Part 22 (2/2)

He took the rifle from me.

”I can be useful in other ways,” I suggested.

”Like what?”

”I'm smart,” I said. ”And I knew the girl had that b.u.t.ton in her hand. There could be other things that would come to me from the dead. And the dead always tell the truth, Jack.”

He began shoving cartridges into the bottom of the rifle.

”I know you don't understand about the aura,” I said. ”But if I don't get it back, I'm never going to be myself.”

”You seem fine to me.”

”I won't be for long,” I said. ”Without my aura, I'll turn into somebody else. It'll happen so gradual that n.o.body will notice the change, at least not at first. But it's already started. Remember the mezcal binge? When you met me, I was at McCarty's seeking a cure for a hangover. That's not me, Jack. And when I channeled Katie Bender? I don't know if that was her or not, but it was something evil. These things won't stop until I have my aura back.”

He stopped loading the gun. ”What happens if you die without it?”

”I don't know, Jack. I'm scared.”

He sighed and then muttered beneath his breath.

”Can you ride?”

28.

I had grown up with Tennessee walking horses, the kind of mount that plantation owners would survey their acres from. Such horses were known for their gentle ways and easy ride. What I needed was something fast and tough. So, at Bell Livery on Third, south of the deadline, I chose an Arabian mare named Fatima and a Texas saddle-although Bell first tried to sell me a sidesaddle. I said to have both horse and tack ready in half an hour, and then I went to the Dodge House. There I packed what little I owned into the valise, including the take from the performances at the opera house-just over five hundred dollars and change. It would be just enough to settle up at the Dodge House, buy the horse and saddle, and a few incidentals. I had picked up my regular clothes at the laundry, and I left the flannel and denim borrowed from Tom the Jailer on the bed.

There was only one thing left to do.

I opened the window over Front Street.

The problem with ravens and other corvids is that once they imprint on a person, it's for life. If given to another owner, they become deeply melancholic and often will themselves dead. I had raised Eddie since he was just a baby. If I left him for someone else to take care of, even somebody as kind as Doc McCarty, odds were that Eddie would soon become miserable and would eventually die. So there was only one thing to do.

I opened the cage and reached my hand in. Eddie rubbed his beak against my fingers, the membrane over his eyes half closing in contentment. Then I took him out of the cage and held him for a moment on my forearm, stroking his gleaming blue-black feathers.

”I'm sorry, Eddie,” I said. ”My hand is played out and I'm about to jump off the edge of the world for G.o.d knows where. I don't expect to come back, considering the amount of weaponry Calder was preparing, and from the tone of his voice. But if I don't go, I'm never going to get my aura back. It's better to die trying than to just sit and waste away into somebody else, don't you think?”

He c.o.c.ked his head.

”I know. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry.”

I started to cry.

”At least this way, you'll have a chance,” I said. ”Ravens are smart, and you're the smartest of them all. Why, if you could learn the things I taught you, you will do just fine on your own. But you'll have to look out for hawks and eagles, and probably hang around town so you can eat sc.r.a.ps the restaurants throw out their back doors. I recommend Tin Pot Alley, since there always seems to be fresh slop there.”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand.

”And who knows?” I told him. ”Maybe I will come back, and you'll still be here in Dodge, and you'll find me and we'll be like we always were-inseparable. What do you think, baby? We'll meet again, right?”

”'Nevermore.'”

Now I was truly bawling.

I carried him to the open window.

”Go on,” I said.

He didn't budge.

”Take off,” I said. ”You're free.”

He swiveled his head to look at me with first one eye, and then the other.

”Fly, d.a.m.n it!”

I shoved my arm out the window and shook it, and Eddie squawked and snarled and dug his claws into my arm, trying to hang on. Then I shook harder, and Eddie flew off. He swung out low over North Front, flapped over the train depot, and then turned sharply, coming back to the hotel.

I slammed the window shut.

29.

Calder met me at the livery. He was riding a big bay. The enormous rifle in a scabbard was tied to the saddle, and the ridiculously large revolver was set on his hip. He was also wearing a hat, a no-nonsense tan felt hat with a wide brim.

”Good horse,” he said when I brought out the Arabian.

”My father knew horses,” I said. ”He pa.s.sed some of that down to me.”

Calder had brought an extra tarp and bedroll, which I tied behind my saddle.

”I brought you something,” Calder said, reaching behind to take something from back of the saddle. Then he held out a woman's hat, a lady's black riding hat, with a high crown and narrow brim. There were black ribbons trailing down the back.

I took it reluctantly.

”I know it's not a gentleman's hat, which you would prefer,” he said. ”But you need a hat, and with this one, you can tie the ribbons beneath your chin if there's a wind, and at least it has some brim to protect you from the sun. It belongs . . . Well, it used to belong to somebody I know, but they have no use for it anymore.”

”I'm not her, Jack.”

”I know,” he said quickly, and rubbed his jaw, as if the words ached in his mouth. ”It's just a hat. Wear it or not.”

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