Shadow Train (34 page)

“Aimee brought you here?” asked Emily.

“That's right,” said Maggie. “We came to get you and take you back home, to Middleburg.
Our
Middleburg, in the twenty-first century.”

“But—where is she?” asked Emily.

“We got separated somehow,” Kate explained. “But we think she'll be here soon. I'm Kate, a friend of hers. Pleased to meet you, ma'am.”

“And I you,” said Emily. “Please make yourselves at home. As soon as I wrap this butter and put it in the icebox I'll get you something to eat and you can tell me everything that's been going on in Middleburg.”

At that moment there was a loud knock on the back door, and Dalton noticed the sudden look of dread that clouded Mrs. Banfield's eyes. Silently, Emily motioned for them to go into the dining room. “Wait in there,” she whispered. “Don't make a sound.”

She closed the swinging kitchen door, but Dalton managed to catch the bottom of it with her toe, leaving it slightly ajar so they could hear Mrs. Banfield's greeting.

“Good evening,” she said. “It's late, Mr. Crawford. What do you want?”

A rough male voice asked, “You get any new boarders tonight?”

“How is that possible?” countered Emily. “Don't you and your men have the entire town on lockdown?”

“Someone coulda slipped in,” he said. “I'm going to ask you again, ma'am. Anybody new show up here tonight?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she told him. “Some ladies looking for a room—a teacher and three of her young charges. With all the armed guards you have posted around the town, I'd think you'd already know that. They're just a few inconsequential females. What's the problem?”

“If they can get in, someone else could get out.”

“Well, maybe you should have a word with your men,” said Emily. “Perhaps they're imbibing a lot more spirits than is good for them—or you.”

“I'd like to have a word with the ladies.”

“I'm sorry,” Emily said. “They're getting ready for bed. Surely a gentleman such as yourself wouldn't interrupt their toilette.”

There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Make sure they're at the counting tomorrow morning. And there better not be anyone missing.”

When they heard Emily close the back door, they ventured into the kitchen again.

“What's going on?” asked Dalton. “Why are guards posted around the whole town?”

“Maggie, please go and lock the front door,” Emily said as she checked the back door. When Maggie returned she continued, “It's a long story.” She invited them to take seats around the big kitchen table and then opened a cabinet and took out a huge pie. “It's apple,” she said. “Freshly made, with all fresh ingredients. That's one of the only good things about living back in this time. No preservatives—the food tastes amazing.”

She cut them generous slices and took a big pitcher of milk out of the icebox. “We get the ice from Macomb Lake,” she explained. “It's plentiful in the winter—but I sure miss my big Kenmore side-by-side.” She poured a mug full for each of them and then she sat down to tell them about the outlaws.

“They rode into town about two weeks ago,” she said. “The first thing they did was take the sheriff and his family hostage—they're holding them all at the jail. Then, at gunpoint, they herded everyone into Middleburg United Church—it's the biggest building in town, in this time—and they counted everyone. Every morning when they ring the church bells, we have to go stand in a lineup in the town square and be counted again to make sure no one has tried to sneak away and get help. If anyone is missing, they'll start killing us—a dozen at a time.”

“What do they want?” asked Miss Pembrook.

“They're waiting for the train,” said Emily. “They say it's carrying the payroll for all the railroad workers from here to California. For some reason, it has been delayed. They've told us if we just stay calm and cooperate, they'll be out of here as soon as they get that payroll.”

“And if something's happened to the train?” asked Maggie. “What if it doesn't come?”

“I don't know,” said Emily. “I think they'll just line us up and shoot us all—after they've taken everything of value that these people have.”

“That's awful,” said Dalton.

Emily nodded. “At first, some of the men talked about trying to sneak away, to try to get to Topeka and bring back help. But I got their womenfolk to talk them out of it.”

“Why?” asked Dalton.

