Stranger (36 page)

Jennie was surprised that the sheriff would tell this story—a story she had never heard—to a man who had so recently been an enemy.

Sheriff Crow went on. “Funny thing is, a couple years ago, a trader visited Las Anclas. He told me that way out east there's a whole town of us. They don't call themselves Crow. They have a word in their own language. My own language—a language I don't know. But they are my people. I thought about changing my name, and taking one of theirs. But then I thought,
This is what my people are here.
In Las Anclas, I'm Elizabeth Crow. So what I'm asking you is, what do you want to be called in Las Anclas?”

The bounty hunter hesitated, then said, “Furio Vilas.” He paused again, before adding, “It's my real name.”

Jennie wanted to ask more, but the way the two were looking at each other made her feel like a third wheel. She backed out and went home.

She spent the day writing articles. There was something comforting about pinning down all those memories with ink on flat paper, just the facts.

Midafternoon, she put on her best church skirt and blouse and went to the infirmary. She walked past the sleeping figures and curtained-off beds in the men's ward until she found Indra gazing at the ceiling. He smiled when she sat down beside his bed.

“I'm sorry about your father.”

His smile went out like a snuffed candle. “The doctor said he couldn't have felt anything when the wall blew up under him. I guess that's something to hold on to.”

Sera had died quickly too, but Jennie couldn't take that as comfort.

“Jennie?” Indra interrupted her thoughts. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I didn't.” Grief seized Jennie by the heart, strong as pain. Stronger.

“You did,” Indra insisted, half-sitting in his effort to infuse his breathy voice with force. “Dr. Lee said you got me here just in time.”

She didn't want to argue, but she couldn't help saying, “I couldn't lift you.”

“I know. It didn't matter. You got me out anyway.”

“You remember?”

“I remember it all,” Indra murmured, sinking back again.

“I do too.”

“There were so many of them.”

“Yeah.”

“They'll be back, you know.” When Jennie nodded, he added, “I'm so glad you're one of us. We need you.”

Jennie barely stopped herself from saying,
I got Sera killed.
She knew she hadn't, or at least hadn't been any more responsible for Sera's death than any of the other Rangers, but it felt true.

“We need
you
.” She patted his hand. His hot skin felt less real under her fingers than her memory of how cold he'd been. Unnerved, she put her hands in her lap. “I hope you get better soon.”

“Jennie—”

“Did you know the bounty hunter is joining the Rangers?”

Indra's eyes widened. “Nobody told me that.”

“Yuki told me yesterday that his staff work is an art form.” Jennie kept talking, keeping the flow of words unbroken. Nothing about old hurts, no old questions to open up feelings like wounds.

He fell asleep while she was talking. She'd seen that sleeping face sharing her pillow so many times, but he seemed so vulnerable this time. She leaned down, then pulled away before she could kiss him on the mouth. She couldn't do that anymore. Instead, she brushed her lips across his forehead and tiptoed out.

Mia was in the front hall, in a pair of her father's baggy black pants and a baggier white shirt. They began walking toward the town hall.

“I didn't see Ross in the men's ward,” Jennie said.

“His bed's curtained off,” Mia replied. “Last time he landed in the infirmary because of his power, he got better after he got some rest. Dad's hoping that'll work again, so he doesn't want anyone disturbing Ross.”

So you've known about his power for a while.
Jennie didn't resent that. What hurt was that neither of them had told her.

As if she had spoken aloud, Mia said, “I only found out by accident. I would have told you, but it wasn't my secret. He would have told you eventually. He trusted you enough to give you his book! But he didn't even know what was happening to him at first.”

“Okay.” It did make Jennie feel better.

“Dad says he thinks Ross will make a complete recovery.” Mia sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Maybe Mia, too, felt as strange as Jennie, but hadn't mentioned it for fear that she was the only one. “Hey, Mia, is there anything from the battle that you can't stop thinking about?”

“Most of it was horrible. I had nightmares for three nights straight. The worst part was when I thought Ross was dead, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.” Mia's somber expression transformed into a joyful smile. “But then he started breathing again, and I realized that I
had
fixed it. It was the best thing I did in my life. Every time I think about it, it makes me happy.”

“You should be happy,” Jennie agreed. She tried to call back the relief she herself had felt, but it slid out of her mind, as if she were trying to clench a fistful of water.

At the town hall, they squeezed onto a bench near the front row. The mayor, the council, and the town's religious leaders were on the dais. Even Rabbi Litvak had come down from his home on the mountain. His forehead was already creased with stress: the intensity of people's emotions must be pressing in.

