The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (30 page)

“I can't get up there on my own with the chest,” Cask said. “I need you to climb up and I'll pass it to you.” He set the lantern down at the base of the bluff and pulled the chest of coins from his bag. I stared at it like I expected a rainbow to come shining down.

I hadn't missed my chance.

“Why do you trust me all a' sudden?” I asked.

Cask's face was emotionless. “Because I ain't got nothin' to lose.” He rested his hand on his revolver. “You do.”

I nodded once. There wasn't much else I could add to that.

I stepped up to the bluff and began to climb. It was difficult at first, because some of the ledges above me stuck out farther than the ones at my feet, and half the time, when my boot found a toehold, it slipped on the moss. I could see why Cask had trouble climbing up while balancing the chest in one hand. Or his saddlebags for that matter. But as luck would have it, Shooter Delaney was a sprightly climber. Maybe Cask already knew that.

Halfway between Cask and the hole, there was a decent ledge to balance on. I knelt down and reached for the chest. Cask stood up on his toes, pushing the chest up on the tips of his fingers. My nails scraped the top. I stretched further, my muscles burning, until I snagged one of the leather strap handles on the side.

“Got it.” I heaved it up onto my ledge.

“Now reach your arm in that hole. See if there's any obstruction.”

“Um. I think not.” I snapped the sapling growing out of the hole in half, then used it to poke around inside, covering my face with my other arm in case I disturbed a few bats. After a few jabs, it seemed empty to me. I tossed the sapling aside, which almost hit Cask on its way down, and shoved the chest into the hole.

It was the perfect hiding spot. Now I just had to figure out how to explain its location to Porter. Maybe I could carve a symbol into the rock…

“Did you hear that?” Cask said, his voice low.

I froze and listened. “No…”

“Shhh.”

I looked out past our little sphere of lantern light but couldn't see anything but black. Cask pressed a finger to his lips, then he slowly seeped into the wood, signaling for me to wait where I was.

“Cask,” I whispered. “You gotta help me down.”

But he was already gone, leaving me all alone in the cold, on a narrow stage awash with flickering amber light. It was too far to jump, and if I was going to climb down, I wanted him below me in case I slipped. I rubbed my arms, my back pressed against the striated rock behind me. My teeth chattered again. How long was he going to leave me up here?

I was right in the middle of deciding whether or not to ascend back to Limbo and let Shooter figure out how to get down on her own when I heard voices. Harsh voices, somewhere out in the darkness. It was Cask and another guy, I could tell, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Was it Blue? Had he come to and followed us?

I strained to listen, reaching, stretching, trying to make sense of the angry tones, but they were too muddled. Too entwined. Was Cask mad at Blue for following him? Did he believe my story about Blue wanting the loot for himself?

The arguing stopped and the struggling began. I heard the scuff of boots against leaves and dirt. Grunts. The thwack of fists.

My eyes darted to the ledge at my feet, searching for the best way down. I had to get to Blue before Cask did something drastic. I was on my knees with my back to the dark forest, gripping the edge of the ledge and ready to reach my toe down into thin air, when I heard the fierce blast of a gun.

My God.

Had someone been shot? Who pulled the trigger? I hauled myself back onto the ledge, my heart in my throat, and scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. The shot still echoed through the hollow, spreading out and rolling into the distance like thunder.

The moment silence fell again, I heard two things. First, footsteps. Heading my way through the carpet of leaves. Whoever it was could probably see me by now. Lit up like a display at the bottom of the hollow.

Then came the whistling. Clear as day, piercing through the night. And it only took a second for me to figure out the tune.

Stardust.

The song Blue played for me on the piano in Chicago. Our song.

I let out a sigh. It was Blue coming for me. He must have come to and followed us like I thought. And he was whistling Stardust to let me know he still remembered. But where was Cask? And who fired the gun?

I watched, breath held, as a figure emerged from the trees, swaggering and whistling. But it wasn't Blue who stepped into the sphere of amber light directly beneath me. And it wasn't Blue who whistled Stardust so sweetly and perfectly – a tune that wouldn't be composed for another fifty years.

