Wystan (10 page)

Sylvie clenched her hand around the money and said goodbye. Rhia watched her go, then rounded on Wystan.

“We don't need charity. I'll have to wrestle that out of her hand tonight in her sleep.”

Wystan lifted one shoulder and smiled lazily. “Don't worry about it. I'll deduct it from your pay. Buy some food and let the kid have some candy or a trinket. Supply wagon is coming later this week.”

Rhia rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your generosity, Sheriff.”

Tell laughed outright and she clamped her lips together in order to keep the remains of her dignity. Eban was right. Tell and Wystan were a lot alike and they were both infuriating.

A caravan of at least a dozen wagons lined Main Street, pulled by teams of jumpy mules. Six of the teamsters seemed to be arguing among themselves about which should do business with Sheriff Heckmaster this time.

“Why are those men fighting?” Sylvie held Rhia's hand, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

Rhia could hardly tell Sylvie that Wystan was an unreasonable brute. Of course the teamsters didn't want to deal with him. “They had a long journey. Their wagons say
Santa Fe
on the side. I'm sure they're just tired.”

“I wish they'd hurry. I can't wait to see what they brought!” Sylvie almost danced with excitement.

They were buying staples—another sack of beans that had to get them through the next month and a few items for the schoolhouse. At least the beans would keep their stomachs full. She made Sylvie sit still on the boardwalk in front of an abandoned building while they waited. Slowly, a few faces from around the town appeared. Most of them were human-like; some were beautiful, and many were plain and as wary of the visitors as the teamsters seemed to be of them.

The Heckmasters arrived together, a row of formidable and dangerously handsome men. Wystan and Tell looked ready to do battle at any moment, weapons slung on their bodies like extensions of themselves. Only Eban came unarmed and neatly dressed.

Wystan exchanged words with the man chosen to be the supply broker today. Then the wagons were unpacked. Crates were split open in the street, pallets of dry goods were set up in rows and the selling began. Sundries filled the wide area and Rhia watched, hungry to touch and smell all the items she knew they couldn't have. The town's occupants flocked forward to investigate and claim certain goods.

Sylvie tugged Rhia's hand. “Everything will be gone if we don't get up there.”

“We don't need much. I'm sure they won't run out of beans.” She almost shuddered as she said the word.

“Can't we just look at some of the other things?” Sylvie asked wistfully.

“I suppose, but you're not to touch anything, understand? Keep hold of my hand.”

Sylvie tried to peer past the townsfolk, but Rhia watched them instead. The short, doughy-looking man who'd glared at them their first day in town pushed through the crowd, his arms loaded with parcels. How he'd managed to get his supplies so quickly baffled her. He glared as he passed them.

“Why's he so hateful looking?” Sylvie asked. “Is it because he's…you know.”

Rhia winced as the little man turned his small eyes on them again. “Don't stare.”

Eban sidled up to her, smiling. He waved at the man. “That's Meacham. Don't pay him any mind. He's an abbeylubber. Or he used to be. In general, they're not malevolent. They're a bit like brownies or sprites. In the old days, they cleaned castles, keeps, and abbeys—hence the name. Meacham has soured on the idea of cleanliness after he did it for hundreds of years. The dirtier the home, the nastier the mess, the better he likes it.”

Sylvie waved at Thomas Jefferson. “Can I go play with TJ?”

Rhia sighed. “All right, but you stay away from Mr. Meacham and the others. Everyone but the Yues.”

“Goody!” Sylvie fled without saying good-bye.

“She's darling.” Eban smiled as he watched Sylvie greet Thomas Jefferson.

“She's a handful.”

“But you wouldn't trade her for the world.”

“I'd do anything for her and she knows it.” She ignored the nagging knowledge that if she failed as a teacher, they'd be out on the streets. “We're going to do fine here.”

Eban smiled. “You already are. You've beaten Wystan at his own game. Most people jump when he issues an order. I've never seen anyone but us stand up to him the way you do.”

“I need this job. I need this place, even though it doesn't look like much. I owe it to Sylvie.” She fiddled with her coin purse, listening to the few coins clink together inside. “You'd do the same for your brothers, if they needed you.”

Eban's lips pursed for a moment. “We're not close the way you and Sylvie are.”

“I'd noticed. Wystan's distant.” She saw him standing under the awning of what must have been a sundries store at one time. The rusting sheet metal over his head cast a dark shadow across him, but it didn't hide his big form, or his hawk-like gaze.

