Page 80 of Spring's Arcana
“That’s one,” the cowboy said mildly, yet with an edge of menace under the words. The entire room creaked, a shadow passing through directionless golden light. “Don’t make it two, horsethief.”
That was when Nat realized there weren’t any electrical fixtures, just the fire and that gold glow. It was the thick syrupy light of a desert afternoon in certain movies, when the stagecoach came rumbling around a bend and the title music faded.
Come on, Nat.Maria Drozdova was lying in a hospice bed, struggling to breathe, counting on her daughter. She wasn’t perfect—but who was? And she was Nat’smother. That had to come first.
Right?
“She sent me for the Cup.” Nat tried a sip of the coffee. It even tasted just like Leo’s. “In a well to the West,” she continued, reciting the lesson she had no trouble remembering because Mom wasn’t pinning her with the bright blue stare that made wordsjumble together in her throat, and didn’t miss Dmitri’s sudden tension.
“Oh, ayuh,” Ranger said. “What she left with me is safe, a’course. And I’ll tell you what, Miss Drozdova. You spend the night with me, and I’ll lend you the iron horse to get there.”
DIFFERENT HURTS
The sky had cleared, and hard diamond stars shimmered in dry darkness. The wind was up, though, and it smelled of thick cold precipitation; a void hung on the northern horizon, clouds massing to blot out tiny shimmering points.
It was indeed going to storm tonight.
The bar’s back porch held one faint incandescent bulb trapped in an old-fashioned iron lantern fixture; with so little in the way of light pollution the Milky Way could be seen spilling across heaven’s vault. Nat pulled her peacoat close and pushed her hands into the pockets, though the cold didn’t bother her. Maybe the vodka in the coffee was keeping it at bay. She stood at the top of the porch steps, a strip of gravel fringing into prairie sod a stone’s throw away, vanishing into the dark. Even with the cover of night, the sheer physical immensity of the landscape could make anyone uneasy.
Was there a divinity of stars? Of weather in general? Where did they live, and what did they look like, and would Nat ever find out?
If she could get a car like Dmitri’s maybe she could travel, once Mom was well again. It sounded great. “I don’t really have a choice.” Which was true all the way through this thing, really.
Music thumped faintly inside the bar. The night was just getting started in Hardesty’s only bar.
“I don’t like it.” Dmitri took a long drag on his cigarette, the cherrytip glowing, a baleful eye. He stood on the step below her, so their heads were almost—but not quite—level. “He dangerous,zaika.”
Well, everything about this was. “Like you.” Still, Nat was pretty sure Ranger wasn’t intending to shoot her, or use a straight razor.
The thought that Dmitri might simplybite,with those very white, very sharp teeth, was not comforting at all.
He made another short, dismissive noise. “Dima has vested interest in keeping you alive.”
For now.Getting into that argument wouldn’t solve anything. Nat’s shoulders ached; it was a conscious effort to keep them from hovering near her ears. What was Mom thinking right now? Did she know Nat was doing her best?
Probably not. She never had before. “I don’t think he’s going to hurt me.”And even if he did, it’s worth it if it helps Mom.
There it was, the entire problem reduced to its barest simplicity.
“Lots of different kinds of pain.” Dima’s expression turned stubborn, and he scowled at her.
Did he think she was unaware of that single, stark fact? “I know.”
“Fine.” He turned away to glare into the night, a short sharp movement. “But if hedohurt you,zaika moya,I make him pay.”
“You’ll just be mad you didn’t get to it first.” It leapt from her lips, a stinging truth, and Nat crushed the sudden urge to clap a hand over her mouth.
The gangster’s shoulders hunched as if she’d struck him, and he swung back to face her, snake-quick. His right hand, half-curled, lifted slightly, and for a moment Nat thought he was about to hit her.
She stepped back hurriedly, onto the creaking porch, and Dmitri studied her. His dark eyes glittered under the incandescent bulb’s weak golden shimmer, shadows gathered behind him, and the wind rose sharply, tugging at her coat and ruffling his dark, slicked-down hair.
He didn’t speak for a long moment, eyeing her like she’d grown another head. “You think so?” When he moved again, it was to dig in his jacket pocket with his right hand, cupping his left around the cigarette and lifting it to his mouth. “Here.” He fished out a small glittering thing, and offered it to her.
Nat peered at his hand, finding only a silvery, metallic oblong. “What is it?”
“Zippo.” His fingers flicked. The top of the rectangle opened and a bright brief star of flame bloomed, then died as he snapped it closed. It looked vaguely like Leo’s ancient, foreign lighter. “You take it. If you need Dima, you justpoof.”
Oh, hell.That was worse thanoh, God;if divinities were real, could some kind of hell be far behind? “That’s very nice,” she hedged.