It was Judd.

CHAPTER 24

 

 

The jagged bluff dug into my shoulder blades. My whole world tilted to the left. The lantern light cast a wicked shadow across Judd's face. A strange sort of grin hooked at his lips.

“Where's Cask?” My voice floated down to him like a fallen leaf. A crow cawed somewhere above us.

“He ain't dead, if that's what you're askin'.” He twirled his warm gun on his finger. “But he won't be botherin' us for a while.”

Dear God. Did he leave him out in the cold to bleed to death?

“How do you know that song?” I said.

“Haven't you figured it out yet, Shooter my gal?” he said, with a snarly grin, “or are you still con-fused?”

My skin pricked and tingled. A black thought, sleek, round and venomous, sat on my tongue in the form of one seemingly harmless word. Gooseflesh spread out across my arms as I spoke it silently.

Descender.

Was it Gesh himself? Or had he sent someone in his place?

“Oh, hell,” he said, scratching the stubble on his jaw. “I tried, but I can't keep this hick accent up. I sound like a jackass.” His accent vanished, replaced with something more flat and distinctively modern. “And what about these ears?” He flicked his left one. “This guy's uglier than Dumbo's ass. Am I right?”

I reached for my gun. I had it cocked and sighted right between his eyes before he finished his sentence. The steel was cold and familiar. Comforting in my hands. My finger kissed the trigger. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

“You don't know?” A dry laugh tore from his throat. “Wow, you're even more stupid than I thought. Gesh was afraid you'd outsmarted him. He'll be happy to hear that's not the case.” He laughed again.

I glared at him. I straightened my back and re-sighted. This time right at his heart.

Judd shook his head, staring up at the barrel of my gun. He clucked his tongue. “Descending rule number one: Thou shalt not kill. Remember?”

Every muscle quivered beneath my skin. I thought about putting a bullet in his chest just to shut him up. Just for coming after me and shooting Cask. Just for violating Judd's body the way he was. Judd may have been a criminal, but he was a decent man. He deserved better.

The Descender sighed like he was bored. He lifted his revolver and aimed it at me in a careless sort of way. He was tired of talking. “Why don't you just give me what I came for? Then I can be on my way.”

“You want the chest? You can have it.” I was going to redo the mission anyway. Erase everything. Who cared if he knew where it was hidden now? I'd just move it to another hiding place on the next go around.

“The chest?” he said. “Gesh couldn't care less about the chest. You'd know that if you had half a brain.”

He couldn't? “Then what does he want?”

That same cold grin hooked his lips again. It knotted my stomach. When he spoke, his voice was golden and sweet. “There isn't a treasure on Earth worth more to him than a Descender gone rogue. And now that he knows you're traveling again? He wants you. He wants your name.”

I gripped my gun with both hands. “You know my name. It's Shooter Delaney.”

His grin pulled tighter across his teeth. “Come on now. Don't play games.”

“Is that one no good? Try Susan Summers.”

“I'm warning you.” I heard the click as he cocked the hammer. He adjusted the gun in his grip as he took actual aim.

I didn't catch my name in 1927, or else I'd have given him that one too. Instead I said, “Kiss my ass.”

It was too much.

He scowled at me and squeezed the trigger.

You know how heroes are always dodging bullets at the last second in films? Yeah. That's pretty much impossible. Because as soon as I heard the blast, the bullet slammed into the bluff right next to my ear. The bluff exploded, showering me in gray dust and jagged bits of rock. I dropped to my knees, shielding my head, a good two seconds too late. My only saving grace was his poor aim.

“You can't take a life,” I shouted, peeking out at him from between my arms.

“Tell me your na-ame.” He said it in a singsong voice, like a bully taunting someone on the playground. Again, the hammer clicked into place.

I gritted my teeth. Like hell I was going to tell him my name.

I whipped my pistol over my head and took a shot. Two blasts. My bullet knocked the hat right off his head. His sliced a chunk out of the ledge beneath my feet.

