Running down the slope, she and Flea almost collided in the dark. He had a pistol out, sweeping surroundings. Theo mentally berated herself, that Flea had seen her coming before she’d seen him. She almost shrieked when he caught her arm, hand tight around her bicep as he kept alert to the shadows.

  “Heard more shots,” Flea said in a low voice. “You see anything, kid?”

  She shook her head. “Ran when I heard the first one.” She stepped back and out of his grip.

  “You got matches?” he asked quickly, almost panicked.

  Theo patted a pocket, nodding.

  “Get on down to the riverbank, quick-like,” he muttered as he continued past her, his frame bent low as he jogged up the gradient with his pistol held in a proficient, two-hand position.

  Theo burst through the tree line to find several of the men in a scuffle while the rest were splashing in the shallow shore of the river, wading back and forth, shouting August’s name.

  Brody had an arm hooked around Pathfinder’s neck, trying to restrain him from behind as two others tried to help. Pathfinder wasn’t a huge man, but he was a skilled fighter and strong as an ox. He got free of Brody and swung at him. Brody ducked, dodged the blow, and Pathfinder’s own momentum threw him off-balance—Brody dove for his midsection and the two tumbled to the ground.

  “August!” the men shouted through cupped hands at the inky, midnight water.

  August must have gone under water and not come back up.

  “Handkerchief!” Theo yelled as she sprinted to the shore, snatching a fallen branch from the ground on her way. “Somebody give me a something dry to catch fire!”

  Rook splashed over to her as he plucked a handkerchief from where he kept it tucked at his breast.

  “Flea’s gone to fetch matches,” he said as his eyes darted toward camp.

  “I’ve got some.” She snatched the handkerchief from his hand and wrapped it around the stick, scanning the surface of the water for any signs of August’s body, but found it just as impossible as the men had.

  “Ready little runt, ain’t ya?” Rook said.

  “How long has he been under?” Theo asked as she struck a match.

  “Less than a minute.”

  “Good.” The handkerchief caught fire and Theo waded deeper, sweeping the temporary light across the surface. The yellow light caught the break in the surface, a hand or a foot or an elbow gently bobbing away from them in the slow current.

  “There!” she called, pointing.

  Rook and John dove after August, and moments later, they were dragging the lifeless body of August onto the shore. They laid him in the sand and knelt around him.

  Pathfinder had finally come back to himself, his understanding of the reality he was in finally registering. He’d been stuck in the past, trapped in a trauma. He curled his body into a crouch, his head in his hands as he muttered something to himself.

  “Move,” Theo said as she shoved Spartan, who had his head bent low over August’s face, his ear nearly touching August’s lips in an attempt to find a breath, out of the way.

  Spartan said, “He’s not breathing.”

  She wrapped her fingers around August’s wrist and felt a strong pulse.

  “Come on, August,” she muttered as she snaked her hand under his neck.

  When she’d thrown the bullets into the fire, she hadn’t expected it to lead to August edging death, for if he died right now, fingers might point at her, but worse, they were liable to pack up and return to Bladestay. This was too soon. She couldn’t afford his death right now, not yet.

  She lifted to tilt his head back as she stuck her fingers into his mouth to pry it open.

  The moments of silence that passed were chilling. She could feel the building anger of the men, their silent glances among themselves a vow to avenge.

  Come on, August, comeoncomeoncomeon.

  He gasped and coughed roughly, his body constricting and tightening as he rolled onto his side. Everyone stepped back a pace, aside from Theo, who put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was a mindless response, a biological impulse to comfort a person who was dragging themselves back from the grave.

  Propped on an elbow, August coughed and hacked the water from his lungs.

  As understanding of his situation began to dawn, August pushed himself to his feet, holding his chest as he continued to regain his breath. He spun slowly in a stumbling circle, placing his hand on Theo’s shoulder momentarily to steady himself, then his eyes landed on Pathfinder and his hand slipped away.

