Desa Kincaid- Bounty Hunter Page 20

  “Well...Just the same.”

  In tan pants and her sleeveless undershirt, Desa sat on the small table in her room and gazed through the window at the dark night outside. With two fingers, she slipped a toothpick into her mouth and chewed it anxiously.

  Adele came over in her thin white robe, seating herself in the only wooden chair the innkeeper had put in this room. “You should be sleeping,” she said. “I am quite sure you'll want to cover as much ground as possible tomorrow.”

  “You needn't worry about me.”

  A sly smile spread on Adele's face and she laughed. It was sweet, musical laughter that made Desa's heart flutter. “Is that not one of my duties?” the woman asked. “Don't lovers worry about each other?”

  Desa sat with her hands gripping the edge of the table, her head hanging as she let out a sigh. “Listen to me, Adele,” she began. “I am not the sort of woman you want to court. I will bring you nothing but misery.”

  To her great frustration, the other woman got out of her chair, leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Something troubles you,” Adele said. “Tell me about it, and I will do what I can.”

  “There is nothing you can do.”

  Adele's fingers touched the underside of Desa's chin and turned her face up so that she had to look into the other woman's eyes. She found sympathy there. Sympathy and concern. By the eyes of Vengeance, how was it possible that Desa Kincaid had let this pampered rich girl ensnare her?

  “What do I worry about?” Desa muttered. “I face a man who wields a power that I cannot even begin to understand. I should think the source of my discomfort would be obvious.”

  “You will defeat him.”

  Touching her fingertips to her eyelids, Desa massaged away the beginnings of a headache. “I suppose you're going to tell me that it's destiny,” she said. “You will forgive me if I find little comfort in that.”

  “I'm going to tell you that you are the most talented woman I have ever met.” When she looked up to find Adele standing over her, she found nothing but sincerity in the other woman's unflinching stare. “And that you will find a way.”

  “Perhaps there is a good reason to keep you around.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, but there it was. She was quickly developing a fondness for this woman.

  “I like to think so,” Adele said. “Now come. Let me help you rest.”

  Still catching his breath, Tommy rolled over on his side and slipped an arm around Miri's stomach. She snuggled against him, sighing softly, and rested her hand on top of his. Tommy felt relaxed...and a little confused.

  Closing his eyes, he nuzzled the back of her neck. “Why?” he murmured. “I'm still a little confused as to why you would want to do this with me.

  She twisted around in his arms, facing him, and then gave him a soft kiss on the nose. “Because you're sweet,” she answered. “And I enjoy your company. Now, the real question is why you have such a hard time believing that I would want to.”

  “I was never popular with girls.”

  “No?”

  A smile that Tommy didn't even try to fight came on suddenly. “Now, who's having a hard time accepting the obvious?” he said. “Take a good look at me, Miri. I'm hardly the big strapping man girls dream about.”

  She pushed him onto his back, and then she was on top of him, waves of dark hair cascading over them both. Miri kissed his lips. “Maybe you don't know women as well as you think you do.”

  She sat up, flinging that hair back over her shoulder with a quick toss of her head, and then smiled down at him. “You would make a wonderful partner for any woman,” she said. “Or any man.”

  Blushing hard, Tommy shut his eyes and let his head sink into the pillow. “Well, I'm glad you think so,” he mumbled. “At least someone does.”

  She swatted him.

  He was about to protest, but before he could get one word out, Miri fell on him and kissed him again. He was suddenly very aware of her warm body. His hands were sliding over her back. “If we keep doing this,” he panted. “We won't get any sleep.”

  “Who cares,” she said between kisses. “We'll sleep when we're dead.”

  Bendarian walked along the riverbank. For a moment, he did, anyway. Halfway between one step and the next, he called upon the Nether and ripped his way through the fabric of space and time. The world around him was torn apart to leave another world in its place.

