Badlands Witch (Cormac and Amelia 2)

“They started with that. Then Durant explained in great detail how she planned it out, and why. So, it’s murder one now. I expect she may not be competent to stand trial. That’s where I’d go if I were her lawyer. But I’m not, thank God.”

“It’s my fault Aubrey is dead.”

Ben didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t deny it—if Cormac had never come here, the archeologist would still be alive. Finally, his cousin sighed. “I don’t think you need to carry that one around with you. You nailed Durant, and that matters.”

Woman nailed herself. If only she had just let it all go. Her Master, the man she was avenging? He hadn’t given a shit about her.

“When can I go home?” Cormac asked. Not that he could drive. Not that he actually felt like getting out of bed at the moment.

“They’ll spring you tomorrow if you promise not to be an ass about it and then see an orthopedist the minute you get home,” Ben said.

That sounded bad. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

A knock came at the door. The way both he and Ben flinched, it was like they had people with guns coming after them on a regular basis. The door opened, but instead of a nurse, Gregory from the tea shop leaned in. “They said you were awake. Up for a visit?”

“Yeah,” Cormac murmured.

He looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep, ashen around the eyes, moving carefully. But his clothes were neat and polished as ever. “I am glad to see you in one piece.”

“Mostly,” Cormac said. “This is Ben, my cousin. Ben, Gregory.”

They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries.

Who is this? Cormac had to quickly explain who Gregory was, the tea shop, all of it. As he expected, he sensed some faint jealousy from her—Tea on the Range was exactly the kind of place she loved. Then she said, We owe him a great deal, then.

Yeah. “Thanks,” he told Gregory, on her behalf. “We couldn’t have got through this without you.”

“We. You mean the Queen of Swords?”

“Amelia. Yeah. She’s happy to meet you.”

Gregory pressed his lips together, appearing thoughtful.

“Takes some getting used to,” Ben observed.

“Well, it’s worth it for

the stories.” He drew a small, silk-wrapped bundle from his pocket. “I decided this wants to live with you. You seem to have a connection to it.”

Cormac rested the bundle on his lap, unwrapped it. The Deadwood Tarot deck. He flipped the first few cards up, the cow skulls and lightning strikes, barbed wire and six-shooters. Amelia let out a mental sigh of pure admiration.

“Thanks. Amelia loves it.”

“Good,” Gregory said.

I cannot wait to explore this. But what did he mean, the Queen of Swords?

It was a message, he told her. The card kept coming up. “Ben, my jacket. There should have been a couple of cards in the pocket.”

Cormac’s belongings had all been shoved in a plastic bag when he’d landed in the emergency room. The jacket was ruined—big hole in the shoulder, covered in blood. But they’d cleared out the pockets before throwing it out. Ben dug through the bag, now sitting at his feet, and found the two cards. Cormac reunited them with the rest of the deck, setting them face up where Amelia could see.

Annie Oakley. I sent an S.O.S. out to the universe. . .and this is what turned up? I am astonished.

So were we.

I saw her once, when I was a girl. Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show came to London. I saw it. I saw her. I thought she was so beautiful.

I think she looks a little like you.