  When he reached Pathfinder, August knelt in front of him. He coughed again, clearing his chest of the river.

  Theo tensed, wondering what retribution August might have for Pathfinder. She stole a glance at Brody, who was watching August with a similar apprehension.

  What August did next didn’t surprise the established gang, but what Theo witnessed was the single most thing that would continue to haunt her long after this was over. August placed his hands on either side of Pathfinder’s head, over Pathfinder’s own hands, and moved his head to force Pathfinder to look him in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” Pathfinder said with so much torment that it tugged on Theo’s heart.

  “It’s over, brother. It’s over.” Then August leaned his forehead against Pathfinder’s—it was brief, but Theo had the urge to look away, that this was too intimate for a crowd. “It’s over,” August said once more before laying a hand on his knee to shove himself to his feet. When he got there, he reached his hand down to Pathfinder; Pathfinder gripped August’s forearm and August hauled him to his feet.

  “Shiner’s dead,” Flea said. He stood there almost aimlessly, his arms dangling at his side, one of his hands in a fist where Theo presumed he held the too-little-too-late matchbox.

  They all turned.

  “No,” Rook said.

  August hung his head, rubbed his eyebrow, and began to walk up the bank back toward camp. He stopped when he went by Theo, at her side, close enough that the edges of their arms were touching. Raking his hand through sopping hair, he looked down at her.

  Their eyes locked as if he were talking to her, but when he spoke it was loudly for all to hear: “Who’s responsible for me being upright?”

  “Pine,” came the collective response.

  August nodded, curled his hand over her narrow shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, then continued back to camp.

  “Haas ain’t working alone,” August announced as he walked up the hill. He took a deep inhale and said, “I smell a cahoots,” as if he could literally sniff it out.

  August paused, then said, “Ain’t no Creed getting off this mountain alive.”

  Theo felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

  “Hear?” August said.

  “Hear,” came the collective response as the men started to follow August back to camp.

  But Theo couldn’t move. When she lifted her gaze into the dense shadows, she found the silhouette of Brody Boone, and although she couldn’t see his black eyes, she knew they were watching her.

  CHAPTER 18

  Brody emerged from the black shadows after the gang disappeared over the hill. He stopped when he was directly in front of her, the tips of his boots almost touching hers. For the life of her, she couldn’t lift her chin to look him in the eye.

  “We’re overdue for a conversation, you ’n’ me. Come my turn on post, you’re gonna tell me the things you’ve been hiding—”

  “Such as?” Theo said, which was, admittedly, an unnecessary taunt.

  “Such as why you picked a fight with me for no damn reason. My pistol was loaded when I handed it to you.”

  “That so?” Theo said.

  “That’s so.”

  “Then why’d you cover for me?”

  “You know, Pine, August’s too arrogant to think you’d cross him.” He leaned down a little closer, his cheek close to hers as he added into her ear: “But I ain’t.” Then he breezed by her, angling his body to flow around hers as if he couldn’t be bothered with the extra steps it would take to go around, like an apparition he moved by her without touching her at all, and like a ghost, it made Theo feel cold all over.

  As she listened to his dreadfully quiet feet move past the sandy bank and into the underbrush, Theo slammed her eyes shut, balled her hands at her sides, and forced a steadiness to her breathing. She stood like that for about a minute until the tension fled, her thoughts leveled, her heartbeat slowed.

  If August himself would have muttered such a threat, it wouldn’t have left her half as unbalanced. Brody Boone was the most turbulent calm she had ever encountered.

  A rustle in the brush made her send a scowl over her shoulder. Brody was already lost to the shadows.

  She stepped down to the water’s edge and crouched there, sinking her fingers into the cold sand below the shallow. Pressing the cold over her face, she submerged her hands and did it again. Again and again, anything to keep her from going back to that den of monsters.

