Her fingers flew through the closures, hoping she lined the holes and buttons up straight.
“How do I look?” she asked Hink.
He visibly swallowed. “Beautiful.” And then he bent down, and right there, in front of Mr. Wicks, he made to kiss her.
Just then, the door was thrown open and Hink pulled away.
It took Rose more than a bit to get her breathing under control, and all the heat in her cheeks had migrated down her chest and stomach, even though he hadn’t even kissed her.
“Get out,” the man outside ordered.
“You sure your mind’s made up?” Hink asked Wicks. “There’s only five of them.”
“Quite sure,” Wicks said a little stiffly.
And then Wicks ducked out of the wagon, and Rose was right behind him. Hink was last out and, true to his word, went with the men peacefully.
The jail wasn’t as large as Rose had expected. She’d never been to a big-city jail before, but had hoped it might be several stories tall, and trimmed up with all the bric-a-brac the rest of the city seemed to be dripping with.
No, this was a short, square brick building, with narrow windows and a door made out of metal.
They were brought inside and quickly marched past several cells occupied by rough-looking men who hooted and whistled as she passed by.
Hink and Wicks were shoved into one cell, and when Rose went to step in, the sheriff pulled on her arm.
“You’ll be in a separate cell,” he said.
“Plenty of room for her in my cell, Sheriff,” one of the prisoners yelled. “You know you want me, pretty thing. Come on in and let me get a good look at you.”
“Touch the lady and I’ll be shoveling you into your grave before sunset,” Hink said calmly.
The bars slammed shut behind Hink, and Rose was pushed down the hall farther.
To her left was another cell with a big brute of a man who paced and mumbled what sounded like the Lord’s Prayer to himself; then the next cell held a man lying on a crude cot.
He seemed to be of native blood, though he wore the styles of a white man. He appeared shirtless beneath a blanket tossed across the middle of his body. He also looked pale and sick, and there was a pool of blood at the side of the cot.
He was dying.
But before she could even see the all of him, she was shoved into the next cell and the bars were snapped shut behind her.
“Wait,” Rose said. “Please.”
The guard had taken several strides down the hall, but turned and looked at her. “What is it?”
“The man in that cell we passed. I think he’s badly hurt.”
“He is,” he said. “But if I were you, I’d worry about your own business.”
“You’ll just leave him here to die?” For some reason Rose was shocked about that. She shouldn’t be, not after everything she’d seen. Cruelty was all too common in this world. “What did he do?”
“He broke the law, miss. Just like everyone else on your side of the bars.” The man walked away.
“I haven’t broken a law,” Rose said quietly, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. “Not yet, in any case.” She put her hands on her hips and turned to assess just what she had to work with in the tiny cell. Not much: bars, a cot, a blanket, two buckets—one filled with water, the other empty. That was all. Certainly not much to plan an escape with.
And then a voice drifted down from the end of the line of cells. A very familiar voice.
“Rose Small?” Alun Madder asked. “Is that you, girl?”
Chapter Twenty-five
Cedar took a deep breath, savoring the warmth and ease of the soft bed. Nothing hurt. He could sleep all day and not be the worse for it.
But the soft bed was rocking enough he began to wonder if he were still aboard Captain Hink’s airship, or maybe in the back of the wagon forcing its way through the blizzard toward Iowa.
That—a moment of sheer fear that he was still trapped in the blizzard, drowsy from the cold, and possibly on the edge of death—sent him rushing up through the warmth and comfort to wakefulness.
He was indeed in a wagon, the back of their traveling wagon, bundled beneath several layers of blankets. Wil lay next to him, sleeping in wolf form.
Cedar shook his head, trying to shell reality from dream. Wil had been a man, and so had Cedar. The curse was temporarily lifted by Father Kyne.
And then the curse had fallen upon them again, leaving Cedar a beast until the sun rose and Wil a beast until the next three nights of no moon.
Dawn must be upon them. And with dawn, Cedar had once again regained his man’s body.
Which explained why he was naked.
Other memories tumbled through his mind, a chaotic mix of double images he could hardly put reason to. A few stood out clearly. He had followed the Strange with the pink ribbon. He had heard the children trapped in the icy river, and sensed the Holder down in that black watery grave. He had watched the Strange steal away that sleepwalking child, and had felt the pain of Father Kyne being beaten by someone.
Vosbrough. Father Kyne had been beaten by Vosbrough.
He rubbed his face. There was more: the children in the rock-tumble cave. Wil thought they might be alive, but how could they be after all this time, stashed away behind rocks?
The Holder, though—that he knew was beneath the river. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat. He had to find a way to pull the deadly device free. He had no idea how to do that.
The wagon hit a bump, and he realized they were driving somewhere. Mae. He hoped she was holding the reins. He searched the wagon for clothing, found a pair of breeches and a spare shirt, not as heavy as his other shirt. He’d probably lost his clothes when he’d shifted shapes.
These would have to do. He had an extra pair of boots with a hole in the heel, but a wad of cloth would keep them mostly watertight.
Wil was going to be so disappointed his favorite boots had been left behind. Cedar combed his hair back with stiff fingers and paused at the pain tightening his chest. He inhaled too quickly, which set him to coughing. His lungs hurt, his back hurt. Usually when he took the form of the beast, all his injuries were healed. But the spell Mae and Father Kyne had laid upon him must have changed that.
When his cough was settled, he scrubbed the sweat off his face and blinked to clear his eyes. He took several short, careful breaths to test that his lungs were still whole. Breathing hurt, but his cough was the least of their worries.
He gathered himself and swung out the back of the wagon, leaning wide so he could see their surroundings.
He was surprised to see the tall buildings and crowded street of the city. A quick look at the shadows told him it was just an hour or two past dawn. With his heightened senses from the change, he knew the two voices at the head of the wagon were Mae and Miss Dupuis.
Mae was there. Mae was safe. His heart seemed to unclench as relief flooded through him.
The wagon turned down a side street. Cedar recognized it as the alley that ran beside the courthouse. Mae called the mules to a halt, and then he heard her and Miss Dupuis jump down from the driving seat to the snowy ground.
They walked around the wagon and Cedar called out softly to Mae, “Good morning.”
She glanced up at him, the worry slipping away for a moment as dawn brushed her soft features with the watery tones of spring roses.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“I am. Why are we in town?” He jumped down to the ground beside her.
“Because,” Miss Dupuis said, coming up from the other side. “I have very bad news. The Madders are scheduled to be hung this afternoon.”