When all of Las Anclas was there—the benches were filled, and many others stood along the walls—the memorial began. Jennie had been dreading this for days. As the rabbi led the prayers for the dead, she gripped her hands in her lap. She could hear the harsh breathing of people fighting emotion; a few benches away, someone gave a muffled sob. When the rabbi had finished, the Catholic members of town began the Rosary. Jennie tried to listen to the words, but instead she found herself picturing Sera falling. Ross falling.

When the prayers from the various religions were over, Mayor Wolfe began to read the names of the dead.

She paused after each as someone came up to offer words of eulogy. Ravi Vardam. Estela Lopez. Alice Callahan, Henry and Becky's grandmother. Ken Wells. Laura Hernandez. There were more sobs, which made it harder to hold back her own. Jennie shut her eyes and clenched her teeth. If she slipped even a little, she would never stop crying.

“Serafina Diaz,” the mayor said, startling Jennie. She hadn't even known that Sera was short for anything.

Mr. Preston rose from the council bench. “Everyone here knows where Sera and I came from, though we never talked about it. The past was the past, we figured. We wanted to be judged on what we did here, as citizens of Las Anclas.”

His gaze swept the room. “But I think Sera wouldn't mind if I told you what she said when we first saw this town. She was just seventeen years old. She took one look at the walls, and she said, ‘There's no heads on pikes. How do they keep order?'”

There were a few mild chuckles. Henry Callahan let out a whoop, fiercely shushed by his mother.

“We saw how Las Anclas kept order—by rule of law, not rule of force. Sera decided that she wanted her child to grow up in a place where everyone was equal under the same law. And so she worked hard to help keep that law.”

All eyes turned toward Paco, sitting between Jennie's ma and pa. Jennie was close enough to touch him, but his head was lowered so she couldn't see his face, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. She quickly looked away.

“Let me tell you about Sera Diaz.” As Mr. Preston continued, Jennie pressed her fingers over her eyelids. It was the little things that hurt the worst: Sera's deadpan jokes; how she put so many chilies in her salsa that nobody else could eat it; how she'd raced Jennie down the main street, slipped in the mud, and squashed Dr. Lee's tomatoes; the time they'd all played “Hijo de la Luna” on glasses.

There would be no more of those moments. Jennie had spent years imagining the day she would finally become a Ranger under Sera's command. Her dream had come true, but Sera wouldn't give any more orders, or grin and ask for the last drop of lemon juice. Sera was gone, and all Jennie had left of her was a secret that she wished she'd never found out.

Mia

MIA OPENED THE SURGERY DOOR, HOPING HER DAD
had fixed something normal for lunch. She was hungry after a long session repairing the gate, and in no mood for turnip pudding.

“That you, Mia? If you want to see Ross, he's ready for visitors.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Now she'd even forgive turnip pudding. She raced to her cottage, snatched up a diagram, then tore back to the surgery.

Ross's curtain was open for the first time. He sat up in bed, propped against a pillow. She had to stop herself from rushing up and touching him to reassure herself that he was all right. Instead, she spun around and yanked the curtain shut, then turned to meet his slightly puzzled smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A lot better,” he said. “What've you got there?”

He looked worn and thin, lost in an enormous nightshirt that was neither wet nor transparent, but Mia felt the way she had when he'd stood in her doorway, drenched with rain.

She clutched the diagram to her chest. “I was so sure you'd love this, but maybe you won't. I couldn't ask because Dad said you needed to rest and he wouldn't even let me come look at you. Not that I meant to spy!” She shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Hand it over.”

Mia sidled up to the head of the bed so she could see both his face and the diagram, then remembered that he didn't like people lurking behind him and lurched back into his line of sight.

She stabbed at the diagram with a finger. “It's a gauntlet for your left hand. It'll be steel, lined with leather.”

He touched the paper. “What's this sliding part do?”

“Well, I saw you fight, and I remembered my own lessons and I realized that if you can't make a tight fist, you can't really do anything . . .” Ross's jaw twitched. Mia hurried on, tapping the paper until it rustled. “The steel bars go over your wrist and forearm as a brace, which also functions as a shield. Once it's on, you can move the slide with your right hand to lock your fingers in place, in a fist or holding a weapon or even straight out if you wanted to do any open-handed strikes.”

She studied his face, but she couldn't tell how he was taking it. “I wanted to make it so you could throw a knife, but I watched you do that with your right hand and it's a pretty complicated sequence of movements and you have to let go of it at exactly the right time and I couldn't figure out how to make it work. Sorry.”

