Dragon Storm (Dawn of the Dragon Queen Book 2) (4 page)

Goldman eagerly nodded. “I saw Pedro Cortez sitting with his grandfather on their front porch this morning. His face had a healthy glow. He didn’t look like a boy who’d just had a brush with death.”

Ball crossed his arms, rocking on his heels. “So what are you two saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Straw shrugged and looked for his glass, aggravated the bartender still hadn’t poured him a drink. “The healer and her daughter are witches.” He impatiently waved at the bartender again.

“Hogwash!” Ball shouted.

The annoying little man reminded Straw of an obnoxious barking dog the madam at his least favorite brothel kept as a pet. Straw had found pleasure in kicking that dog on more than one occasion. How he’d love to kick Ball now.

Straw imagined himself a preacher behind a pulpit, putting the fear of the devil into the bar patrons. “Mrs. Alderman could hardly stand because of her rheumatism. Mrs. Moody could scarcely draw breath. I have seen them both out and about town, acting as if they’d discovered the fountain of youth.” He dropped his voice to an ominous rumble. “But worst of all is the McClendon boy. Fever claimed his brain months ago, robbing him of the ability to feed himself and walk, and yet I heard he was playing tag in the street this morning.”

Goldman and Ball blinked at Straw, either too shocked or too dumb to speak. He seized this opportunity to put the final nail in the bitch’s coffin.

“All these people have had that redheaded witch put her hands on them. I have done some investigating, and all I could find about this woman and her daughter was that they arrived Saturday from Scotland. They go by Miss Fiona and Miss Safina. I have heard no one address them by a surname.” He did his best to appear thoroughly shocked and scandalized, though the women he kept company with were several degrees more disreputable than the healer and her child. He turned up his nose and made a face, as if he’d swallowed stale brandy. “I find this whole situation too odd for my liking.”

Ball puffed up his chest, pointing a stubby finger at Straw. “You know what I find too odd for my liking? The fact that you claim to have been on the beach when the boy was attacked, and yet I didn’t see you helping him,
Dr. Straw
.”

The doctor did his best to remain impassive after Ball had thrown him off guard. “The mob was too thick. I couldn’t get to the boy.” Another lie. Truthfully, he’d been sitting at the poker table of a smoky saloon, doing his best to bluff his way out of a bad hand while the boy was drowning. He hadn’t heard of the incident until later that night, slinking past O’Leary and out the back door, five hundred in the hole.

Straw tensed when Goldman and Ball shared a look. He’d seen that expression too many times to count, the non-verbal exchange between two men who’d pegged Straw for the charlatan he was.

Goldman cleared his throat. “The boy’s feeble grandfather broke up the group. Why didn’t you follow us to Mrs. Jenkens’s house and help? You
are
a doctor, aren’t you?”

“Miss Fiona was attending the boy,” Straw grumbled.

Ball tossed back his head and laughed. “But you said yourself she was a witch. Why would you allow him to be healed by witchcraft instead of surgery?”

It suddenly dawned on Dr. Straw how much he hated Mr. Ball. “N-no surgery could have saved him,” he stammered, then instantly regretted his words, for he knew he’d dug his hole even deeper.

Ball leaned up, jabbing a finger in Straw’s chest. “And yet he lives, no thanks to you.”

Yes, indeed, Dr. Straw hated Ball with a passion. If he wasn’t a gentleman, he would have probably ripped the portly man’s finger right out of its socket.

“Seems to me you’re jealous Miss Fiona is a better doctor than you,” Goldman said.

Straw cursed himself for a fool. Why did this woman have to move to his town and cause him so much trouble?

“Jealous?” He turned up his chin. “Preposterous!”

“Or maybe you’re just angry she’s taking away your clients.” Ball raised his fists, his eyes simmering with anger.

Dr. Straw didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading. He didn’t like violence, not when he was on the receiving end. “I can assure you I have more than enough clients.” He did his best to speak in a calm tone while feigning a smile. “My patients are loyal and trust their ailments to a man of science.”

“Then why are you not healing them now?” Goldman asked with raised brows.

“Even a doctor’s busy schedule must afford time for relaxation.” Straw made a big show of checking his gold pocket watch, one of the few things of value he had left to his name. “Speaking of which, where is my scotch?” He turned to the bartender with a scowl.