  Something—someone—grabbed a handful of hair at the top of her head, and before she could think to draw breath, plunged her face into the shallow. She screamed into the water and kicked blindly behind her. Her heel hit something, and for a moment, the man who had her by the hair faltered and loosened his grip. Theo squirmed and flipped her body, coughing out pieces of the river. About the same time she caught her breath, the man had the edge of a hunting blade pressed against her jugular.

  “Quiet,” her attacker warned in a low, deep voice. “Or I kill you.”

  She blinked. She knew that voice. “Zeke?”

  Immediately, the weight of his knee was lifted from her chest and the sharp edge taken from her throat.

  “Theo?” he whispered.

  There was a violent bloom of relief in Theo’s chest. Zeke scooped her up and hugged her, both of them on their knees, his knife still in-hand against her back.

  “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re here. Where’s Mom?” His whisper was desperate. “Eve and the boys?”

  “Safe,” she whispered back, even though she had no way to be certain if that was the case.

  He let go of her and pulled her up with him as he stood. They moved down the riverbank before they spoke again. He kept the hunting knife gripped at his side.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “You their hostage?”

  “Something like that,” she whispered back. “Where’s Jude?” She sent nervous appraisals at the night. “Did Dad get a clean break for Clayton Creek?” They had to keep moving.

  Zeke jutted his chin to the northeast, vaguely in the direction of where August and crew were headed. “Jude’s with me. Dad’s gone ahead with Elliot.”

  Her brother started to move down the riverbank, tugging Theo with him.

  “Wait—what?” she whispered after him as she followed. “Elliot and Dad’s gone ahead where?”

  “Come on—quickly,” Zeke said, not slowing.

  Theo glanced around then trotted after her big brother.

  After winding down the curves in the river, Zeke stopped around a sharp bend where the trees went all the way to the waterline. Once under relative cover, he returned the hunting blade to the sheath strapped to his calf.

  “You armed?” he asked.

  “Just a knife. Where’s Jude? And Bram?” She took a scrupulous look through the trees. “And why did you all separate?” There were too many contradictions, and she couldn’t sort a single thing out in her head.

  “You’re safe now, Theo,” Zeke soothed. “Relax. We got a plan. Okay?”

  “Who’s we, Z? What plan?”

  “You don’t need to worry anymore. Come on, this way,” he said as he started back down the waterline, but this time he started to weave into the trees.

  “What happened, Zeke?”

  Zeke kept walking, and Theo thought he might actually continue to blow her off. “Dad was supposed to take Elliot to the pass.” Zeke again jutted his chin to the northeast.

  “You seriously telling me that he didn’t go to Clayton Creek?”

  Zeke shook his head.

  “Then who did?” After all that—Evangeline had been dragged out of safety only to tell August the truth. Theo wanted to scream.

  Zeke shrugged as if that didn’t concern him. Then, to her utter shock, he just kept walking. As if this wasn’t one of the most important conversations she’d ever had in her life. As if that piece of information wasn’t the difference between life and death for their mother. Their sister. Their brothers. For every Bladestay townsperson.

  “Damn it, Zeke!” She stopped following and fought the urge to stomp her foot at him. “What the hell’s a matter with you?”

  Zeke stopped but didn’t turn around for a moment, only tilted his head back with a small groan as if dealing with this, with her, was a typical, day-to-day little-sister inconvenience that interrupted whatever his plans were.

  Finally, he turned to face her. “We was trying to divert Gaines’s lot. Get his attention off the town.”

  Old news. “And how’s that working out? There’s still at least a dozen men holding our town hostage.” It bothered Theo that the name of August Gaines was in her brother’s mouth. She had an uneasy idea who put it there. Quickly, she added, “What good is any of this if nobody’s actually gone for help?”

  “Listen, Theo. We’ve got it covered. Okay?”

  “You don’t know what you’re up against, Zeke,” Theo said. “They’re after Bram. Do you know that?”

  “Come on,” he said, pulling her forward. “This way.”