  Without breaking stride, he was suddenly in the front yard of a farmhouse, walking toward a quaint little home with a gabled roof and orange lights in its windows. He saw a family through one.

  And they saw him.

  The farmer, a bald man with a thick beard who wore overalls over his white shirt, turned his head to look out the window. His eyes widened when he saw Bendarian, and he quickly leaped out of his chair.

  Bendarian smiled a menacing smile, shaking his head as he approached the house. “Busy little bees,” he whispered. “Time to set you to work.”

  The front door opened, and the farmer stepped out onto his porch with a rifle in his hands. “Who are you, stranger?” he demanded. “What do you mean by showing up at my door in the middle of the night?”

  Bendarian reached for the rifle.

  It flew out of the farmer's hands, zipped across the yard and slammed hard against Bendarian's outstretched palm. He closed his fingers around the weapon, paused for half a moment to admire it and then tossed it to the ground.

  The farmer was gaping at him, blinking slowly as if he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. “What are you?” he whispered. “What...What kind of devilry is this?”

  Bendarian stepped onto the porch.

  The other man cringed against the front door, tears welling up as he moved to block Bendarian's way. “Please,” he whimpered. “Spare my family. Take me.”

  Gently, Bendarian touched a single finger to the other man's forehead and watched as the farmer turned gray. Every last spec of colour faded. Not just from the man's skin and beard but from his clothing as well.

  His eyes turned black.

  Stepping past him, Bendarian found the man's wife cowering with her arms around their son. Both were just inside the house, and both were backing away from the door. “I won't hurt you.”

  They turned and ran deeper into the house.

  Bendarian drew upon the Nether.

  The world split apart, and suddenly he was inside this family's small sitting room with both mother and son running toward him. They both stopped short when they saw him in their path.

  “Don't be afraid,” Bendarian said. “I come to give you purpose.”

  He touched the mother's forehead, and she turned gray. The boy was next, transforming before his eyes. “Go and join your father,” Bendarian said. “We have work to do.”

  Chapter 21

  Descending the stairs to the saloon on the first floor, Desa set her hat upon her head and nodded once in thanks. “You run a fine establishment,” she said, stopping on the final step. “It was the best night's sleep I've had in months.”

  Mrs. Collins was waiting at the foot of the stairs in a gray dress with long sleeves, her hair pulled back into a bun. The woman sniffed but returned Desa's nod. “I should hope so,” she said. “The Wagon Wheel is the finest establishment in all of Thrasa. We have a reputation to maintain.”

  Desa stepped past the woman into a saloon that was already filled with half a dozen men. One fellow with a large belly and a thick brown beard that stretched from ear to ear was eating a breakfast of eggs and ham. Desa could smell it from here, and it made her painfully aware of her own hunger.

  She turned around.

  Mrs. Collins was standing there with fists on her hips, a thin smile on her face as she shook her head. “About to rush off without breakfast, were you?” she asked. “Oh, it pains me to admit it, but there are some women with as much sense as the average man.”

  Seating herself on a barstool, Desa folded her
hands in her lap and bowed her head to the innkeeper. “I'll have what he's having,” she said. “And some tea if you have it. Any flavour will suffice.”

  The waiting made her belly rumble, but it gave her time to think. She had spoken to Marcus on her way down; the man intended to purchase new supplies before they set out across the river. Desa was beginning to wonder just how much money he had left. Her own supply was diminishing.

  She needed a good bounty. Bring a thief of a murder to the local sheriff's office, and you would walk away with enough cash to keep a grown man fed for at least a month. She had spent the last decade living on whatever funds she and Martin could cobble together from the bounties they brought in. The man had never learned Field Binding in spite of her many attempts to teach him, but he was an excellent tracker. She had learned most of what she knew from him.

  When there were no bounties to hunt, she and Martin would sometimes take work as deputies. Any reservation that a magistrate might have about a woman in his employ quickly vanished when he saw what she could do. Assuming, of course, that he didn't cry witch and declare her a wanted fugitive. That had happened more than once.

