Mar ch 5| That’s Some Stare

I meander through the streets in no hurry to arrive at our rendezvous. I know exactly where the saloon is. It was one of the places where I sat outside and guarded the horses. Not normal horses. Hum-horses. The crown jewels of the Azuré estate.

Like the message bugs, they have no place in nature. They claim the size, strength, and speed of a Thoroughbred. Instead of hooves, they have talons and huge wings. Their entire mass appears to be raging flames, though they are no warmer than an average horse.

They smell nothing like an average horse, and I have always been wary of them.

I’m like them now. Nature has no idea what to do with me.

Dr. Plunker’s words echo in my thoughts. I belong to Asher. As a dog, not as a boy. My eyes are too conspicuous. Memorable. Recognizable.

I scowl at the black cloth in my hand, though I understand the doctor’s reason. I know only one Judge, a cousin to Father and Uncle. Ao, my brother, shares my coloring, though he has two blue eyes and is never missing from Judge’s side. Judge always makes a big deal of how disconcerting my gaze is.

My familiar eyes and merle hair would prompt him to look closer. Judge is a discerning man, and given enough clues, he’ll solve this puzzle. My gaze isn’t all that will disturb him now.

When Brute’s attack becomes known, it won’t matter he only did as he was told. They will hunt him, me as well, even if I’m nothing like him.

I understand that fear. I share it. Instinct doesn’t allow me to trust the hum-horses or the message bugs. Instinct doesn’t know what I should think of myself.

The disguise is yet another product of Dr. Plunker’s wisdom, yet it is more betrayal. My mismatched eyes are a part of who I am and the reason Asher chose me. While so much of me changed, they remained. To deny how they are is to deny the last part of myself.

Still, Brute’s eyes are as unique a pair as mine: one golden and the other dark green.

These conflicting thoughts ring between my ears as I wander into the saloon. Curious stares greet me, and I keep my head down, though curiosity pulls at me, too. A menagerie of smells competes for my attention. Climbing onto the stool at the end of the bar, I listen, breathe, and focus my thoughts.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asks.

I glance up.

He flinches. “That’s some stare you’ve got.”

My mouth quirks into a mirthless grin. “So I’ve been told.”

“What can I get you? Booze? Coffee? Steak?”

“Steak,” I repeat before his list continues.

“Steak it is.” He fishes a fork and knife from a bucket and sets them on the counter. “Anything to drink with that?”

“Water,” I say like that should be obvious. Despite all that Mrs. Plunker has introduced to me, I prefer water over everything besides gravy, which she claims is not a beverage.

The bartender nods. Doubt clouds his expression, but he says nothing as he slips into the kitchen.

As I listen to the other patrons, a fragrance catches my attention and stops my heart. A scent so much like Asher’s, but it is not him, I realize as I take another breath. This must be a close relative, though.

I look around and locate my target on the first sweep. He stands by the door, hands clutching the lapels of his beige, three-piece suit as he converses with another man.

“You want the whole litter?” this one questions.

His associate responds with a jovial laugh. I know that laugh. It is the harbinger of cruelty. My hackles rise, and I drop off the stool, ready to run the moment he looks in my direction.

“Any pup you’re willing to part with for that generous price.”

My ears snap up. Buying pups?

“I’ll pay you double for any with mismatched eyes.”

My gaze narrows on this enemy. Instinct commands I run. Something else deep within my gut, quieter but no less insistent, demands I protect those pups and stop this incarnation of evil.

Memory reels in my mind. How many times I saw this man during my imprisonment. The wardens called him Master Nabal. He was their alpha, and under his gaze their whips were faster, their needles deeper, their touch crueler. Everything they did was at his bidding, but he was always beyond my reach. He watched from behind glass or a walkway high above, never giving my nose opportunity to discover his relation to Asher.

That means little at this moment. I hate him.

That laugh strikes my ears again. It’s a human sound designed to radiate innocence and joy, but from him it is praise for the wardens. The larger our reaction—the scream, the terror—the louder the laugh.

My hand glides onto the counter behind me and wraps the knife’s wooden handle. On silent feet, I stalk forward, but a different perfume renders me motionless.

She steps in my path, honey-gold eyes filled with confusion. Her bronze skin glistens in the dusty afternoon light straining through the small windows: Esperanza, my second-favorite person, a cattle hand’s daughter. Though Asher was many times scolded for “spending too much time with her,” I preferred it when I could watch over them both at once.

“Mar?” Her hands fly toward my shoulders but cup my face instead and sweep my hair from my eyes.

I have no words, no voice. The knife falls from my grasp and rattles a cacophony on the floor. I cannot move. Her stare pins me.

“Qué maravilla, Mar,” she breathes. “What happened?”

How to explain? Words claw through my throat like a sea of scorpions—the horrors, the hurt, the worry, the good things too—all vying to be the first to emerge. None reach my lips. Mute, I only stare as my muddled thoughts coalesce: They changed what I am. I knew who I was. Now I don’t, and I wonder if there is any place for me in this world. If there is, how can I find it?

I want Asher here. I want Esperanza to tell me everything will be fine.

Before either of us speaks, Master Nabal starts toward us. His purposeful footfalls thunder in my ears, and I twist away from Esperanza. As instinct screams, I scramble over a barrel-supported table and through a narrow window. Glass shatters at my shoulder’s insistence, and I land amongst its shards, Death’s thick cloak a protection.

While those within the saloon race to better vantage points, I roll to my feet and round a corner, sprinting, heart pounding, nose and ears on alert.

Continued in chapter 6

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