Stranger (18 page)

“As for you.” He patted Mia on the shoulder. “Get out your dancing shoes.”

Ross must have made a face, because as soon as her father left, Mia said, “Dances are fun! Everyone wears their best clothes, and families decorate tables and cook their best recipes, and some people go as couples. But you don't have to,” she added hastily.

Ross studied his borrowed shirt.

“We can get you a nice one.”

He wondered if Mia was trying to suggest that he go with her. He wondered if Jennie was going with anyone. It wasn't clothes that worried him. Dancing! Another thing he didn't know how to do. Another way for him to feel stupid. Like he didn't belong anywhere around people.

Mia seemed to be waiting for an answer, but he couldn't remember what question she'd asked. The room was too hot, the ceiling too low, and he was suffocating.

He pulled at the door. It wouldn't open. He shook the handle.

Mia reached over and flipped the latch.

He threw the door open and bolted.

He didn't know whether he was sorry or relieved that she hadn't followed. Trying not to think of dances and couples, he ran across the town square toward the darkest buildings.
I'll take the book and leave,
he thought. He'd seen Mia's face when he ran out of the kitchen, and it made him feel even worse.

Dr. Lee was right. He couldn't evade the bounty hunter a second time. He could burn the book and then leave—if he could bring himself to destroy such a marvelous artifact.

But if he left, he'd never see Mia again. He'd never spar with Jennie. He'd never get the chance to learn more of the science that explained why things worked, or read more than short and simple words. He'd never eat any more of Dr. Lee's delicious cooking. Even little things like hot baths and clean clothes would be hard to give up.

If he stayed, he'd have to face all of those people every day. Half the town seemed to hate him, and even the ones who liked him were overwhelming when he had to deal with them all the time. He'd have to live under ceilings. Even when he slept outside, nightmares about the singing tree followed him. Each left him more tired and edgy than the last, until his bones ached from exhaustion and every sudden movement felt like an attack.

He wanted to keep running, but he was surrounded by walls.

At the far side of the town hall, he came to a stop, breathing hard. The sentries were on wall patrol, lanterns swinging rhythmically above him. The generator had broken down again. He knew what Mia would be doing tomorrow.

Maybe he should apologize. But he had no idea how.

He pushed off the wall and ran until he ended up in the empty yard of the darkened schoolhouse. The sky was a canopy of blazing stars pierced by the black spear of the bell tower.

He remembered the pretty redheaded girl at his last trade fair, who'd flirted with him and invited him into her caravan. He'd been glad when she asked, but once he was inside, alone with her, he'd felt trapped and fled. Later, lying alone under the stars, he'd wished he'd stayed, and promised himself that next time he would.

Here he'd had a next time, and he'd done the exact same thing, all the way down to regretting it afterward. What was wrong with him?

Ross paced back and forth, trying to sort it out, until he heard footsteps. He spun around, reaching for the knives that weren't there. He couldn't hold one in his left hand anyway.

Sheriff Crow's yellow eye glowed like a cat's in the darkness. “Come with me.”

Felicité

THE PARTY WAS GOING PERFECTLY. EVERYONE
Felicité invited had come, including Jennie and Indra, wrapped around each other in a slow dance. Carlos Garcia was happily waltzing with Faviola Valdez.

Nasreen Hassan, who had been watching them, tipped her punch glass to get the last drops.

“I'll get you more,” said Felicité.

She joined Brisa and Becky at the punch bowl.

“Maybe I should switch to rat training.” Brisa gestured with her glass; Felicité stepped out of the line of fire. “I know, I know, I'll be twenty-five before I stick with an apprenticeship long enough to finish. But I like so many things! And I love watching Trainer Koslova. Did you know that she talks to the older rats in Russian?”

“Sheriff Crow speaks Russian,” Becky murmured. “She learned it from her mother.”

“I didn't know that until yesterday.” Brisa squeezed Becky as if she'd said something clever. Then she turned, her pink ribbons swinging. “Felicité, where is Wu Zetian? It's funny how she runs around town so much on her own. Kogatana sticks to Yuki like a burr.”

“Wu Zetian is a free spirit,” Felicité said airily. “I could never cage her in. She loves to explore, but she always comes back to me.”

“I wish I had a pet who loved me,” Becky said enviously. “Neither of our cats will come indoors.”

Felicité handed Nasreen a glass of punch as the slow song ended.

“Your votes, please,” Felicité called, standing at the small table that held two dishes of stones and a decorated box. “Green stones if you liked the song, red if it was boring.”

Her guests lined up. Felicité counted the votes in the box: eighty percent red. She returned the stones to their dishes as the band struck up a fast tune, with a strong, steady beat. Everyone ran to dance. Brisa did a backflip, narrowly missing stepping on her own hair ribbons. Felicité winced, wishing she hadn't had to invite Brisa. But Becky was so happy.

Felicité had promised herself to stay away from Indra unless he approached her first, but she couldn't help eyeing him and Jennie. There was something about the way they were dancing . . .