“He's carried a lot of burdens on his shoulders over the years. It's made him hard to get to know.” Eban picked at his fingernails, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Would you consider letting me take you to the cafe for a slice of pie tomorrow? When the supplies come in, Lois, who's an actual brownie, makes all sorts of pies to celebrate. You and Sylvie, of course.”

He looked embarrassed that he'd asked. The faintest red flush colored his cheeks. There was no pity in his eyes, no sign that he knew they were barely getting by.

Rhia smiled. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“Really?” He blinked, as though surprised she'd agreed so easily.

“I don't see why not. We're friends, aren't we?”

“Yeah. Friends.” He looked disappointed for a moment, but it was replaced by a smile. “I could help you in the school tomorrow too, if you want.”

“I could use it. I wasn't too keen on Sylvie's idea that I put her on my shoulders to clean cobwebs off the ceiling.” She laughed, picturing the two of them doing a balancing act. One or both would end up in Eban's clinic with injuries that weren't as easy to heal as changesteed gashes.

“Perfect. I'm at your service.” He grinned, flashing a row of straight teeth in a heartbreakingly handsome smile.

No wonder Beryl and Sylvie couldn't stop talking about him. But the flutter in her stomach was missing. Eban was handsome, but something about Wystan drew her like a miller chasing a moonbeam.

“It's hard to say what I'm looking forward to more, the help or the pie,” she replied. “I'd better get to shopping if I'm going to complete my list before everything is gone.”

“See you tomorrow.”

He smiled and walked toward the clinic, whistling so softly she almost didn't hear it. When she looked away, she met Wystan's gaze.

He didn't look pleased.

Chapter Eleven

“When I was a boy, we had a schoolteacher named Mrs. Givers. We used to say that she liked giving lectures and thumping the back of naughty children's heads.” Eban knocked dust off the top of the chalkboard, where it wafted down and fell all over Sylvie. “She was my teacher from the first day of school until the town dried up. I'll bet your sister isn't as mean as Mrs. Givers.”

“Rhia's a real good teacher. She hardly ever has to thump heads.” Sylvie swept dust into a little pan. “Did you get thumped much?”

Eban laughed. “Not nearly as much as Wystan. His favorite subject was sassing the teacher.”

“That's not a real subject,” Sylvie argued.

“It was to him.” Eban climbed down from the ladder. “All finished here.”

Rhia finished rubbing wax into the top of her desk, pleased with the shine. “Sylvia Duke, you look like you've been in a dust storm. Go change into another dress and brush your hair. Our grandmother didn't have as much gray hair as you do now.”

“Rhia could match Wystan word for word when it comes to sassing.” Sylvie stuck her tongue out as she passed on her way to their living quarters.

Rhia rolled her eyes. “The trials I put up with. No one should have to raise a twelve-year-old, and I'm certain they only get worse with age.”

Eban laughed. “I imagine she learned all her best tricks from you. Speaking of, you've never said much about where you come from, or where your parents are.”

She folded the rag she'd used for polishing into squares. “Our mother died when Sylvie was little. She doesn't remember Mother at all. I don't think she remembers Papa well either. They've been gone quite a while. I brought her up almost all by myself. First with teaching until I realized there wasn't much left for us in Virginia. Then we moved to Nebraska and it wasn't the job I thought it would be either. So we're here now.”

She knew her answers were elusive and judging by the frown on his face, he wasn't satisfied, but he didn't press her. She didn't want to talk about running, about being frightened and hungry. Not while the sun was shining and her schoolhouse was coming together. Plus, the promise of pie loomed in her future.

“Rhia, you can trust me. I'd never hurt you.” Eban touched her chin, nudging it up so she'd look at him. “If you ever need to talk, I'm here.”

“That's sweet, Eban. Thank you,” she murmured.

She'd trusted him since they day they'd met on the streets. Heaven knew he was kinder than his older brother, but she sensed Eban wanted more from her than she wanted to give—like her heart. His touch was tender, his mouth set in a gentle smile. It might be easy to fall in love with him, if she let herself. But for some reason, she didn't want to.

“What else are friends for?”

He was close enough he could have kissed her, but she was grateful he didn't.

“I'm ready for pie!” Sylvie twirled out of their living quarters, her golden-brown hair flying and her skirt flaring around her.

Rhia took a step back from Eban. “Me too. We probably have the cleanest schoolhouse in New Mexico Territory.”

“Don't let me forget to get a slice of pie to take back to Beryl,” Eban said. He offered his arm to Rhia.

She accepted it, though it felt like an awkward gesture. She relaxed when he did the same for Sylvie, though he had to slouch a little for her to reach. They made their way out of the schoolhouse like some kind of six-legged creature that lacked grace.