“Don't you see? It's not just these people who are in danger. Dalton, your great-great-great grandparents are here. So are Aimee's and Maggie's—and the ancestors of hundreds of people who live in
our
Middleburg. If people get killed here—then you might not even be born.”

“Wow,” said Dalton. “That's twisted.” She was having trouble getting her head around the idea that she wouldn't even exist.

“What are we going to do?” asked Anne Pembrook. “We're kinda stuck until Aimee gets here.”

“There's only one thing we can do,” Maggie suggested. “We have to get rid of them.”

“Like I said before,” Dalton told them. “We've got to sit tight and wait for Aimee and then we'll figure out what to do. Mrs. Banfield—can you get us some old-timey clothes so we can blend in?”

“Indeed I can,” said Emily. “Constance—she owns the boarding house—is also the town seamstress and she has a trunk full of samples. I'm sure I can find something for everyone.”

“Is she here now?” asked Maggie.

“No. She went to visit her sister in Topeka a few days before the outlaws arrived. She's not due back for another week. I'm worried about what they'll do if a stagecoach shows up before the train gets here.” By now they'd all finished their pie and milk. “Let's get you all settled in for the night,” Emily said. “We'll have to get up early to get to the counting.”

* * *

Aimee still had the ring shards and the flashlight, but she was no longer on the Wheel of Illusion. Instead, she was in a strange barren world with a stifling hot climate, standing in the middle of a dirt road, a few hundred yards from a desolate crossroads. And she was alone.

Why, she wondered, hadn't she ended up in the same place as her friends (which she hoped was 1877 Middleburg)? Then, she remembered that she'd been thinking about Orias as she'd pulled the lever. Was it possible that he was here, somewhere in this strange place?

She could try again to slip to her mom, but she didn't think she could go back in time that far without the Wheel. So, she walked up the path she was standing on, toward the crossroads. Off to her left over the horizon was a strange reddish glow. As she reached the crossroads, she saw something else: a big, ramshackle silver gate that was chained and padlocked and looked like it hadn't been used in ages. The sign on it read:
morrow

“Well, well, well—what have we here?”

Aimee looked around but saw no one—and then someone tugged on her sleeve.

“Down here,” said the voice and when she looked, she saw a little guy who was too tall to be a child but too short to be a grownup. He smiled up at her. “And behold—she's a pretty, pretty one,” he said over his shoulder.

Another small guy stepped out of the shadows. He gave Aimee a careful appraisal and then turned to his friend. They exchanged a few words in a language she didn't understand and then the first little man spoke again. “What's a pretty-pretty like you doing here?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“I'm looking for someone,” she said. “Orias Morrow. Is this his place?”

“Oooh!
Orias!
What do you want with
him
?”

“Sorry, it's kind of personal. Is he here?”

But he didn't reply to that. “I'm Steel and this is Begg,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Aimee Banfield.”

“And what is Orias Morrow to you?”

She gave an aggravated sigh. This was wasting time. “Not that it's any of your business but he's my boyfriend, okay? Now, come on—is he here or not?”

“We can't tell you that,” Steel said. “But Azaziel can. We can take you to him.”

Of course,
she realized.
I had Orias's problem with Azaziel on my mind when I slipped. That's why I ended up here.
“Let's go,” she said. “I'd really like to talk to him.”

Steel and Begg led her down a stone pathway that ran parallel to the Morrow Estate. It felt to Aimee like they walked forever. They passed bizarre rock formations, half-buried skeletons of huge, strange animals, and a few slowly turning black windmills that gave Aimee the creeps.

All the while, the red light that Aimee had seen earlier loomed in the distance, and she soon understood that the glow came from flames and that somehow, the massive conflagration was their destination. As they approached it, however, the place's true nature became apparent. It was no massive bonfire, as she'd imagined. Instead, the flames made of the walls and ramparts a huge fortification. The heat that rose from it was so much that Aimee could scarcely breathe.

“Behold,” Steele said as they drew nearer. “The Burning City!”