The man had the nerve to walk up to him empty-handed. The saloon owner’s son, whom the patrons called Davy, had the same strawberry-colored hair as his father, with more freckles on his nose than Straw cared to count. Straw disliked Davy, too, and not just because he still hadn’t served him a drink. Over the past few days, he’d acquired a distaste for redheads.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Straw.” Davy set down an empty glass in front of him. “But I can’t serve you unless you pay your tab.”

Straw jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “What? I always pay it at the end of the month.”

“I know, but….” Davy leaned forward, his voice dropping. “We’ve heard rumors from your creditors.”

Straw tensed at the sound of laughter from Ball and Goldman.

“Lies,” Straw hissed.

Davy gave Straw a knowing once-over. “O’Leary was in here earlier, looking for you. He says you have until this Saturday to pay up or suffer payback.”

Dr. Straw did his best to ignore Ball and Goldman’s sniggering as he stepped back from the bar. “If you would excuse me, gentlemen,” he said through a frozen smile. “I have a long evening at the hospital awaiting me.”

He walked to the exit with haste. As he donned his hat and coat, he cringed as the conversation from the bar carried across the room.

“That man is no doctor.”

“He’s a disgrace.”

“He needs to get his affairs in order before he points fingers at anyone else.”

A wave of humiliation surged through Straw as he walked out onto the pavement. He did his best to ignore rude stares and sibilant whispers as he pushed through the crowd, elbowing anyone in his way. When an elderly lady bumped his hip with her heavy handbag, he cursed, then slyly stretched out his arm, tripping her with his cane. He smiled as he heard her hit the ground with a grunt. After he’d put considerable distance between himself and the saloon, embarrassment turned to anger, and anger turned to rage. In the course of a few days, that redheaded bitch had besmirched his good name to the entire town. He swore on his dead mother’s grave, he would find a way to get even.

A
bby’s foot tapped out a nervous rhythm while she waited on the porch of Charlotte’s grand home, having rung the bell three times already. The setting sun at her back, the birds chirping overhead, and the breeze ruffling her hair made a fine backdrop to what would have been a pleasant evening. But tonight was not about pleasure. Tonight was about penance.

Why she hadn’t come to her senses after her first brush with death, she’d no idea. But things were different now, for last night she could not close her eyes without seeing that crimson pool in the water or hearing Pedro’s gurgling cries for help and the thrashing of the shark’s fins.

Then there was that other thing she’d seen in the water. She still didn’t know what it was, but of one thing she was certain—it was somehow connected to Safi, and Safi and her mother were not human. She suspected they’d been sent by the angels, not just to protect and heal the people of Galveston but to get them to change their ways. Abby had a lot to change, starting with the way she’d treated her dearest friend. She only hoped it wasn’t too late for Charlotte’s forgiveness.

After what felt like an eternity, the heavy door finally swung open, revealing Charlotte’s most trusted servant. He was a few heads taller than Abby, and his broad shoulders filled the grand portico as if the mansion had been designed for him. The whites of his eyes shone against his ebony skin as he looked down at her with a wide smile.

“Good evening, Miss Abby.”

She cleared her throat, which suddenly felt as grainy as a sand dune on a hot summer day. “Good evening, Josiah.”

He ushered her inside. “Have you come to dine with the mistress tonight?”

“No, no.” Abby slipped off her gloves and hat, handing them to Josiah. “But I must speak with her.”

At the sound of a female calling to him, Josiah stepped back, revealing Charlotte standing on the bottom step of the grand staircase, clutching the bannister like a lifeline. She looked even more beautiful than when Abby had last seen her, the blush of motherhood adding a pleasant pink to her porcelain skin, a fine contrast to her bright blue eyes and thick hair swept up in a stylish coiffure with little blonde ringlets trailing down her nape. She wore a shimmery gown of soft green, one that Abby knew must have cost her husband a small fortune, for the material was of the finest iridescent silk and was accentuated by three ropes of pearls and matching earrings.

“Abby.” Charlotte paused as if she was letting the shock of Abby’s presence sink in. “How nice to see you.” She flashed a thin smile. “Teddy and I were just sitting down to dinner.”

