Wystan (11 page)

He thought the mention of his parentage might cause her to back away, but she didn't move, except to smile. It was the sort of smile that made a man forget about vengeance and the losses he'd suffered. The kind that eased long-festering pain.

He leaned closer, leaving a narrow gap between their faces. The cluster of freckles blended together, but the hazel in her eyes cleared into a field of green with brown and gold flecks. She licked her lips and lifted her hand to his face. Her touch was enough to ignite fire in his blood. It burned hotter than the hate he'd carried so long, plunging his need for revenge into an icy bath.

He swore he heard her heartbeat—a gallop like a herd of changesteeds. She didn't look frightened, not with her pupils so large and her lips slightly parted. The air around them stilled as though a bubble had sprung up between them and the world.

Wystan kissed her, crushing her lips beneath his and gripping her narrow waist to hold her close. Jesus, he'd been itching for this moment since the first time her blazing eyes caught his. She tasted sweeter than Lois's peach cobbler, with just the right amount of spice. Blood shot to his groin. Rhia's small hands rested against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, and damned if she didn't kiss him back. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug, and Rhia gasped. She lifted a hand to the back of his neck and her fingers melted through his hair. The tender motion raised gooseflesh across his body.

Or it might have been the eyes that pierced him sharp as the blade on his bowie knife. Wystan jerked his head up and met Zaïre's intense blue gaze.

He looked at the horizon and realized the sun had sunk halfway below the continuous expanse of desert.

“You have to go home now. It's dangerous out here.” He released Rhia and stood, backing away.

She touched her lips, following him with her eyes and nodded, but didn't say anything. As though she was entranced, she left the statue and made her way slowly up the street. Wystan glanced toward Zaïre again, but she'd vanished.

A splash of color caught his eye and right at the edge of the fountain where Rhia had been sitting, a tiny pale-pink flower had blossomed. Stunned, Wystan reached out to touch it, then drew back. He hadn't seen a flower in years. Better to leave it alone, even though it was sure to die in Berner's blistering heat.

Chapter Twelve

The schoolhouse was undergoing a transformation, not necessarily for the better. With the top of the building a faded pink and the lower half covered in drying red paint, it looked as though someone had dipped it in blood.

“What in the hell are the two of you doing?”

Wystan narrowed his eyes as he watched Tell dip a brush into a can of paint.

“Sprucing the place up a little bit. That a crime now?” Eban's brush left a red streak across a weathered board on the schoolhouse.

“Did Rhia put you fools up to this?” Painting. As though a shiny exterior would make any kind of difference when it came to the students learning.

“She didn't. We decided to do it ourselves,” Tell answered. “Make her feel welcome.”

Wystan spat his toothpick out. “You're wasting your time.”

Tell smeared a new layer of paint over the faded board. “Guess it's up to us how we spend it. If you weren't so crotchety, you could help.”

“I'm not crotchety. I'm watching the streets, making sure barghests and changesteeds don't slip into town. By the way, you're getting more on yourselves than the building.” They were covered in red streaks, looking more like massacre victims than painters. “Where's Rhia, anyway?”

“She took Sylvie for a walk.”

The woman didn't listen. Wystan rubbed his forehead.

Tell shook his paintbrush and gave Eban another set of spots. Eban glared and wiped his hand over his face, smearing the specks like war paint.

“You want her for something in particular?”

“No, I just wondered if she knew what you do-gooders were up to. I'm surprised you didn't paint it purple and bright green.”

“You can help, or you can leave.” Eban tossed a brush at him. “Though I don't suppose your talents lie in painting as much as in strolling around pretending to keep the streets quiet.”

Wystan glared. “I can paint five times faster than you and still do a better job than the sorry attempt you're trying to pass off.”

“Doubt it,” Tell muttered.

Wystan knew a ploy when he saw one. They'd get out of the heat sooner with another set of helping hands. Rhia would likely be pleased by the gesture too. He imagined her smile and the way her eyes lit up when she was happy.

“I'll do it, but someone owes me dinner as payment for my painting expertise.”

“
Expertise
. Oh, thank heaven, we've got Wystan on our crew now. We'd be lost without him,” Tell said. “We ought to be grateful his
expertise
only costs us the price of dinner.”

Eban smirked. “All right, Mr. Expert. Let's see you finish a wall by yourself and we'll talk dinner.”

Wystan ignored them, painting in silence for several minutes. He cleared his throat. “Do either of you remember the last time a flower grew here?”

“Like a thistle?” Tell scratched his eyebrow, leaving a red smudge amid the dark hairs. “Some kind of weed?”