I leapt up and pressed my back against the bluff. My chest pumped in and out. My mind raced. How many rounds did he have left? Had he reloaded sometime between the train robbery and now?

Whatever the count, I realized it didn't matter. His aim would only improve each time he took a shot. But then again, so would mine.

“Your name, Sweet Stuff.”

I cocked and aimed.

I fired.

But so did he.

This time, white hot pain smacked into my right hand. My gun plummeted to the ground. I never saw where my bullet went. I didn't care. All I could think about was the searing hole ripped through the meaty part of my thumb. The broken bones. The hot blood streaming down my forearm to my elbow; the hot tears streaming down each side of my face, meeting under my chin.

“Aw. That didn't have to happen,” he said. I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears.

My breathing came in short, uncontrollable bursts. High-pitched. Panicked. I knew his plan. He didn't care if he took a life. He knew I would go back and redo the mission. He was counting on it. He could rip a dozen bullets through my flesh and it wouldn't matter. He could torture me and make me bleed all night long.

Until I gave in.

But I'd had enough.

I closed my eyes and reached for Limbo. I felt my soul arch and lift, felt the pain in my hand fade, but I couldn't break free. Something blocked my path. Something dense. Impenetrable. Suffocating. I fought against it, but it was like trying to push a door open against a wall of water.

My soul collapsed back into Shooter's body, exhausted from the attempt. When I opened my eyes, Judd's unflinching grin and the torment of my mangled hand greeted me. My boots glistened with blood.

“You like that?” he said. “It's called soul blocking. Pretty handy, right? Rule number two: Don't ascend while someone's talking to you. It's rude.”

I sucked in a seething breath through my teeth, trying not to think about the pain, and attempted the only feasible means of escape I had left: continue to scale the bluff. If I could just make it to the top and get off that stupid ledge, I could find somewhere to hide.

I snatched a ledge above my head with my left hand. I pushed up with my right foot. I cradled my bloody right hand at my chest, and used my elbow to balance while I reached for another ledge. I was as slow as molasses, my entire body shivering, but I could make it. I knew I could. I just had to concentrate.

And pray he ran out of bullets before another one made contact.

“I'm going to try to get you at the back of your knee this time,” he called out. “Your left one. It'll probably shatter the kneecap. OK?”

I scrambled higher. I tried not to zero my attention on the back of my knee, but it was hopeless. It was all I could think about. That shot. That violent blast of bone and tendon and muscle. That pain.

I gave up trying to protect my hand – I used it, seizing ledge after ledge, the rock biting into the wound, the pain blinding me, the smear of my blood painting patterns on the bluff.

He cocked his gun. “All right. You want me to count it down?”

Just a few more ledges. Just a few more feet. I could see the top. It was right there.

Pop!

He took the shot.

And it hit exactly where he said it would.

The pain. You wouldn't even comprehend the pain. It was so intense I couldn't even summon a scream. I saw sparks. White, silver, red.

Fire.

My boots slipped from their toeholds. I dangled for a short moment before my arms gave out. Down the face of the bluff I went, my chin and nose grazing a few ledges on the way down. The Descender dove beneath me, catching hold of me at the last minute to break my fall. We both smacked into the ground, my body limp on top of his.

He pushed me off and scrambled to his feet, his gun cocked and ready. I rolled over onto my back with a groan. My body felt red. Blazing. Churning. Like lava.

“Tell me your name and I'll let you go. No more pain.”

I sputtered a laugh. It caught in my throat and gurgled there. I felt hysterical. “I'm a reincarnated Transcender,” I said, dragging in a shuddering breath. “My pain follows me to Base Life. You'd know that if you had half a brain.”

I bit my bottom lip, trying to wriggle out of my coat. Everything from the thigh down felt like a boiling mess. I tried really hard not to picture what it might look like. I stuffed my coat under my knee to help stop the bleeding – not that it would do much good – and a wave of dizziness washed through me. More sparks. More pain.