Indra grabbed Jennie's hand and spun her toward him. Before they could collide, she twirled away, laughing—and Felicité had it. Jennie moved and laughed exactly the same way when she sparred with Ross Juarez. As if they existed in an intimate bubble of space.

Felicité's mother came in quietly and drew her aside. “Felicité, I am sorry to interrupt your party, but you are required to record a meeting. The sheriff called it. And that is all I can say.” She beckoned to Sujata. “Sujata, how lovely you look tonight. May I request you to take over as hostess? Felicité will return as soon as she can.” Her mother gave a gracious smile, and the door closed behind her.

Felicité let out a sigh.

“It's got to be about that claim jumper,” said Carlos, mopping his forehead.

“Or the bounty hunter,” Faviola suggested.

“My cousin said she heard someone at the stable say that the bounty hunter can turn into a ghost and walk through walls. That's how he gets people.” Nasreen gave a dramatic shiver.

“I haven't heard anything about ghost powers,” said Felicité. “And if I haven't heard it, it can't be true.”
And Daddy would never be that friendly with a Changed man
, she thought. “But I'll know more soon. Sujata, here's the list of songs. Remind people to cast their votes, and keep track, will you?”

Felicité found both of her parents in the parlor. “I'm ready.”

Her mother shook her head. “You'll be going alone, darling. Elizabeth Crow claimed sheriff's privilege to hold a closed interrogation, and I claimed mayoral privilege to have it recorded.”

This was the first time she would serve as scribe at a meeting that her parents didn't attend. Felicité didn't know what to think.

Her daddy patted her hand. “You're there to make sure the sheriff doesn't beat a confession out of anyone.”

Her mother tsked. She was not amused by jokes about council business.

“You can come back to your friends afterward, Felicité,” her father said. “I'm glad to see Jennie Riley among them. That's a good friendship to cultivate.”

He had never talked about the Changed like that before. He always added, “for a Changed person . . .” and occasionally, “for one of those mutants . . .” He was talking about Jennie as if she were a Norm.

Her mother nodded. “Having a solid friendship eases a working relationship.”

“I see a bright future for that girl,” said her daddy. “I wouldn't be surprised if she ends up defense chief.”

Felicité kept strict control over her face, but the urge to shudder was so strong that she had to bolt to her room to conceal it. She fetched her writing materials, put on her second-best walking shoes, and hurried to the sheriff's. The backup generator hummed and the electric lights were on, which meant this meeting was even more important than she'd realized. Making sure her hat was tilted perfectly, she opened the door.

“Here's the scribe,” Sheriff Crow said. “Let's get started.”

Ross Juarez and the bounty hunter sat at opposite ends of the table. The bounty hunter loomed over Ross, sinister and grim. Ross eyed him with that intent expression Felicité had seen when he sparred or practiced throwing knives. How could anyone who fought that well be scared of parties?

The sheriff gave Felicité a nod to begin. “According to new information I've obtained, both of you lied to me. Ross, you're still on probation. If I say you go, you go.”

As she recorded that, Felicité pressed her lips together to hide her smile.

The bounty hunter said calmly, “I told you I worked for a private individual.”

“Kings are not private individuals.” Sheriff Crow pushed her hair back so Felicité was forced to see the stretched skin and jutting bone of her face. “The fact that you're working for Voske is good reason to kick you out of town. But if you have a legitimate basis to take the boy, let's hear it.”

“Ross Juarez is a claim jumper.”

Ross's head snapped up. “I am not!” His voice cracked.

The sheriff gestured to him to be quiet. “You'll get your turn.”

The bounty hunter's voice was even deeper than Mr. Riley's. “Ian Voske told me that Juarez stole a valuable item from a claim staked by one of his own prospectors. I was hired to retrieve the item and to bring Juarez back alive.”

“So he can kill me and put my head on a pike,” Ross said.

The bounty hunter shrugged. “What Voske does with you afterward is his business.”

“I'm not a claim jumper!”

Sheriff Crow slammed her hand on the table. The two of them shut up. “What's the item?”

“A book,” replied the bounty hunter. “I wasn't told what's in it.”

The sheriff addressed Ross, whose right hand was so tightly clenched that his knuckles had paled. “What's in this book?”

Felicité had to lean forward to catch the mumbled “I can't read it.”

So even after weeks in school, he was still illiterate. He might be tough, but he wasn't bright.

“Tell me what happened after Voske hired you,” said Sheriff Crow to the bounty hunter.

“First I cornered him at the Joshua tree forest. I figured he'd surrender. But no. He crawled through the entire thing.”

Sheriff Crow said what Felicité was thinking: “Can you
do
that?”

Ross muttered, “The thorns start two feet up the trunk. Mostly.”

Grandmère Wolfe had taught that Joshua trees had root and branch systems that made the entire forest one big tree, two miles around. Was Ross brave, or a coward? From what Felicité knew of Voske, she supposed that she, too, would rather crawl through two miles of thorns than face him.

The bounty hunter continued. “He went so deep into the desert, I figured he'd die of thirst, get eaten by a coyote pack, or run into a hive cactus. But no. Eventually I cornered him in a gully that dead-ended in a cement wall. He got away from me there, too.”