“There were still some left for Ma's service.” Eban dropped his brush into a paint can. “Pretty sure they all withered right after. Why?”

“I saw one growing by the fountain.” He'd stayed awake last night, debating whether he ought to tell them about it. There didn't seem to be any harm in mentioning he'd seen one. He'd just come from the fountain and amazingly enough, the flower was still there.

Eban and Tell stared as though he'd announced they were going to walk on the moon.

“I'm serious.”

“Show us.”

“It's right in front of the angel. Anybody with eyes and half a brain could see it.” He didn't want to walk back down there in the heat.

Tell wiped his hands on his pants and walked away from the schoolhouse. Eban followed.

“Guess we're going to see a stupid flower,” Wystan muttered under his breath.

He half believed he'd imagined it, and getting his brothers to study it would confirm he hadn't lost his mind. He didn't want to seem too eager. Who knew what it meant, a flower growing in town after all this time?

They marched toward the fountain, a row of Heckmasters who probably looked as though they were going to face off a monster instead of gawk at a tiny plant. They gathered around the fountain, carefully avoiding the angel's disapproving gaze.

“Yep. That's a flower,” Tell said.

“Where did it come from?” Eban touched one of the tiny green leaves.

“No idea. I saw it yesterday and I came back today to see if it had died.”

“Seems to be doing well. Right under the angel's eyes. Hmm.” Tell shifted his weight, folded his arms over his chest and continued to stare at the pink blossom. “What kind is it?”

“Maybe it's been dormant this whole time. It happens,” Eban said. “Or a bird could've carried the seed here. I'd say it's evening primrose, but it ought to be closed up right now. They usually blossom when the sun starts to go down.”

“Hence evening. Thanks for clearing that up,” Tell grumbled.

Wystan rolled his eyes. “Knock it off. At least he has a guess.”

“What do we do about it?” Eban asked.

“Nothing. Leave it be. There might be others, or it might be a onetime thing.”

Tell frowned. “What if someone tries to pick it?”

Eban elbowed Tell. “You could stand guard over it and shoot anyone who tries to pick Berner's only flower.”

Tell shoved him. “Wys said knock it off, remember?”

They were no better than they'd been when they were young. Wystan sighed. “Boys.”

“But really, should we tell everyone?” Eban straightened and became serious again. “Seems like a shame to keep it to ourselves.”

Wystan rubbed his eyes. “It's bound to die soon. Maybe no one will notice it, but if someone does, they're going to want answers we can't give them.”

“You aren't saying we should pick it, are you?” Eban looked horrified.

“It's a flower, not a baby,” Wystan growled.

Tell stared at it again and Wystan wondered if he was trying to read it as he had so many demons.

“No, I think we should tell them. We haven't seen an honest-to-God flower in years. It's call for a celebration.”

“That's the dumbest thing I've heard since you two decided to paint the schoolhouse.”

“You can just sit in the jail while the rest of us have some fun.” Tell smiled at the flower, as though he shared a secret with it. “Yep. A party.”

For a town that had seemed dead only a week ago, Rhia was surprised by the gaiety filling the streets over a flower. She'd seen thousands of them from Virginia to Nebraska and well into New Mexico Territory, but the news that one was blossoming in Berner seemed as good as learning that the town was about to be elected the capital.

Berner's Flower Festival had been put together with haste, but no one would know it from the amount of food planted on makeshift tables and the barrels of beer and wine opened in the backs of wagons. There was even a dance floor set up in the town square, and a band played for dancers. Characters that had been absent the day the supply wagon came to town turned up out of the woodwork. What baffled her most was the cheer in the air. She'd never have guessed Berner's residents could be so joyful. Most days she felt lucky if she saw another citizen.

“Miss Duke. The most exciting thing to happen in our town in years.”

The short, round man who'd watched them the first day they'd come to Berner moved to her side. She remembered Eban had called him Meacham. She tried not to stare into his small eyes or watch his mouth twist into a displeased grimace. He stood several inches shorter, only reaching to her midriff.

“I'm sure I'm not that exciting. Not compared to the flower.”

“That flower.” He sounded disgusted by the thought of it.

“Everyone seems amazed by it. Earlier, when I first heard from Lois that there was going to be a celebration, I came to see it.” She inched away from the abbeylubber. “It's very pretty. I hope it's the first of many.”

Meacham looked her over. “You've come a long way.”

Rhia's shoulders tensed. “Yes.”

“Some of them say the flower bloomed because you came here. It's not a coincidence.” He stared, unblinking. Almost accusing.

Rhia looked away from his intense gaze. “I don't think that's true. Why would my arrival cause a flower to bloom?”

