He discarded the leaf in exchange for a passing ladybug. It crawled across his fingers. “The company, of course,” he said with a wink. Westie rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment as flattery. “There are other reasons too, though. In the city I’m always on guard. Here I don’t have to worry about creature attacks or the Undying wandering in.”
“The Undying?” An image of the Undying snapped in her mind, blood weeping from their eyes, noses in the air as they sniffed out their prey. She took another long drink and handed the flask back to him. “As far as I know, there were never any in California to begin with, and from what I hear, there’s no such thing anymore. President Pierce wiped them out and gave that land to the creatures as part of the treaty to end the war.”
James smiled. “I suppose my sheltered city upbringing is really shining through. I didn’t know anything about that.” The ladybug spread its wings. With a gentle flick of James’s hand, it flew away. “Still, it’s a strange and wonderful place.”
“I’ve grown up here and even I find it strange sometimes,” Westie admitted, looking up at the dome. Again she thought she saw it flicker, but couldn’t tell for sure. It might’ve been the alcohol playing tricks on her eyes. “You don’t see all the different species of creatures much on the road, but here in Rogue City, where there’s some semblance of law, you’ll find every creature you once thought was legend sipping on a tumbler of whiskey at some point or another.”
James’s smile revealed the little white scar on his lip. “I shared a pint with a vampire last night, and he even offered to pay. It’s almost like they’re human at times—but don’t let Lavina know I said that. She’d probably disown me.”
With the mention of Lavina, the scotch in Westie’s stomach went sour. Her nausea returned, and so did the tears pushing at the backs of her eyes. The entire trip to the cabin was a waste, and Alistair had nearly been killed because of it. She was no closer to finding any evidence against Lavina and her family. Maybe a ball wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps she could learn something about the Fairfields in a social setting.
“It’s been a long ride,” Westie said. “I’m bushed.”
James bowed his head to her. “It was good to see you again,” he said.
She nodded and went inside, bounding for the stairs.
Fifteen
The next morning Nigel and Westie left for town to pick up Alistair from Doc Flannigan’s office. Westie breathed slowly through her mouth. It was hot as a kiln out, but she shivered as her nausea crept up again. After James had left the evening before, Westie had snuck into Nigel’s office, where he kept a stash of absinthe on hand for entertaining guests. She’d only meant to have one drink, but somehow one became four.
“Stop the wagon,” she said, hopping down before he had the chance. She bent over, hands on her knees on the side of the road, and stayed that way until the feeling passed.
Nigel frowned. “Is this something I should be concerned about?”
Westie spit in the dirt. “Must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”
He mumbled under his breath, then went to his medical bag and pulled out a cup. He filled it with water and dropped what looked like a sugar cube inside. When it started to fizz, he handed it to her.
“Drink this. It will make you feel better.”
She wrinkled her face in disgust upon tasting the chalky drink, but once she got it down, her stomach began to settle. They climbed back into the wagon without another word spoken between them.
Their next stop was in front of the doc’s office, where an old man sat in a chair, whittling away at a piece of basswood. Westie jumped out of the wagon, her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin. A few horses waited in the shade of an awning, but the streets were mostly abandoned.
She reached for one of the boxes Nigel had brought to give to the doc in exchange for Alistair’s care.
“What the hell did you pack in this thing?” she asked, lifting the box with her machine and steadying it with her flesh arm. It was big enough that she couldn’t see a thing in front of her. She balanced the box on her knee before trying to brave the steps. “Are you and the doc cutting up dead bodies again?”
Westie had been only eleven years old when she’d walked in on Nigel, the doctor, and the old sheriff performing an autopsy. What took less than a minute to witness took years to finally get out of her head.
“Just a few inventions I came up with. Thermometers and alarms, mostly,” Nigel said.
As Westie reached the top step, a scream punctured the doldrums of the lazy day, the kind of shattering sound that turned blood to ice and muscles to stone. She dropped the heavy box and heard the tinkle of something delicate breaking within as it tumbled down the steps.
“What in the heavens was that?” Nigel said.
The sheriff barreled out of the jail next door. His shirt was untucked, drool crusted on his chin, and he had the puffy eyes of someone woken suddenly from a nap.
Westie’s heart jittered as she looked around, waiting for something to happen.