Molding Clay (14 page)

ways to deal with evil that lie beyond the purview of your law.

Rusty dropped down on one knee and looped her arm around Koda’s neck. “Right,

partner. So what we have to do is come up with a nice little varmit trap. But first, tell

me. Is he still out there?”

Koda grew very still, sniffing the air with closed eyes.
Yes.

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“Think you could round up enough friends to give him a scare if I put a charm lock

on his weapon?”

I don’t need reinforcements for that.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to imply you aren’t up for the job. Just thought some of the

gang might enjoy taking part in the fun. And it has been awhile since you’ve run with

the pack. I know you miss them, Koda. And I’ll be fine here. Clay will be back soon.

And maybe I’ll ask the owls to keep an eye out in case Davy comes back. I’ll call if I

need you.”

So be it.

Koda gave her hand a lick then trotted out of the barn and disappeared into the

growing darkness.

Rusty watched him go, then closed her eyes and took several long slow breaths. She

opened her eyes, staring sightlessly into the darkness, her hands moving in the air

before her, her lips muttering the words of a charm. Three times three she repeated the

charm, weaving the spell with her hands. Then she snapped the fingers of her right

hand. A brilliant flare of light accompanied the snap. The charm was in place.

Knowing that now Koda would be in no threat from a weapon forged by man, she

headed for the house.

Inside it still stank of burned wood and fabric. She made her way to the rear of the

house, where her mother’s room lay. It had survived the fire. Despite the stink that

permeated the rest of the house this room still smelled as it always had. Of flower

petals, herbs and oils.

“Could use your help now, Mom,” Rusty said as she went to the heavy carved

armoire and opened the door. “I never was as good at this spell casting as you. Sure

hope I remember what you taught me.”

She pulled a carved wooden box from the back of the armoire, tucked it under her

arm, grabbed a thick old quilt that was draped over a chair and left the room, closing

the door behind her.

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While her mother had always done her best magic in the kitchen, Rusty was cut

from a slightly different cloth. Perhaps it was her father’s blood in her, but her power

was stronger outside where she was connected with the earth.

She went out behind the bunkhouse, beneath the shelter of an ancient oak.

Spreading the quilt on the damp grass, she sat down, setting the box between her legs.

The hinged lid opened easily despite all the years it had sat unused. Inside lay the

implements of power, passed on to her from her mother.

Rusty smiled as she beheld the collection. Even laughed out loud as she recalled her

mother telling her that she’d never feared that her precious collection would be stolen.

For who would think such items as her treasures had value?

Rusty lifted the most powerful and beautiful of all the objects. A feather. A simple

feather of brown and white and rust. She waved the feather in the air before her, seeing

a trail of light wafting in its wake.

Asking for blessings and guidance, she waved the feather in a gentle dance, tracing

lines and symbols in the air, the trailing light creating a visual yet quickly fading

pattern in the darkness.

Once the blessing had been requested, she returned the feather to the box and

picked up the next object. A small glass vial of water. Inside it was a tiny shell, plucked

from the sea at dawn.

Rusty pulled the cork from the bottle and wet her right index finger with one drop.

Pressing the damp tip of her finger in the center of her forehead, on her throat and the

center of her chest, she pictured the vastness of the Earth’s water, its gentleness and its

power. That which is so weak yet so strong.

The third object was another glass vial containing dark black soil. Collected from

the highlands of the place of her mother’s line, and the mountains from whence her

father came, it was the sacred spirit of the earth. Rusty uncorked it and dribbled a tiny

amount into the palm of her hand.

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She uttered a chant, appealing to the spirit of the Earth, asking for clarity and

steadfastness to stand firm and solid in her resolve to end the evil.

The objects to be taken from the box next came from her father’s people, a stick

worn smooth from the hands that had held it. Attached to the top of the stick was a

rope, fastened so that it acted as a type of pulley.

Rusty rose and felt around on the ground beside the quilt. She found a small piece

of wood, broken dry and splintered. Positioning the tip of the stick onto the dry wood,

she gripped each end of the rope and started rotating the stick, faster and faster.

Minutes passed. Sweat streamed down her face but her efforts never slowed. Then

she saw it, a tiny puff of smoke. Faster and faster she spun the stick. Another puff of

smoke rose from the dry wood, then a minute spark of red.

Gently she blew on the igniting ember, spinning the stick without pause. The ember

ignited and she laid the starting stick back in the box, breathing gently on the tiny

flame.

Bowing her head, she offered thanks for the fire and made her request. That her

efforts be forged in the fire of truth, burned free of ego and self-service. That she be

allowed to stop the evil that stained her land and robbed beings of life. She asked for

justice to be served in a way that no life was lost.

For a long time she watched the flame. It grew and consumed the wood that fed it

and when the fuel was gone, diminished and disappeared. It was not until the wood

was without heat that she put it aside, closed the box then lay back and stared up

through the leaves of the tree at the deepening sky, waiting for her answer.

It came in the form of the sound of Clay’s truck coming down the drive. Suddenly

she knew how to do it. With his help, they would trap the Stikeleathers and bring them

to justice without ever striking a blow.

Excitedly, she gathered up the box and quilt and hurried to the house, with hope in

her heart that her horse was okay.

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Clay no sooner stopped the truck than Rusty was pulling open the door. “How’s

Blackberry? Did he get the bullet out? Will there be any permanent damage? Do you

know what kind of gun it came from? Did Doc Wilson give you the bullet? Are you—”

“Slow down, darlin’,” Clay interrupted as he slid out of the truck and took hold of

her arms. “First. Blackberry will be fine. Doc Wilson says chances are good that she’ll

recover fully but probably will never see competition.”