  She tore her arm away. “Why does none of this concern you? Nobody’s gone for help and Mama and Evie and the boys are just sitting at home, waiting for it.”

  Zeke went still. “August don’t know who he’s dealing with.”

  Theo fumed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Would you just—” Zeke rubbed the spot between his eyes in a way that made Theo feel like a little child.

  “Where’s Jude, Zeke?” Theo snapped. “Is he okay?”

  Zeke softened. “He’s okay. Would you just let me show you?”

  “Fine.” She gestured angrily. “Show me.”

  Zeke kept walking and Theo kept following. South, south, due south.

  Theo peered into the trees. She’d snag a glance of the stars every time there was a break in the gangly limbs of the forest above.

  Still: backtracking. Not at all on the way to the pass.

  Finally, they rounded a sharp corner against a steep hillside and on the other side was—

  Theo stopped abruptly.

  Blacksmith had his profile to Theo. Next to him was Jude. They were laughing at something.

  But that’s not what made her breath catch.

  “No, son!” Blacksmith laughed, elbowing Jude playfully. “Like this—”

  Blacksmith blinked at her.

  Jude glimpsed his brother and sister, did a double take on the latter, his smile frozen in place. He dropped the rope he had in his hand and crossed camp to her, encasing her in a hug so warm and familiar that Theo almost broke down.

  “You’re alive,” he said, squeezing her a little tighter.

  She stepped out of Jude’s embrace with a strained smile and looked past him to the other side of the fire. She recognized wild black hair and ever-ready posture. Brody was glaring at her with accusation so intense that it made her stomach flip. Next to him was John, staring at her with just as much accusation but not quite as much hurt. She felt an overwhelming need to explain herself to Brody. But he was tied to a tree like the enemy he was and before she knew it, Theo was encased in Blacksmith’s arms and now she was crying, quietly clutching him. Her body jerked in silenced sobs and Blacksmith held her tight, held her in such a way as if he understood the exact weight of all the dread she’d been carrying up this mountain.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly, his words too quiet for the prisoners. “You’re safe now.”

  And she felt the truth in it, the absolute clarity that relief brought when you were able to defer to somebody older and wiser.

  “Come on.” Blacksmith stepped back and led her forward. “Over here.” He walked her toward the tree to which Brody and John were secured but kept her in a safe distance. When her eyes met John’s, he spat on the ground, at her. He didn’t need to say the word traitor for her to hear it in her own head. Brody’s glare followed her. The meager fire reflected a dancing gold in his ferocious eyes. When his face fully came into view, she saw the remnants of a bloody nose across his lips.

  That’s when she felt it again. That unrestful thing.

  That antithetical thing.

  CHAPTER 19

  Blacksmith draped a thick fur over Theo’s back.

  “Here, lad.” He gestured to the saddle blanket laid farther back from the fire, on the opposite side from the prisoners. “Sit.”

  Theo tugged the fur over her shoulders, mind racing. Blacksmith was playing along. She held back a frown. Feeling numb, she lowered herself onto the blanket. Jude sat down next to her. Zeke brought her a canteen. She drank from it, closing her eyes in relief, drinking deeply when she discovered the depths of her thirst.

  John averted his eyes downward. Brody pressed his lips together.

  Blacksmith watched the brief interaction. Studied the way his prisoners reacted to Theo.

  “Are you hungry?” Blacksmith asked Theo.

  She was, a little, but not enough to eat in front of Brody and John. Already, quenching her thirst while these men had their hands tied behind their back felt wrong somehow. She shook her head no.

  He jutted his chin at Zeke, and regardless of her answer, he fetched her a satchel of wild berries.

  She didn’t touch them. Zeke backed several paces from her, from Blacksmith, when Blacksmith unsheathed a large hunting knife. The blade glinted, winking the orange of their small fire.

  “Were you their prisoner?” Blacksmith asked Theo. John stiffened when Blacksmith approached them. Brody gave Blacksmith a passing glance before returning his accusations on Theo.

 

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