The cafe was directly across from the jailhouse and she searched for signs of Wystan the moment they were in sight of the building. If he was inside, he stayed away from the windows. Rhia chided herself for acting like Sylvie. The sheriff didn't want anything to do with her and she shouldn't think about him because Eban had invited them on this outing. He deserved her attention.

The cafe was crowded for lunch. It seemed that the second-largest gathering of Berner's citizens came for the pie.

“Maybe I should have asked before we got here, but we're talking about fruit pies, right? Not newt eye and crow foot.” Rhia's stomach turned at the thought.

Eban grinned. “Where do you think you are, in a Shakespearean play? Lois keeps her witching ingredients separate from her pie ingredients.”

Rhia blinked.

“It's a joke. Can you imagine how hard it would be to come by newt eyes in the desert?” Eban's face was dead serious, but she saw the laughter in his eyes.

“No potpie containing barghest chunks either, then?”

“You have a big imagination, don't you, Rhia?” He guided them to seats and pointed to the sign hanging on the wall. “All normal flavors, from apple to strawberry-rhubarb.”

Sylvie's eyes rounded behind her spectacles. “Blackberry cobbler? Or cherry? Oh, I don't know what to choose.”

“She doesn't have a favorite. She likes everything,” Rhia said. “So don't bother asking which she can't live without.”

“What about you? Your favorite dessert in the whole world?”

His eyes were trained on her mouth and she flushed because she knew he was waiting for her lips to move.

“Peach cobbler,” she muttered, looking away from him.

“Me too.” He lifted his hand, catching the attention of a tiny woman carting away dishes from another table. “Sylvie, make up your mind before the rest of Berner cleans Lois out.”

Sylvie looked torn. “Strawberry-rhubarb.”

“Two peach cobblers, a strawberry rhubarb and…why not? Bring us a slice of apple. We can share it.” Eban winked at Sylvie. “Coffee for us and a glass of milk for Sylvie, Lois.”

Rhia suppressed a groan. “You're spoiling her.”

“It's been a long time since I got to spoil a girl.” There was something sad in his smile and the way the lines around his eyes tightened.

Having pie and coffee with Eban almost seemed normal. It washed Rhia's worry away as she watched Sylvie savor the flaky cobbler crust and drop a fat strawberry on her lap. Eban recounted some of his adventures from St. Louis, where he'd gone to medical school for a year. She could almost picture the wide Mississippi River from his descriptions and the colorful mixture of people who lived in the city. She missed parties and gowns and culture, but she'd give it all up in a heartbeat to keep Sylvie safe.

They were down to bare plates, and most of the lunch crowd had gone, when the door opened. Wystan stepped inside, hung his hat on a peg near the door, and shot their table a look that sent tingles straight to the soles of Rhia's feet.

“You're awfully late if you're hoping to get your hands on some of Lois's pastries.” Eban leaned back in his chair, smiled at Rhia, then looked back at his brother.

She read the look loud and clear. Eban was boasting without words that he'd gotten her here.

“I was out all morning hunting a pair of barghests. Pie and schoolhouses were the last things on my mind.” Wystan dropped into a chair at a table across from them.

Sylvie took Rhia's hand under the table. “Sheriff, Miss Lois still has plenty of dessert. Eban was just teasing.”

Wys offered her a faint smile. “I know all his tricks, Sylvie. I've got my eye on him.”

“Did you catch the barghests? Can I see them?” Sylvie leaned forward as though searching Wystan for any signs of damage he'd sustained in a fight. “Rhia told me about them so I wouldn't be scared. I'd be less scared if you let me look at one. I'll bet you're a real good sheriff and you'll make sure we're safe.”

Wystan's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “I didn't keep the carcasses—er, bodies. Maybe another time.”

Rhia glared in a way she hoped conveyed her feelings.
Don't you
dare
show her a demon body, Wystan Heckmaster!

He smirked in silent reply.

“Let's go, Sylvie. We should spend a little time visiting with Beryl this afternoon so she doesn't think we've forgotten her.” Rhia pushed her chair back, hauling Sylvie with her. “Eban?”

“You're right.” Eban laid a bill on the table. “Enjoy your pie, big brother.”

Rhia all but ran for the door, with Sylvie protesting the entire way. Two Heckmasters in a tiny cafe throwing dirty looks at one another was too much for Rhia. She needed space from both of them.

