Cold Copper

Chapter Seven

Cedar rose before the sun was up. He hadn’t slept, his mind too restless to keep. He paced the church quietly.

Father Kyne wasn’t in any of the rooms Cedar walked through. The worship room was a small square the size of a schoolhouse at the front of the building, which was made with meticulous care. Old and worn, the walls were rubbed to a hickory shine, and dark pews kneeled in pious lines beneath the morning hush.

A light coat of dust covered the corners and windowsills, either ash from the now-cool stove in the corner or a sign that people did not pass this way often.

He didn’t sense the Strange here in the old echoes of the faithful.

Cedar walked the aisle to the front door and stepped out into the fresh air.

The sky was still lead heavy and dark as night. The wind had teeth, but at least it wasn’t snowing.

He buttoned his coat up to his chin, turned his collar against the wind, and took a deep breath. There were Strange in the air. Not here, not near the church. Still, they were close enough he could taste the scent of them like blood on the tip of his tongue.

Too intent on the scent and trail of Strange, Cedar did not hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

Pain cracked the back of his skull, and the world slipped away as he fell.

He woke, too hot and too groggy, pain roaring in his head, tied to a chair. The room was dimly lit with lanterns and smelled of hot metal and other sharp chemicals. Glass jars and vials lined a shelf to his right, and at his left he glimpsed the edge of a table with sharp medical instruments across it.

He tried to move, but his head, arms, wrists, chest, thighs, and ankles were all strapped tight. He was gagged, coatless, arms bare to the elbow.

“I could kill you,” a man’s friendly voice said from behind him. “It would be the simplest of things. But instead I am going to change your fate. This, Mr. Cedar Hunt, is a gift. We have been looking for you. For the man who kills the Strange. We thought perhaps you’d been killed by the blizzard. But here you are. And you’ve made it so much easier for us, coming here. Thank you. Now, I will give you your gift.”

Cedar’s heart was pounding. He might not be able to see the man, but he could smell the soap he bathed with and the oil he used in his hair. They were not uncommon scents, but mixed with the man’s sweat and the slightest tinge of hickory and cherry that clung to him, they became unique. A signature he could hunt.

If he survived.

“You see the Strange, you track them, kill them. Because of that curse you wear. We have the solution for you.”

The man stepped closer. From the corner of his eye, Cedar saw a gloved hand pluck up a needle and vial from the table.

“We are a curious people, Americans. We like to experiment. Sometimes when we discover something, we like to keep it quiet. My family has discovered some of the most interesting things that can be done. With man. With metal. And with the Strange.”

The clink of glass and metal made Cedar twitch. Sweat ran a bead down his neck, stinging the nightmare bite there.

“You won’t remember this, Mr. Hunt. Which is how I prefer it. This solution will make it so you will no longer see the Strange. A cure for your curse. Temporary, I’m afraid, but it should last long enough for my needs.”

A needle stabbed into his arm and Cedar grunted from the pain.

The man took care to stand just out of his line of vision so that all Cedar could see were his gloves and the sleeve of his overcoat. He pushed down the needle’s plunger.

Whatever had been in that vial washed hot up his arm and burned across his chest, then his body. He felt as if he’d been dipped in flame. The scent of copper and taste of blood filled his mouth and burned his eyes. He yelled, but the gag muffled his cries.

Then the man stepped behind the chair again and returned with another needle and vial.

“And now. This solution will make sure you forget this meeting of ours. If I give you too much, it will kill you quickly. However, if I give you the correct dose”—he stabbed the needle into Cedar’s arm and ice-cold pain shattered across his nerves—“it will still kill you. Only slowly.

“There is some chance you might find the antidote in time, but since you won’t even remember being poisoned, I doubt very much that you will survive a month.”

He tugged the needle out of Cedar’s arm. “Just one last thing before I return you to your companions, Mr. Hunt: I am an old-fashioned man. And while I find new advancements in the scientific world fascinating, I find it best to rely on tried-and-true methods. I do hope you’ll humor me.”

Cedar could barely think past the pain storming through his body. Too late, he realized the man was casting a spell.

And then the world went dark.

The wind clattered against the frozen treetops, sifting snow down through the branches like sand through fingers.

Cedar sat on the church porch stairs, his head resting against the rail. He glanced up at the sky. It had been dark just a moment ago. But the sky was bright with dawn. Had he been walking in his sleep? Dreaming? He remembered being restless and pacing through the church, then finally stepping outside.

He rubbed at his face and at the tender pain at the side of his neck from his nightmare. His arm hurt, but then, he hurt everywhere from nicks and bruises gotten on the trail.

The cold could do strange things to a man’s mind. Hallucinations. Madness. And he had been far too cold for far too long in that snowstorm.

It must have rattled his mind more than he realized.

“Good morning, Mr. Hunt,” Father Kyne said quietly as he walked up from the barn, a bucket of water in his hand. In the muffle of snow, even his soft voice carried.

