Page 36 of Discovered Magic
He nodded. “Bart’s fair, or he would not last here among these people. But be wary, and don’t show more than you must. A few ounces at most, or it will bring the wolves to your door.”
“Thank you.”
Castor slid him two of the smaller pieces as a gesture of thanks.
“I do not need your gold,” Stands-in-Shadow protested.
Wilder folded the fingers of the man’s outstretched hand. “He can afford it, and you’ve given us a lot already, Shadow. We’d be grateful if you would take it for times you may need to board your líí' or pay for his feed.”
Bart returned, slamming and locking his door with a grumble. They chose to ignore his surliness.
The Guide slipped the gold into a pouch hanging from his waistband. The sleight of hand was performed in Wilder’s peripheral vision, but was definitely magician-worthy. At some point in life, Stands-in-Shadow had learned to be cautious of strangers and merchants. Wilder hoped it wasn’t from being screwed over in the past, but feared it was.
“From the looks and sound of ya, yer not from these parts. Back East?” Bart asked after unlocking the shop and striking a match to light a lantern.
“I am,” Wilder said. “My father-in-law is from Europe, though he lives in New York now.”
Though Castor shot him an amused look, he didn’t deny the claim.
“What brings you fellas to The Devil’s Backbone?”
“I thought this place was called Perdition Ridge,” Castor said sharply.
“It is, but only those owin’ their souls to Old Scratch reside in these parts,” Bart said, eyeing them from head to toe. “Yer needin’ it all, I’m guessin’.”
“Yes,” Wilder said.
“Them’s mighty fine duds. Ya rich, then?” Greed gleamed in the merchant’s eyes, urging caution.
“No. We’re here on business.”
“Business? What business?” Bart asked suspiciously.
Behind his back, Castor flared his eyes in warning.
“Actually, Mr. Mercer, we’re looking for a woman. Perhaps you know her? She would’ve shown up about two years ago,” Wilder said.
In a calculated move, Bart scratched the expanse of his belly and narrowed his eyes, as if in deep thought. “Well, let’s see here…”
“It’s understandable if you don’t have recall, a man of your years,” Castor said with an airy wave. “Don’t bother yourself about it, my good man. Let’s resume our shopping expedition, shall we?”
“I didn’t rightly say I didn’t know of her.” When he got a stone-eyed stare for his comment, Bart tried another tactic. “It might be Crazy Mary you’re referrin’ to. But if it is, good luck to ya, friend. Me and some of them others made fair offers. But Masters thinks he’s high and mighty, protectin’ her like she’s somethin’ sacred.”
“Masters? Where might I find this, Masters?” Wilder asked, using every ounce of his willpower not to beat the information out of the sleazeball. As beautiful as Abbie was, there was little doubt what his “fair offer” was for.
“This time of night? The Broken Halo or the whorehouse if he’s not stickin’ it to Crazy Mary.”
Wilder saw red, and only a cautionary hand from Stands-in-Shadow curbed his impulse to pulverize the store owner.
“Are ya tradin’?” Bart asked, ignorant of his impending demise.
“No,” Castor said succinctly. “Though dusty, our clothes are in good condition—for church—and we’re willing to pay a fair price for your wares and add a small fee for your time.”
Wilder choked.
The idea of two warlocks in church was one ridiculous claim too much.
“Ya said clothes, guns, and tack.” Bart stacked two pistols and bullets on the bar before tallying the clothes and the handful of things Stands-in-Shadow brought to him, including a bowler hat and a floppy-brimmed cowboy hat. “That’ll cost ya two hundred and twenty-six dollars for what your injun is pilin’ up.”
