and looked up at Cedar, then Rose. Then he looked quickly away.
“Elbert,” the big man said gently. “This is important, now. Tell me your middle name.”
“James. Like Uncle.”
Mr. Gregor nodded. “That’s right, son. That’s right.”
Mrs. Gregor sobbed, and pulled her son into her arms.
“Go on and take him inside, Hannah,” Mr. Gregor said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Mr. Gregor waited until she was gone, the door not only closed but locked behind her.
“The boy doesn’t seem to remember the last few days,” Cedar said. “A blessing, I think.”
“I can’t be more grateful,” Mr. Gregor said around a catch in his throat. “Mr. Hunt. Name your price and I’ll give it to you gladly.”
“I’m not a man who needs many things. And I’m set well enough.”
“You must take some payment,” he insisted.
Cedar didn’t want to take anything for a job he had already gained so much from—finding his brother. “What happened to the changeling Shard LeFel brought you?” he asked.
Mr. Gregor looked down at his hands clenched together in front of him. “In the middle of the night, it was tearing through the house, wild. Crazy. When it struck Hannah and made her bleed, she thought it possessed by devils and began reading Bible verses while I held it tight and still. When daylight poured in through the window and touched him—it—he turned to a stock of wood.”
He held Cedar’s gaze, as if knowing how mad that sounded.
Cedar adjusted the hat on his head, catching his breath against the wound in his side and the other injuries that had not healed. They likely wouldn’t heal any faster than a normal man’s pains, since the change into wolf, and the quick healing it offered, was a month away.
“Well, then how about you pay me by giving me that stock of wood?”
If the blacksmith seemed surprised, he hid it well. “Follow me—I put it in the shop. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
Cedar glanced at Rose Small. She shrugged. “I’m going with you.” She marched off after Mr. Gregor, her horse following behind her.
Cedar walked after them, keeping a keen ear out for any sounds of trouble. But all he heard was the sounds of townsfolk, and the hammering of the men who worked for Mr. Gregor.
Mr. Gregor stepped into his shop, where four young men worked hammers and vises. “Take a break,” Mr. Gregor said. “Take your supper early if you want. I’ll tend the fires.”
The men looked over, and gave Cedar Hunt a wary eye.
“Go on, now,” Mr. Gregor said. “Before I change my mind and you’ll get no break at all today.”
The men caught up their lunch buckets and hurried out with little more than a nod to Rose Small, whom, Cedar realized, they must know nearly as well as Mr. Gregor.
Once the workers were gone, Mr. Gregor strode to the back of the shop and pulled the stock of wood from the corner shelf. It was wrapped in waxed cloth, a Bible pressed tight against it. He handed it to Cedar.
Cedar unwrapped the cloth, gave Mr. Gregor the Bible, and tipped the wood to the sunlight to study it.
It didn’t look like a child at all. It looked like a branch that had been debarked and rubbed smooth with oil.
“What do you plan for it?” Mr. Gregor asked.
Cedar nodded at the blacksmith’s forge that was hot enough to heat the sun.
“I think that fire will make sure the Strange can never use it again.” Cedar held Mr. Gregor’s gaze. Most folk didn’t believe in Strange.
But sometimes, some folk opened their eyes and saw, harsh and clear, that the Strange were real. And saw the damage they could do.
“I’ll tend the bellows,” Mr. Gregor said.
He walked to the forge and pumped air over the fire until the coals stoked ruby hot.
Cedar threw the stock into the fire and watched as it burned as quickly as if it were made of paper. The blacksmith stirred the ashes, making sure there were no lumps of wood left.
“Do you think we’ll have worries?” Mr. Gregor asked. “From those sorts again? That they might want my boy again?”
Cedar shook his head. “Don’t reckon you will. Mr. Shard LeFel and his man, Mr. Shunt, are dead. They were the bringers of such things to this town. Make sure word of that gets told. He had dark things locked up in those railcars—any man can go on out and see what’s left of them for himself. Those devices and matics were meant to kill. Now that Shard LeFel is dead, I think Hallelujah will continue on apace with no Strange happenings, though the matter of the rail will be something this town will have to decide.”
Cedar pulled a tuning fork from around his neck and struck it against the heel of his palm. A sweet pure note sang out. “I’ll be on my way, out of Hallelujah, out of the Oregon Territory. I’d like to give this to your son.” He held out the tuning fork. “If ever this note turns sour, you’ll know you and your family are in the company of the Strange.”
“Mr. Hunt, I am the one who should pay you.” Mr. Gregor walked across his shop and, on a high shelf, drew down a cast-iron safe. He worked the lock, then withdrew an item. He locked the safe, and turned.
“This is the Gregors’ seal. Any who are friends of mine will be a friend to you, Mr. Hunt. Any who are family to me will be family to you.” He held out a ring, cleverly carved with words upon the center, and a great bruin bear breathing fire across the outside.
“I don’t think—,” Cedar began.
“You’ll take it,” Mr. Gregor said. “It is the least I can give you for my son’s life.”
Rose Small, who had been silent all this time, spoke up. “It’s a fine gift, Mr. Gregor. I’d wager you have family and friends scattered far and wide.”
Mr. Gregor glanced at Rose and looked like he was going to say something else. But instead said, “That is the truth, Rose Small. You’ve always told the truth.” He took the tuning fork and tucked it in his pocket, while Cedar placed the ring on his left thumb.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other night,” Mr. Gregor said.
Rose smiled. “We were all riled up. It’s not a matter to me now, though I was sore angry at you then.” She