“Good morning,” Cedar said. “Need any help with the animals?”

“There is no need. I gave them hay and water. They’ll be fine until tonight. Is there something else that brought you out so early?”

He remembered he’d come out to look for the Strange. To find the one who had found a way into the room and bit him. To discover whether it had been real or a dream.

Most people didn’t believe in the Strange. Thought them to be ghosts and stories and things to frighten children into doing their chores.

“There’s a restless wind in this town,” Cedar said. “Restless souls ride it.”

Father Kyne nodded as he walked up the back steps to the church. “It has been so for many years. Some people say it is the rail that brings unrest. Some say it is the people rushing to build this city into a road for civilization. Others…” He paused and opened the back door to the kitchen. “Others say it is the earth shivering beneath the tread of strange devils.”

Cedar followed him into the house. “Strange devils?”

Father Kyne set the bucket of water in the sink and caught Cedar with his sober gaze. “There are ghosts who walk this town. They come in at night and flood the streets. So many, the mayor must send men to walk the streets with copper guns. Guns that sweep the ghosts away.”

“Have you seen this?”

“Yes.”

“So you believe in ghosts? In spirits?”

Father Kyne smiled briefly and Cedar realized he was not as old a man as his serious eyes made him out to be.

“Why would I ignore that which is in front of my eyes? Do you think the ghosts are to blame for the children disappearing?”

“I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”

“You have my gratitude. The Madders do not seem as deeply concerned for the children’s welfare. Why do you travel with the Madder brothers, Mr. Hunt?” He turned and began gathering eggs and small potatoes for breakfast, and set them beside the stove.

“They did me a great good. Helped me find my brother,” he said.

“Your brother?”

“The wolf. He is beneath a curse. A curse we both bear.”

Kyne was silent for a bit. “Do you know why I am a minister, Mr. Hunt?” He scooped water from the bucket to the pot on top of the woodstove, then reached for the jar of oats on the shelf and dropped handfuls of the grain into the water.

“Followed in your father’s footsteps?” Cedar said.

“He wanted it so. I was taken in young enough the people, the tribe, refuse me as their own. I am a man between worlds. But God accepts all His children. I had always thought the people of this church had accepted me. But when my father died…” He shrugged. “I was mistaken.”

“Do you have a congregation?”

“A few remained, for a while. Now they no longer come. I believe we must all find God at our own pace. Do you pray, Mr. Hunt?”

“I used to.”

“And now?”

Cedar didn’t say anything.

Kyne waited, then quietly said, “The curse?”

“Prayed to any god who would hear me for months,” Cedar said. “Not even the devil lent me his ear.”

“Have you tried breaking the curse? Gone back to the one who put it upon you?”

“I don’t remember much after the curse. By the time I had…reasoning back, he was gone.”

“Was he a man?”

“He didn’t seem to think so. Seemed to think he was a native god. Pawnee.”

“I do not know those people. Have you looked for him?”

Cedar heard the approach of hooves in snow. He walked over to the window near the door and peered out. “Not sure I know how to track a god, Father Kyne.”

Riders were approaching: four men on horses in front of a towering black and green three-wheeled steam carriage. The carriage itself was suspended between two wheels taller than a man, with a driver sitting right atop a single front wheel. Gray plumes of smoke poured out of the single chimney pipe sticking up at the back of the coach.

The first horseman wore a bright silver star on the breast of his sheepskin coat. He had a long, mulelike face, narrow at the chin, with a forehead full of wrinkles beneath a flat-topped hat. He was clean shaven except for thick sideburns; his eyes brown and cold as grave dirt.

The sheriff.

The riders stopped in front of the church stairs. The carriage rolled to a stop farthest from the church, turning enough to show the footman who stood on the backboard. Painted in gold on the doors were two gilded letters: V and B.

Father Kyne moved the oatmeal to a cooler burner, but kept stirring. “How many men?” he asked.

“Four riders, two with the carriage. Lawmen on horses. Probably the sheriff.”

Kyne nodded. “Is the coach green and gold?”

“Yes.”

“You may want to make sure your companions are awake. That’s the mayor’s coach.”

“Why send the law? We barely hit town ten hours ago. Is there something I should know, Father Kyne?”

“The mayor is much beloved by many in this town. By most,” he added. “I do not trust him. He has lied to my family far too often. Lied to the people of my church. Hidden things.”

The lawmen tied their mounts to the snow-covered hitching post, then stomped up the stairs to the short porch. The sheriff knocked on the door.

“Go,” Father Kyne said. “I will invite them in.”

Cedar left the kitchen and met Wil in the hallway.

He heard the kitchen door open, and Kyne’s greeting. He couldn’t catch any of their words before he was in the bedroom.