Abby swallowed hard, resisting the urge to hang her head in shame and rush back out the door. Charlotte had always been so welcoming, so kind, and Abby hardly knew this woman standing before her. Not that she blamed Charlotte. After Abby’s last visit, when she’d told Charlotte her lace yoke made her look like a hen and paraded Safi about as her new best friend, Abby was surprised Charlotte was speaking to her at all.

“I’m sorry,” Abby said, wringing her hands. “I won’t impose on you too long. May I have a moment?”

Charlotte’s smile faded. “Of course.” She waved toward the parlor.

Abby’s legs felt like deadweights trudging through quicksand as she forced herself to follow.

Charlotte wasted no time with pleasantries as she lowered herself onto a chair, rubbing her bulging stomach with a groan while warily eyeing Abby.

Just as Abby sat on the edge of the brocade sofa opposite Charlotte, Charlotte’s husband, Mr. Theodore “Teddy” Carter, entered the room with a purposeful stride. He looked as dashing as always, his thick, dark hair brushed back in neat waves and warm chestnut eyes alight with energy that seemed to light up the room. What Abby admired most was his strong jaw and full, kissable lips. Teddy could have been carved from granite, fashioned in the image of Adonis.

Abby shook her head, purging thoughts of Theodore Carter’s lips. She reminded herself this Adonis had been claimed by another, one who’d proven to be very deserving of his affection.

“Dearest.” He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Your soup is getting cold.” He turned to Abby with raised brows and bowed stiffly. “Oh, good evening, Miss Jenkens.”

Abby was glad Teddy was a businessman, for he’d have made a poor thespian. It was clear he didn’t wish her a good evening. In fact, the only thing he probably wished was that she’d leave their home and never disturb them again.

Abby stood on shaky legs and gave a slight curtsy. “Good evening, Mr. Carter.”

He smiled warmly at Charlotte before turning a stoic face to Abby. “Please forgive me, but my wife is in no condition to accept visitors.”

Abby fought the nervous tension which formed a knot in her throat. “I know, especially not visitors as unkind as me.”

Charlotte gasped, but Teddy managed to remain impassive.

“I’ve come to apologize,” Abby continued. “I’ve been the worst friend imaginable. I’ve let my jealousies rule my behavior with no care or thought to your happiness,” she said to Charlotte, “and if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.” Abby fought the tears that pricked the backs of her eyes. She swallowed hard. “You’ve been the kindest friend imaginable, always bearing my moods without objection.”

It was true, for Abby had frequently been moody around Charlotte, who tolerated her behavior with a cheery smile. Ironic that Abby should have acted so when it was Charlotte who had more cause for complaint. Abby had grown up in a loving, stable home, while Charlotte had been raised by nuns in a crowded orphanage. Charlotte’s dresses had been secondhand, and her meals had been scraps at best. Yet she’d endured without grievance. Now Charlotte was married to a kind and wealthy man, and she deserved every ounce of her marital bliss.

Abby turned to Charlotte’s husband, forcing herself to look him in the eye, though the blush of shame that fanned her face made the task especially difficult. “Mr. Carter, I’d like to apologize to you, too, for any grief I’ve caused your wife.”

Her breath hitched when his thick brows drew together. It was clear Teddy would not accept her apology easily.

“You are a very lucky man,” she continued, “for you have married the best girl in all of Galveston—perhaps the whole world.” Abby’s throat constricted as she ended on a rasp. Oh, she’d no idea how difficult this would be. Abby had never been a humble girl, and these new sensations of humiliation and shame would take some getting used to.

Abby could not explain the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over her when she saw a crack in Theodore Carter’s stony façade, one corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“I know that, and I thank my lucky stars every day.”

When he squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder, she placed her hand on his, her eyes alight with what could only be described as worship as she looked up at him. Abby felt like the odd third wheel when Teddy returned Charlotte’s starry-eyed gaze before kissing her forehead, his lips lingering long enough to make Abby blush with unease.

Not wishing to intrude on their privacy a moment longer, Abby slowly backed away, wondering if she could slip out the door without them noticing.

Just as she reached the threshold, Charlotte called, “Abby, where are you going?”

“I must return to my Nana before it gets too late,” she said.

Charlotte shot Abby a knowing look and then nodded to the beam of light spilling through the window. Charlotte knew Abby all too well. Abby had always been one to push her curfew, and the sun still hadn’t set.