  Perhaps she should visit the sheriff's office; she might see a wanted poster. But that would mean delaying her pursuit of Bendarian, and she didn't think she could afford to do that this time.

  Mrs. Collins put a plate of fried eggs and cooked ham in front of her, and Desa wasted no time digging in. She shoved a bit of meat in her mouth, chewed thoroughly and then looked up to say, “Delicious.”

  The innkeeper sniffed.

  Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, Desa shut her eyes and let out a breath. “I was wondering,” she began. “Have there been any strangers in town lately? I'm looking for two old men with a talent for making everyone else nervous.”

  Mrs. Collins folded her arms and backed away until she almost bumped the shelf of liquor bottles behind the bar. “And what would a smart woman like you be wanting with these...malevolent old men?”

  “I'm a bounty hunter.”

  “Oh really?” Mrs. Collins narrowed her eyes as she studied Desa through the lenses of those spectacles. “I haven't heard tell of any wanted men who fit that description. Not that I concern myself with such matters, you understand.”

  Desa shoveled food into her mouth with the gusto of a starving man. She paused just long enough to say, “They're extremely dangerous. If you see them, do not approach them or do anything to reveal that you recognize them.”

  “Where are these men from?”

  “Downriver,” Desa answered. “From Ofalla.”

  “How typical.”

  Desa looked up to favour the other woman with a smile. “Thank you for a delicious breakfast.” She hopped off the stool, set her hand down upon the bar and pulled it back to reveal several coins. “I wish you good fortune.”

  With that, she turned to go.

  Miri shuffled through the streets of Thrasa with her hands inside the pockets of her coat, hunching up her shoulders against a cool wind that blew in off the river. Her hair was tied back again, and her hat rested snugly on her head.

  All around her, people flowed up the street, most going in the opposite direction: a young mother in a green dress who ushered her son and daughter forward with a hand on each child's shoulder, a man in dungarees and a stained work shirt who followed a wagon full of lumber toward the water's edge.

  The morning was bright and clear without a cloud in the sky, and it was getting warmer now that spring was rushing at full speed toward summer. She looked out upon the river to see a wooden ship with large white sails heading eastward.

  The sound of footsteps caught her attention.

  Grinning down at herself, Miri shook her head. “Right on schedule,” she muttered, turning around to meet the man she knew she would see.

  Tommy was rushing toward her and breathing hard, his face flushed with just a bit of pink in his cheeks. “Hi there,” he said, stumbling to a stop in front of her. “I thought...I thought I should help you get supplies.”

  “You don't have to do that.”

  “Well, it's just...”

  Miri stepped forward, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look up so that she could gaze into those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “Lommy,” she said. “I'm happy that you enjoyed last night, but I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

  His blush deepened, and he lowered his eyes again, reaching up to scrape a knuckle across his brow. “I...I don't,” he said. “And you're never gonna stop calling me Lommy, are you?”

  She patted his cheek.

  Content to let him join her if he was intent on doing so, Miri twirled around to stand beside him and linked arms with him. They strolled toward the water, taking their time. It was a pleasant morning, after all.

  “Where are we going?” Tommy asked.

  Pressing her lips together, Miri felt her eyebrows climb. “I heard there was good fruit in the markets down by the river,” she said. “People buy it on trade ships that come up from the southern coast. Fresh oranges and peaches. You ever had an orange?”

  “No, I have not.”

  Miri rested her head against his shoulder, smiling despite the little voice in the back of her mind. A voice that cautioned her not to push too quickly with a man who had just lost someone he loved. “We have them in Aladar,” she said. “They're delicious.”

  “I'd like to see Aladar one day.”

  She spun to stand in front of him, stood on her toes and brushed his lips with hers. “Well, you're in luck!” she exclaimed. “I plan to go back there one day. Maybe you could come with me.”

