The paper was high quality, and as soon as he touched it he knew something wasn’t right. His heart gave a thundering leap, because when he opened it, the firm, clear handwriting was familiar.
She had a beautiful hand, that was for sure.
Jack, I need you. Yours, etc., Catherine.
He folded it up, deliberately. “She waitin’ on a reply, Billy?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically, his hair flopping in his face. “Y-yuh-yussir.”
“Show me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Duty calls, boys.”
Doc Howard was about to make some sort of rejoinder, but it was lost in Turnbull’s exasperated sigh. The silent owner of the Lucky Star threw his hands up in an almost comical gesture of disgust. “Ain’t that just great. Get the cards out, Doc. I ain’t leavin’ this room until I’ve had a few hands.”
“Russ’ll be along soon.” Jack followed Billy out into the hall, closing the door on Paul’s curse. Doc would be the one to keep the peace between those two tonight, and it served the old buzzard right.
I need you. It was after dark, and she was outside her house. And Yours, etc., Catherine. As if he had a right to her charing-name.
There was something in his throat. Gabe swallowed, hard, and wished Billy would shamble faster.
Billy pointed him out the Lucky Star’s front door, and Gabe had to peer into the dust-heaving dark before he saw her.
She was at the corner, a shawl wrapped over her head, blinking furiously against the grit. A charmed handkerchief was pressed over her nose and mouth, struggling to filter the air before she breathed it. Stray curls fluttered on the wind, and he stepped around her, blocking the force of it, without thinking. He leaned down to examine her—she wasn’t visibly injured, but her jacket had been hastily buttoned and was slightly askew. Under the shawl her hair was braided and pinned, and she trembled so hard her skirts shook when the wind wasn’t flapping them.
He tilted his head to the side and took her arm. She went willingly enough, and the wind fell off sharply as he got her into the shelter of the Skell boardinghouse—not nearly as nice as the Hammises’ place, that was for sure. The day’s heat had dropped off as well, and with the wind now it was too chilly for what she was wearing.
She shook the charmed handkerchief, a flash of white. “Th-thank you. You c-came.”
“’Course I did.” What, you thought I wouldn’t? “What is it? Another little somethin’ on your porch?” Because if it is, I will hunt someone down tonight. I’m just in the mood to do it, too.
“N-no. It’s w-worse.” The shaking was all through her, and even in this dimness he could see she was paper-pale. “I c-can’t even begin to tell you how much worse.”
“Are you hurt?” He had her shoulders, and she winced. Was he hurting her? He tried to make his fingers unclench. “Catherine, someone hurt you?”
“N-no. Well, my stomach, but…” She drew in a deep, shaking breath. “It’s Li Ang. Someone…he broke in through the parlour window, the shutter was loose. He…he wanted the baby. He hurt…he hurt Li Ang.” Another deep breath. “Jack…Sheriff…sir, he is dead.”
“Dead.” He repeated it, just so he could be sure he’d heard her correct-like.
“Yes, sir.” Her pupils were so large her eyes looked black. “Sir…there is a corpse in my kitchen. I don’t…I do not know what to do.” The shaking in her threatened to infect him.
There was a fist made of cold metal in his guts, and it squeezed. Jack pulled her to him, resting his chin atop her shawl-covered head. He hunched a little, wishing he could close himself around her like an oyster’s shell around the meat. “Easy,” he murmured, under the wind’s low moaning and hissing. “Easy there. I’m here, sweetheart. All’s gonna be well. You did right coming to fetch me.”
She said something he couldn’t hear, muffled by his shirt. Her breath was a warm spot through the material, and perhaps she was crying. He hoped not—maybe she needed it, but the thought of tears leaking from those big dark eyes made him feel a little unsteady. Like he’d been after Annie, powder looking for a match.
He could have stood there a little longer, but she moved restlessly and he had to let her go. She wasn’t so pale now, though, and there was that determination on her soft little face again. It was right cheerful to see.
“Thank you.” She swallowed, hard, and he could not look away from her lips shaping the words. “I…thank you, Jack.”
“Catherine.” The rock was back in his throat. It was dry as the sand in the air, and he suddenly longed for another jolt of whiskey. Digging out his flask now didn’t seem like a good idea, though. “No need. Give me that rag of yourn, I’ll charm it to keep the dust out and we’ll set this to rights.”
The transparent relief on her face was worth all the gold in the hills, so he repeated himself as she handed over her handkerchief. “Yes ma’am, we’ll set it to rights. You can just rest easy now.”
I sound like an idiot. But he would say it as many times as needed to reassure her. Which meant a number of things. Not least of which was that he was going to have to have a serious talk with Miss Catherine Barrowe about her future.
And his.
Chapter 22
“Li Ang?” Cat called cautiously up the stairs. “Mr. Gabriel’s here. It’s safe now.”
She had left the Chinoise girl barricaded in her own bedroom, since the door was a solid piece of oak that would stand up most admirably to some abuse. Mr. Gabriel’s spurs rang as he strode down the hall, and Cat shut her eyes briefly, listening to him push the kitchen door open. He viewed the vista inside for what seemed an exceeding long while, then his measured tread came back as the door’s hinges gave a slight creak.
“Li Ang?” Cat called again, and there was movement in the shadows upstairs.
The Chinoise girl appeared, a candle clutched in one trembling hand. Her hair was a wild mess, but Cat’s was hardly better. And her other hand held the largest kitchen knife, worked free of the back door and freshly honed. She stared down at Cat with wide dark eyes, and slowly picked her way down the stairs. Her feet were bare and soundless.
“No doubt about it.” Jack took his hat off, ran stiff fingers back through his dark hair. “Bastard’s dead.”
“Language, sir.” Cat drew herself up. “What shall we do?”
One corner of his mouth twitched, but he sobered quickly. “Ain’t no we, sweetheart. You go on up with Li Ang now. I’ll take care of this. Thank God it’s Chinee.” He scratched at his hairline, his stubble showing charcoal against tanned and dust-polished cheeks. “If it was a white man, might’ve been a mite troublesome.”
“Mr. Gabriel!” Cat’s hand flew to her mouth. “What a terrible…my God, sir! He is dead!”
The sheriff shook his head, settling his hat afresh. “I ain’t sayin’ I hold with it, mind. I’m just sayin’ that’s how it is.”
She forced her fingers away from her lips. “I…it is a body. Dead by violence, and the risk of reanimation—”
“This ain’t the first murder we’ve had in Damnation, sweetheart. I told you to leave it to me, didn’t I? Go on up and set with Li Ang. Don’t think there’s likely to be more of his kind tonight.” But he gazed past her as he said it, pale-hazel eyes thoughtful, and Li Ang halted two stairs up.
“No more.” The Chinoise girl made a short stabbing motion with the knife. The candleflame danced, a spark of mancy keeping it lit as it struggled with a sudden draught.