They passed through a broad gate, running quickly as their clothes and hair began to smoke from the heat. Aimee was surprised to find on the other side a bizarre, ancient-looking city made mostly of black stone. The peculiar beings that passed her on the street were too numerous and malformed for her to even guess what they could be. She rushed past them as fast as she could.

Finally, her small guides led her into a foreboding black castle and down a long staircase.

From there they went through another gate, deep into a cavern, until they came through an arched passageway lined with giant columns. And then, suddenly, they were in a wide, cold room with a domed ceiling and black, stone floors. On a platform several feet above the floor was a silver, jewel-encrusted throne. The creature sitting on it was astonishing and as black as obsidian. Its head was enormous and its shoulders broad and muscular. She wanted to shrink away from it, but for some reason she drew closer.

Steel and Begg bowed low before it, and then Steel ran behind Aimee and pushed her forward. “My Lord Prefect Azaziel,” he said. “See what a pretty-pretty we have brought you.”

Slowly, the creature rose from the throne to its full height. He stared haughtily down at them. He was the tallest man Aimee had ever seen—only he wasn't a man. Not exactly.

“I have no use for a human woman,” Azaziel said with contempt.

“Not even if she's Orias's woman?” Steel asked slyly.

The being turned to Aimee and a pair of black, feathery wings unfurled from its back. Its skin was as sleek and black as a killer whale's and its eyes had sizzling red irises. His gaze raked over her, and she could feel disdain radiating from him.

“How fortuitous,” he said. “Fortuitous, indeed. Why go after the prey when we can make him come to us?” He descended from his throne, never once taking his eyes off Aimee. Passing close to her, he moved gracefully to the edge of a balcony that seemed to look out over a wide chasm from which the red glow emanated. “Uphir!” he bellowed. “Come up from the Pit! I have a job for you!”

* * *

Bran, in his hospital bed, stared groggily at the TV. A rerun of
Saturday Night Live
was on, but the volume was off. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the words even if he could hear them. With every breath, the wound in his side sent a jolt of pain through his body, but all in all, it wasn't too bad. Maybe it was because he was in shock or maybe it was because of all the pain meds they had him on, but he felt pretty good, given the fact that he'd almost died. Now, for the rest of his life, he'd be able to tell girls he got shot. If that didn't give him bragging rights as a bona-fide badass, nothing would.

The thought of bragging about it like some rap star made him laugh, and the laugh made his stomach hurt, which made him quit laughing.
It's a good thing
SNL
is on mute,
he thought.
If I was cracking up right now, I'd probably die.
He was still trying to keep from laughing when Johnny the Cop entered the curtained enclosure.

“Hey—Bran, isn't it?” Johnny asked. “How ya feeling?”

Bran shrugged. “Okay.”

Johnny nodded sympathetically. “I know this might not be the best time, but I need to ask you a few questions about your injury. Can you tell me what happened tonight?” He had a little notebook in one hand and the tip of his pen hovered over it, ready to write. A long moment passed before Bran finally spoke.

“I don't really remember,” he said.

“Yeah—the doc said you might not. Trauma and all that. But if you can remember anything, it would really help. We'd like to investigate this as an attempted murder case, but it's going to be tough.”

“Why?” asked Bran.

“Because of the account your buddies gave—and those kids from the Flats backed them up.”

“They did?” Bran couldn't hide his surprise.

Johnny nodded. “Yep. They all said it was an accident. That Josh was just showing off a gun.”

Suddenly, it all came back to Bran. Josh, enraged, sprinting up the tracks toward Rick with a gun. Zhai shooting some sort of energy out of his hand at the last second, knocking Josh off the tracks. Bran remembered feeling a pain in his side, like a bee sting that kept getting worse and worse. He'd fallen to his knees and then he'd blacked out.

It was Josh, and he'd taken that gun out with the intention of taking a life with it; Bran knew that. But it wasn't Bran's life he was trying take, it was Rick's. In a way, it had been an accident. He decided to stall for time.