  Tommy seemed to be drowning in chagrin, but he smiled and nodded just the same. “I'd like that,” he said. “Very much. Oh no-”

  “What's wrong?”

  He didn't speak; he just stepped back and pointed into the distance behind Miri. When she turned and saw what had frightened him, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh no...Not again.”

  There were three gray people in the crowd: a bald fellow in overalls, a farm-wife with a carving knife and a youth with short hair, all drained of colour from head to toe. And their eyes were black.

  Other people were backing away from those three as if the grayness was a disease that might spread. Miri couldn't blame them. The gray family moved with purpose toward her and Tommy.

  “Get out of here,” Miri hissed.

  “I can help!” Tommy protested.

  “Please, just go!”

  He backed away from her, moving off to stand by one of the houses on the side of the street, but he did not leave. The brave, noble fool. If she got out of this with her skin intact, she was going to have her way with him again.

  Mother and Son split off from the group – one going left, the other right – and moved to surround Miri on all sides. That left Father coming straight up the middle with glazed eyes fixed upon her.

  She let him get closer...

  Closer...

  Miri turned her body for an arcing kick that took Father across the chin, breaking his jaw with a devastating crunch. She brought her leg down and spun around in time to see the farm wife coming at her, trying to stab her with that knife.

  Miri leaned back, one hand coming up to seize the other woman's wrist. She lifted the woman's hand into the air, did a little twirl under it and then twisted around to grab her opponent's arm with both hands.

  Forcing Mother to double over was difficult, but once that was done, Miri brought her knee up to smash the woman's face. That produced a groan, and Mother toppled over onto her side.

  Movement on her left.

  Miri whirled around to find the youth charging in, snarling and practically frothing at the mouth. By the speed of his onslaught, it was clear that he meant to tackle her, and she was fairly certain that she wouldn't be getting up if he managed it. Miri backed away to gain a few extra seconds.

  Her hands were a blur, drawing throwing knives from her belt an tossing them up to catc
h the tip of each blade. She flung one and then the other, each knife landing in one of the gray boy's thighs.

  He faltered on his next step, falling flat on his face.

  Despite a broken jaw and a dark-gray bruise along his cheek, Father was coming at her again. “Run, Tommy!” she screamed. “Find Desa! Get help!”

  Of course, the fool boy ignored her, choosing instead to step out into the middle of the road with his pistol in hand. He extended his hand, squinting as he pointed the gun right at Father.

  He fired.

  A bullet punched through one side of Father's skull and burst out the other side with a spray of black ichor. The man – if he could still be called a man – fell over, lying dead in the road.

  “Come on!” Tommy shouted. “We stand a better chance if we find the others!”

  In a blue dress with short-sleeves that she must have purchased from a seamstress somewhere in this town, Adele Delarac stood at the side of the street and sniffed disdainfully at the next cart they were to visit. “I don't see why I should have to engage in this task.”

  Marcus ignored her, walking right past her toward a fishmonger with a thick beard who sold his wares from a cart down by the waterfront. “You will make yourself useful,” he said without breaking stride. “And if you cannot do that, then I will be happy to put you on the first ship headed to Ofalla.”

  “I can't go home,” Adele protested.

  Marcus turned back to her, inclined his chin and then offered one of the glares that usually made people stop yammering and attend to their duties. “Then you will learn to contribute,” he grated. “Even the fool boy can at least cook, but you? You do nothing but cling to Desa's coat-sleeves and complain.”

  He didn't bother giving her an opportunity to respond. The truth was, he was itching for an excuse to send her home and be done with her once and for all. Turning his back on her, he started toward the fishmonger...

  And froze.

  There, down by the waterfront, he saw four men with their backs to the river, all gray from head to foot. One man had long, dark hair, and another had thick silver curls. The third man wore a prominent earring, and the last had a scar on his chin. They all saw him and then quickly rushed toward him like a pack of dogs hunting a rabbit.