It was an old joke between them, decades old, and his smile softened in acknowledgment before turning away from the map entirely, moving across the room to pour a measure of whiskey into two glasses, offering her one.
She raised her glass to the light, admiring the reddish-brown liquid before taking a sip. It warmed her mouth and burned in her throat, honeyed fire with the kick of a full-grown mule.
He drank his portion quickly, seeming barely to notice it, and that worried her where nothing else before had. In all the years she had served him, he had always been driven, noting each and every thing that occurred within his domain, but he was also a creature of his comforts, and for him to treat Iktan’s finest with such disregard . . .
“It’s coming, isn’t it?”
He went still, his long-limbed body somehow coiling with threat, a snake about to strike, before relaxing once again. “It’s always been coming, Marie.”
Knowing he was aware of her study, she watched him, seeing the dark strands of hair shade to fox-red, the skin fade to parchment-white, the bones of his face shift and yet somehow always remain instantly recognizable, those golden-brown eyes that saw without judging, weighed without devaluing.
“What do we do?”
“Do? The cards have been shuffled and dealt; now all I may do is wait to see how they will be played.” He lifted his hand not holding the glass and spread slender, agile fingers, palm up, as though waiting for something to be placed within.
“And if it all falls to ruin?” He had seen the potential in young Izzy, had given her a shape to grow into, waited until she chose it of her own will and desire. But potential and shape were not enough.
He refilled his glass and turned back to the map. Dismissed, unanswered, Marie left the office, closing the door softly behind her.
She had been a woman grown when she came to Flood, desperate to trade her burdens for ease, her pain for numbness. There were days she wished he had refused her Bargain, had sent her to deal with the pain as others did. And yet, even now, she could not imagine being anyone save who she was.
But the Right Hand was simple, overt. The Right Hand was kind.
The Left Hand was none of those things. She could not afford to be. Not if she was to prevent what was coming.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, every employee and volunteer at Yellowstone National Park, for taking care of one of our most valuable resources—the wilderness from which we’ve carved our home. This book would not have been possible without all you do, and my life would be far poorer without those experiences. The National Parks are our past, and our inheritance.
For information and inspiration:
The staff at the Seattle Public Library, Central branch. Particularly the kind folk who help me navigate the Spiral.
Dr. Geoff Abers, Cornell Geological Sciences, who knew I was picking his brain, but not for what purpose.
And also the geosciences department of Skidmore College, ca. 1989, for coaxing a liberal arts major into the sciences in the first place.
Jeff and Carolyn of Green Creek Inn, Wapiti Valley, WY.
Bill Cody Ranch, Shoshone National Forest, WY.
The entire damn town of Cody, Wyoming.
For support above the call of duty or friendship:
Karri Sperring, Fran Wilde, April Steenburgh, Jaym Gates, Barbara Ferrer, and Lewis Pollak.
Team Inevitable Innuendo, for year-round insanity checks.
And of course, my copyeditor, Richard Shealy, for being the final filter for the details of the Devil’s West, even when they were (intentionally) inconsistent—but they were consistently inconsistent, RS!
Extra acknowledgment:
The nursing staff at New York-Presbyterian. You were kind to us at a time when nobody is at their best, and I probably didn’t say thank you enough.
Inevitably, I will forget someone, including people who have continued from the first book, helping me build the Devil’s West into something real and living. It’s been a very busy year, and I spoke with a great many people, scooping up details and color as I went. But trust me, I think back on your contribution with gratitude!