“How?” asked Sheriff Crow.

“He sank a knife into me and dove into a grove of singing trees.”

Felicité's pen jerked, spattering the page. She'd heard about the shard Ross had cut from his arm—which was brave enough, but getting within range of those trees on purpose? After she'd seen a singing tree kill a deer, she'd had nightmares for weeks. If the choice was Voske or singing trees, there was no question: she'd prefer Voske.

“Your turn, Ross,” said Sheriff Crow. “How did you get the book?”

“It was in my claim, and I have it marked on a map. Here.” Ross pulled a rolled hide from his backpack. “It was in open territory. Voske's soldiers jumped my claim.”

The bounty hunter took out his own map. “Here's the borders of Voske's kingdom. And there—well inside the border—is the claim.”

The sheriff compared the maps. “I see that his kingdom is significantly bigger than it was a year ago. And much bigger than the boundaries marked on Ross's map. It isn't his fault that Voske has conquered a number of towns and laid claim to enormous parcels of open territory since the map was made.”

The bounty hunter shrugged and refolded his map.

“It's my claim,” Ross insisted. “This is my grandmother's map, with her claims marked on it. She left it to me when she died. But when I started excavating my claim, Voske's gang jumped me.”

“What happened then?” asked the sheriff.

“They stole my burro and everything he was carrying—my shotgun, my trade goods, my tools, my food and water—and gave me the count of thirty to run before they started shooting.”

“How did you get away with the book?”

“I snuck back at night and took it. It was mine!”

“Do you dispute the bounty hunter's account of how you got here?”

Ross rubbed his side. “Except that he didn't mention that he shot me, no.”

The man smiled. “I notice you didn't ask about his Change yet, Sheriff.”

“What?” Ross's voice cracked again.

“It's not relevant,” the sheriff said.

The bounty hunter leaned in, his voice persuasive. “Isn't it? You're feeling sympathy for him right now. You believe him. Weren't you seeing him as a harmless little boy you want to take care of? That's what he does.”

Felicité noted the brief look of doubt that crossed the sheriff's hideous face. Ross looked appalled, but that was an easy expression to fake.

“I wouldn't call him harmless.” Sheriff Crow cast a meaningful look at the bounty hunter's bandaged arm.

As she wrote, Felicité realized that she, too, had been sympathizing with Ross, or at least imagining what she'd have done in his place. What if the bounty hunter was telling the truth? And what if Ross could read minds as well as influence them? The idea of anyone digging into her thoughts was horrifying. She hoped the sheriff would order him to leave right then and there.

“Ross, let's see the book,” Sheriff Crow said.

“I hid it in the desert.” Ross opened his backpack. “Search if you want.”

Sheriff Crow gave him a wry look, her one eyebrow lifted. Then she shrugged. “Fine. Without proof that you stole it, the book is your property.” She turned to the bounty hunter. “Is this book worth Voske sending an army to retrieve it?”

“He doesn't need an army. He sent me.”

Sheriff Crow's eyebrow went up again. “I see. Ross, go back to the Lees'.” She cast a sarcastic look at the bounty hunter, and Felicité could hear the quotation marks in her voice when she spoke. “‘Bounty hunter.' Why don't you go to Jack's Saloon and have a beer while the council meets? Felicité, please bring the council.”

Ross was out the door before Felicité had capped her ink bottle. If he could influence people, why didn't he make Tommy and his friends quit throwing rocks at him? Why didn't he convince that bounty hunter to let him go?

Somebody here is lying,
she thought as she slipped out into the night.

An hour later, her father stood before the council, arms folded. “With all the new information we've learned, it seems that this situation is no different than Voske's demand for tribute five years ago. Giving him what he wants will only make us seem weak. It'll make him more likely to attack us, not less.”

Judge Vardam nodded. “Since this bounty hunter cannot prove that Ross Juarez stole the book, I am little inclined to believe him. And since he was hired by Voske? Not at all inclined. In fact, I don't even want him in town.” Felicité couldn't mistake the angry glance the old woman gave her daddy.

Judge Lopez also glared at him. “I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that you cannot withhold important information from the rest of the council, Mr. Preston. You had no right to keep that man's secrets.”

Felicité's father didn't lose his cool. “I made a judgment call. Maybe it was the wrong one. Anyway, you all know now.”

“Let us have a vote,” her mother said quickly. “Who wants the bounty hunter to leave town empty-handed?”

To Felicité's surprise, it was unanimous. Then she understood: her daddy was going to lose anyway, so his vote demonstrated that he was willing to compromise.

Sheriff Crow said, “I'll see to it that he's out of here by sunup.”

Her parents always stopped talking about Voske whenever Will walked into the room, but Felicité knew all about his kingdom festooned with the heads of his enemies, the towns he'd conquered to expand his empire, and his Changed children, who had been promised kingdoms of their own when they came of age. She wanted Ross gone, but she would be glad to see Voske's man gone too.

As Felicité headed home, her father's praise of Jennie echoed in her ears. She couldn't stop seeing Jennie and Indra presiding over the council.