Ross was giving her a very strange look.

“You hate it. That's okay. I don't mind.” She snatched the diagram and crumpled it behind her.

He whispered, “It's perfect.”

“What?” Mia bent closer.

Ross lifted his chin. His eyes were so dark they looked black, framed by thick, curling eyelashes. Mia's bones caught on fire. She wasn't sure she could stop herself from kissing him, or possibly from passing out. She crushed her diagram into a sweaty ball.

Ross reached up with his good hand and touched the side of her face. The diagram fell to the floor. His hand was warm on her cheek, cupping it as gently as if she were some prospected treasure he had to be careful not to break.

She gave into the impulse she'd been fighting for so long, and stroked his hair. He didn't flinch.

Ross lifted his other hand and reached behind her neck. He pulled her in, and Mia had only an instant to disbelieve that it was really happening.

He kissed her.

She felt the contact all the way through her body, not just on her lips, hot and tingling like a mild electric shock. A good shock. Her fingers closed around a handful of his hair, then slid down the smooth skin of his back, bumping gently over his ribs. He stroked her neck lightly. Now she felt like she was on fire. But good fire. Then he clutched her shoulders, loosely with his left hand and almost bruisingly with his right, and kissed her harder. He didn't even let go when he had to tip his head back to take a breath. She let him breathe, then caught him by the shoulders and kissed him back. And then Mia couldn't analyze what she felt like, because she wasn't thinking at all.

Ross pulled her down beside him, and she lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder and his hair falling over her face. It smelled deliciously like the lemongrass soap she'd helped make for the infirmary. She wrapped her arms around him, half expecting him to freeze, but he drew her in even closer. He was so warm, and his skin was so soft, and he was holding her as if it would kill him to let her go. It made every awful, terrifying, miserable moment in the last month worthwhile.

Ross said quietly, “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.”

Mia blinked. “Oh, really? You too?”

He nodded. She leaned over and pressed her lips into the hollow of his throat.

“I see you've recovered, Ross,” said Mr. Preston.

Mia recoiled in surprise—and fell off the bed with a crash.

When she scrambled up, Ross's face was at least as red as hers had to be.

“I could come back at a better time,” Mr. Preston offered, sounding amused.

“No, no,” Ross managed.

Mia nodded so quickly her glasses almost flew across the room. “It's okay!” The only thing that was worse than Mr. Preston catching them kissing was the thought that if he left, he would know they were kissing right then.

“Ross, I'm here on the mayor's behalf as well as my own. We wanted to thank you for what you did for our town.”

Mia put a protective hand on his shoulder. She could feel his muscles tensing.

“You . . .” Mr. Preston hesitated, his mouth twisting. Then his face resumed its usual calm expression. “That's quite an impressive Change power of yours. I'd like to know more about it.”

Ross started trembling. Mia said, “It almost killed him. You can't ask him to do it again.”

Mr. Preston raised his heavy eyebrows. “I didn't realize it took so much out of you. Anyway, there'll be no problem with you becoming a citizen, if that's what you want. Your probation's over.”

Ross stopped breathing, giving her a moment of pure terror. Then she felt him inhale. “Let me ask you something. Do you think Voske will try again?”

“I'm sure of it.”

With an effort, Ross sat up straight, bracing his palms against the mattress. “I've decided—I want to sell you my book. I think the town needs it.”

Mr. Preston actually smiled. “Thank you. We'll give you good value for it. We can talk about the terms later. For now, I'll leave you to your . . . recovery.” To Mia's embarrassment, he winked at her as he left.

When his footsteps had safely faded, Ross whispered, “I feel like I just escaped a collapsing mine.”

“He's even scarier when he's trying to be nice,” Mia agreed.

Ross nodded. “But his offer . . . Becoming a citizen . . .” He paused so long that she too forgot to breathe. “I'll take it.”

“You will?” Mia heard her own voice rise up in a squeak. She threw her arms around him, almost as thrilled as she'd been when he'd kissed her. “You will! Great!”

“Your father and I had a long talk about it. He thought Preston might make the offer,” he admitted. “So I had some time to think about it. I thought about it. I want to stay.” For the first time, he sounded certain.

A thought came to Mia's mind, making her giggle. “Mr. Preston doesn't know he won't be able to read the book, does he? When are you planning to spring that on him?”

Ross laughed. “I thought I'd get Yuki to read it first. I'd like to know what it says.”

“Shall I go ask him?”

He tugged her back to the bed. “How about later?”