“Who cares? ‘Long as she’s okay.”

“That’s my gal. The slug came from a deer rifle. Doc says we can check in town to

see who all owns one, but it’s bound to be a long list.”

“I already know who it was.”

“And you found that out how?”

“Koda told me.”

“Koda.”

She nodded. “It was one of the Stikeleathers. Clay, I think I have it figured out.”

He regarded her with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You got it all figured out while

I was gone.”

“Yep.”

“Something you’re not telling me, darlin’?”

“No.”

Clay guided her toward the bunkhouse. “Let’s start over, okay. I left and you…”

“I told Koda that I was certain it was the Stikeleathers but didn’t understand why

they’d eluded the law ’cause they aren’t the brightest bulbs on the strand. And he

reminded me that one of them is.”

Clay took her hand and guided her to the wooden bench on the porch of the

bunkhouse. “One of them is what?”

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“Smart. Davy. He’s the shrimp of the family. And the youngest. Coming from a

family that thinks might makes right, he had a hard time growing up. He was always

getting pushed around because he was small and not very strong.

“I remember Danny saying once that Davy had more brains than all the rest of them

combined.”

“Could have been nothing more than the boast of a brother, hon.”

“No. He was right. Davy isn’t book smart but there’s always been a kind of creepy

intelligence about him.”

“Creepy?”

“Yeah. He really creeps me out. I’d rather face one of the brutes like Donny than

Davy. With Donny you know what you’re up against. But Davy’s different. He’s the

type to stab you in the back. And he’s a pervert.”

Clay cut her a look. “I’m serious!” she exclaimed. “He used to sneak around and try

to get a look at me in the shower and stuff and once I caught him outside the window

when Danny was trying to get in my pants.”

“Well, that still doesn’t make him a criminal mastermind.”

“Fine, don’t believe me.” She pulled her hand from his and stood to walk out into

the yard. “Koda!” she called softly. “Did you get rid of him?”

Clay stood when Koda’s voice sounded in his mind.
As predicted, it was the youngest

of the brood. At the moment he’s on foot, running for what he thinks is his life as the pack has

fun chasing him.

Rusty turned with a smile to report to Clay but he waved his hand to stop her. “I

heard.”

Rusty was a little surprised that Koda was allowing Clay to stay tuned in but

figured that was Koda’s choice.

“Okay, I’m convinced,” Clay said and patted the bench beside him. “But we can

hardly take the word of your wolf to the law.”

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“We don’t have to take anything to the law,” Rusty said as she stepped back up

onto the porch.

“You wanna explain that, Fancy?”

“Gladly, Mr. Russell,” she said with a wicked grin. “If you want to trap a rat you

just have to leave the right bait.”

Clay pushed his hat off his head and set it on the bench beside him. “I get the

feeling I’m not going to like this.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it well enough,” she said and sat down beside him. “And

you get to play a starring role.”

Clay groaned and leaned back against the wooden wall. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

* * * * *

Davy burst through the front door, out of breath and as wet as if he’d just come in

out of a rainstorm. Davis was sitting at the kitchen table with a mason jar of corn liquor

in his hand.

“Damn fool!” Davis shouted. “You damn near made me spill my drink! What the

hell’s matter with you, boy?”

Davy started to blurt out the story but stopped. If he told his father that Rusty had

sicced a pack of wolves on him, Davis would laugh in his face and say he was a liar,

that he’d just gotten spooked and run off, just like always.

One thing Davy could count on was Davis belittling him, making him out to be a

spineless coward because he didn’t like to settle things with his fists.

“Where’s the boys?” he asked instead.

“Out pussyfootin’ far as I know.” Davis returned his attention back to his jar of

liquor.

Davy hurried back to his room and snatched off his wet clothes. He’d take a shower

and head on over to Stella’s. She might not be much but she was eager and he was

suddenly feeling a hunger that only a night of sex would cure.

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Chapter Eleven

Clay reached over and took Rusty’s hand as he parked the truck in the crowded

parking lot of the Painted Pony Bar. As was usual for a Saturday night, the place was

packed. She sat staring out of the window, a serious expression on her face.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

At her nod, he gave her hand a squeeze and pulled her to him. “Just remember you

can bail any time you want and we’ll find another way. Okay?” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine. You just make damn sure you don’t let that Stella into your pants.”

Clay shuddered at the idea. The last week he and Rusty had played amateur

detectives. They knew all about Davy and Stella and, thanks to Koda and the pack,

knew that Davy was orchestrating the attacks on Blackhawk Ranch. He had his brothers

doing most of the dirty work, but it was clear that he was calling the shots.

Koda had observed him on a walkie-talkie, directing his brothers three nights ago

when they tried to steal two of the horses. Thanks to the pack, and Clay and Rusty

sleeping in the hayloft on standby, the plan failed.

Rusty had used her mother’s scrying bowl and after three failed attempts had

succeeded in tapping into Davy’s private life. She saw the photos he’d taken of her,

taped inside his closet door, along with the other sick images of bondage and torture

that excited him so.

That spurred her to set their plan in motion. It was obvious that Davy had plans for

her that she wanted no part of and she wasn’t about to let it get to that.

“Then let the show begin,” he said and raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. As he

started to open the door she stopped him. Something had been niggling at the edge of

her inner vision, something she couldn’t bring into focus. But it was something that

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troubled her, and she felt she had to set up safeguards, just in case whatever it was