Wystan rolled his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Damn his hide if Rhia Duke wasn't strolling along Berner's streets as though she owned them. Her little sister was nowhere in sight and he hoped she was safe with Beryl. Of course, if Rhia couldn't get it through her head that this wasn't a safe town, maybe both of them deserved to get eaten by whatever crawled out of the Pit next.

He followed her at a distance, scowling when she headed for the angel statue. She examined it with interest, touching the stacked stones that formed the dried-up pool around it. Years ago, it had been flush with plant life and dragonflies, a school of minnows, and the occasional frog or turtle. The plants had long since turned to dust and he supposed the minnows had starved for oxygen as the water evaporated. All that remained was the angel, whose face looked more judgmental than omniscient.

Rhia sat in its shadow, lifting a hand to her brow and squinting out at the barren land beyond town. Was she thinking about leaving? The notion left him with a twinge of disappointment. One he shouldn't feel, because there'd be a hell of a lot less trouble around here without her.

As though she sensed his thoughts, she turned without getting up. She didn't smile when she spotted him. He picked his way across the street, moving with deliberate slowness, watching her mouth turn down a fraction at a time until he stood before her.

“Don't you know better than to be out on the street right before sundown?”

“In civilized towns, people greet each other with pleasantries,” she said. “For example, you could say, ‘Lovely evening, isn't it, Miss Duke?' and I'd respond with, ‘A bit warm for my taste, Sheriff, but otherwise, a fine evening.'”

He knew where Sylvie got her sass. “Then I'd say something along the lines of, ‘Get your ass home, Rhia.'”

Perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together, creating a set of lines on her forehead. “And perhaps I'd say, ‘Mind your own business, Wystan.'”

A smile started to form on his lips, but he held it in. “As long as you're in my town, your safety is my business. Can't figure why you'd sit out here under this ugly thing, anyway.”

“I'm trying to figure out how it works. And why it looks so formidable. Why, you look jolly as Saint Nick compared to this statue.”

He remembered the stone lips curved in a smile, the way it looked as though it was offering its tears as a blessing for the downtrodden and disappointed. How coming here with his mother had been a comfort. He and Eban and Sandra had played in the statue's shadow many a day while Tell toddled along behind them.

“Instead of toys, I deliver you from nightmares, but I'm serious. Sun's setting and it's time for you to move along.”

“Why are you so hateful all the time, Wystan? For the life of me, I can't figure it out.” She gazed up at him, the constellation of freckles blending together when she scrunched her nose.

“Because I don't like to lose. And when people carelessly sit outside after they've been told and told to go inside, I see myself losing another one to Astaroth.”

Rhia looked away. “Your parents were the first. Father to Astaroth himself, your mother to the townspeople. And your sister. What happened to her?”

The peppermint flavor of the toothpick had dissolved, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He spat the sliver of wood out. “I killed her. Happy?”

Shock melted the concern from her face, but it changed to pity after a few seconds. “What did the prince of Hell do to her?”

“One of his minions put a parasite imp into her brain. The only way to save Sandra was to kill her.” The effort of saying the words left him weak. He avoided Rhia's gaze, afraid of the sympathy he'd see in her eyes.

Her hand slid to his knee. The shift in contact made him jerk, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

“It had to be you, didn't it?”

He nodded. “Eban doesn't have that kind of strength and Tell was too young then. It wasn't but a couple of years after our parents. Out of all of us, I always thought she'd be the one who found a way to rid the world of Astaroth for good.”

“I wish I could have met her.” Rhia leaned closer. “You did the right thing. It wouldn't have been fair to leave an imp inside her head.”

“The right thing?” He glanced at her, his anger building again. “I should have found a way to cure her.”

“What were you supposed to do, leave her tied up somewhere, maybe for years, until you had an answer?”

“Demons can change, Rhia, or haven't you noticed the ones in this town? I could've talked it down, made it see that what it was doing was wrong.”

“Would it have abandoned her?”

“Yes.” No. He had no idea, and from the look on Rhia's face, he knew she sensed his uncertainty.

“I hope I have the kind of strength you carry if it ever comes down to losing Sylvie that way. Or that she could do it for me.” Rhia drew her hand away. “I'm sorry you've lost so much, Wystan, but I hope your ability to love and let go weren't compromised for good.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you have magic of your own.” He looked at the ground between his boots.

“What makes you say that?” Her nose scrunched again.

He wished she was plainer, had more fear. He wished he didn't feel attracted to her. “I haven't talked about Sandra in a long time.”

“It's good to get your feelings out. I don't think she'd like knowing her brother turned into a grumpy old man.”

“Old?” Wystan sat up straighter. “By demon standards, I'm a baby.”