“Why indeed?” Meacham rubbed his chin as though pondering the question. “You're caught between two worlds, Rhia Duke.”

“I'm sorry?” She hugged herself, suddenly chilly despite the sun blazing overhead. “You don't know me.”

“Two worlds,” he repeated. “The old one, where you led a normal life, and the new one, thrust upon you.”

“There's nothing normal about this one,” Rhia murmured.

“Perhaps, but it's not without its purpose. You have a choice to make. Two men, two worlds, one destiny, but I think you already know which one is the right choice.”

Rhia took an involuntary step back. “Men?” She wondered if Meacham had spied on her with Wystan when they'd kissed at the fountain. It hadn't escaped her notice that the flower had bloomed at the spot. Berner had its quirks, but she didn't believe she had the power to make plants grow out of thin air.

“One to secure the future, one to guard the present, one to repair the past,” he muttered to himself. “You'll make the right choice. Beryl Brookshier guaranteed it.”

“Beryl?” More confused than ever, Rhia met his gaze.

“Enjoy the festival. There's little time before the darkness falls.”

Her mysterious companion looked at the sky, then walked away. Shaken, Rhia made her way across the street and sat on the boardwalk, trying to calm her racing mind. Meacham had spoken of three people. Did he mean the Dukes and Beryl, or was he referring to the Heckmasters? Rhia had never cared for riddles, preferring logic problems. At least they made sense in the end and had clear answers. The more townsfolk she met, the more she wondered if she'd keep her sanity.

“Rhia.”

She looked up, straight into Wystan's dark-blue eyes. Her heart lurched and her stomach gave a funny flop when she saw the concern on his face. Even the shadow of his Stetson couldn't mask it.

“You might want to get out of the sun. You look a little pale.”

“I'm fine. Maybe a bit warm.”

He cast a glance over the street. “It's too noisy and crowded here. You want me to walk you to the school and you can have some water?”

“That would be nice.”

Wystan offered his hand to help her stand and she accepted it. Warmth coursed up the length of her arm. Did he feel it too? His expression softened. With little effort, he pulled her up and waited until she was balanced before he let go.

“Where's Sylvie?” he asked.

Rhia frowned. “You didn't know? Tell's giving pony rides out by the livery stable. She's been there all morning, hanging off a saddle.”

“Of course he is. He's an overgrown kid.” Wystan smiled. “She's in good hands.”

“I know.” She was glad when the sounds of the festival faded behind them. “May I ask a question?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Have you ever heard anyone say, ‘One to secure the future, one to guard the present, one to repair the past'?”

He looked puzzled. “That in one of those books you're trying to teach to the kids?”

She shook her head. “No. Meacham said it to me.”

“The abbeylubber? He hardly talks to anyone.”

“He didn't seem happy about it.” That alone was troubling, without the cryptic words attached.

Wystan frowned. “Some of the folks are…eccentric. Meacham's no exception. You can't take much of what he says for it's worth. I wouldn't spend too much time thinking about it. The folks here are odd, but harmless.”

“Do you know that without any doubt?”

“Tell does. He can spot one going bad quicker than a snake strikes.”

He seemed sure of it, but Rhia couldn't help feeling some doubt. Weren't demons exceptional at being deceptive? It was part of their act.

“No one in Berner has ever claimed to repent, then gone back to the dark, Rhia. You don't have anything to worry about. The only dangers here are the minor demons that creep in and getting a bad sunburn.”

It went unspoken that he expected Astaroth to rise from the Pit any day, but the slight change in his posture and his hand on the hilt of his knife reminded her.

The schoolhouse loomed in front of them and she smiled at the bright red paint, comforted by the sight of something she could trust. Schools meant schedules and control.

“I wanted to thank you for helping Eban and Tell with the painting.”

“It looks like hell,” he grumbled. “Those two no more know what to do with a paintbrush than a cat would know what to do with wings.”

Rhia laughed. “I expect a cat could figure it out quickly. They'd finally have a way to catch birds without climbing trees.”

He reached into his shirt pocket for a toothpick, but rolled it between his fingers instead of putting it in his mouth. “You notice how some of the other buildings in town have gotten new coats of paint?”

“I thought it was for the celebration.”

He narrowed his eyes and scuffed one boot in the dirt. “Something's going on. Things are changing. I can't figure out why.”

She stared at the mark he'd made. “But you have a guess.”

“It's something to do with you. That flower showed up right after we…you know.” He gestured in the fountain's direction.

“Kissed, Wystan. It's not a crime.” Why did everyone keep insisting her arrival here marked some big change? That, she supposed, was the trouble with being the newcomer in town.

“I hope the town's not dead set on having an entire garden. That would be a lot of kissing.”