Everyone was already awake. Mae and Miss Dupuis were dressed, coifed, and folding blankets into neat squares atop the chest of drawers. The Madders were awake too, caught up in some kind of dice game where the stakes appeared to be who would go outside in the cold to take inventory of the supplies in the wagon.

“We have company,” Cedar said.

They all looked up sharply, and Cedar was reminded how quietly he often walked. “The sheriff, his men, and a carriage are here. Kyne says they do the mayor’s bidding. He thinks they want to see us.”

“Mayor?” Alun said. “Isn’t that an interesting turn? He’s getting slow. Thought he’d be by last night.”

“Wonder what that devil wants.” Bryn pocketed the dice and pushed up from a crouch.

“We don’t have to wonder,” Cadoc said. “Killian Vosbrough wants what he has always wanted.”

“So you do know him?” Mae asked.

“There’s a reason we should have avoided this city.” Alun settled his coat around his shoulders with a dramatic flair. “It wasn’t just because of our promise owed to the Kyne family. But you wouldn’t stand for it, would you, Mr. Hunt? Insisted we stop at this town. And now, see where you’ve landed us? Summons. From that snake of a man.”

“Why are you worried,” Cedar asked. “Do you owe him a favor too?”

“No,” Alun said. “Quite the opposite. We’ve been asking him for a favor for years.” Alun ambled out of the room.

“What favor?” Cedar asked the other two brothers.

“To lay down and die,” Bryn said. “He seems reluctant to grant our request, but I am looking forward to the day we collect on that.”

“As am I,” Cadoc said with a sharp grin.

Cadoc and Bryn sauntered out of the room after their brother.

Mae raised her eyebrows and Cedar shook his head. He had no idea what their issue with the mayor might be. The Madders were given to moments of drama and foolery, and moments of sobering truth. He didn’t know which of those this was.

“Do you know anything about the mayor?” Cedar asked Miss Dupuis.

She finished placing the last blanket on the dresser and smoothed it while she considered her answer. “I know the Madders have made a great many friends in their efforts to keep this land safe. I know they have made a great many more enemies. Vosbrough is an old family, rooted in the beginnings of the country, in the money and influence that holds it together.”

“Are they famous?” Mae asked.

“Powerful, which buys them fame if they so wish. Some even say it will buy them the country.”

“The New York Vosbrough?” Cedar knew he’d heard that name before.

He’d guess there almost wasn’t a man in these United States who hadn’t heard of them. They were millionaires, thriving on glim trade between the states and into England, France, and Spain. The elder patriarch Vosbrough had died more than thirty years ago, leaving the running of his thriving glim empire to his three children.

“Are there any others?” Miss Dupuis asked with a faint smile. She adjusted the pearl hatpin in her hat, then walked across the room, smoothing her skirt. She had chosen to put on her coat and kidskin gloves, ready to face the storm.

“I’ll see what, exactly, the sheriff wants,” she said.

Cedar turned to Mae. “You could stay here.”

Mae shrugged into her coat and shook her head. “I have nothing to fear from a rich man, mayor or not. It is possible he wants to have words with the Madder brothers and we will be left behind. Or perhaps Mayor Vosbrough doesn’t want to speak to any of us. Perhaps he wants to talk to Father Kyne.”

“And so he sends the sheriff to fetch him?” Cedar asked. “And four other men?”

She gave him a quick smile. “Well, whatever the case, I can’t imagine it would be a bad idea to have a witch at hand, do you?”

“No,” Cedar said, catching her hand and walking with her, “I don’t.”

The kitchen was empty. Father Kyne leaned in the open door looking outside, and glanced back at them. “The mayor has asked for your company,” he said. “Breakfast at the manor.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Mae asked.

“He asked for the company of the Madders and their traveling companions. He did not ask for me.”

Cedar looked out past the minister.

Alun, Bryn, and Cadoc were standing in the snow near the tall carriage that hissed and steamed up the air. Their hands were in their pockets and they stared at the sky like they were expecting an airship to cross it any minute now. From the buzz in the distance, Cedar could tell there were airships out today, though he had always thought snow made for bad flying.

Miss Dupuis was at the back of the carriage, stepping up a ladder to the back door of the coach.

“Coming, Mr. Hunt?” Alun shouted.

Instinct said, trap. If it were, then Miss Dupuis and the Madder brothers, who were all within easy range of the mounted men’s firearms, were already in danger.

“I’ll look after your brother,” Father Kyne said as he moved aside so Cedar and Mae could step past him. “Be careful.”

Cedar walked onto the porch.

“Are you Mr. Hunt?” the sheriff asked from atop his horse.

“I am.”

“Pleased to make your meet. I am Sheriff Burchell, and this is my deputy, Greeley.” He nodded toward a clean-cut man, built stocky with slicked-back black hair and an old scar running from the edge of his mouth to his temple.

Greeley tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat.

“You and your lady friend are invited to breakfast with the mayor,” Sheriff Burchell said. “He sent you a carriage. We’ll see you returned here or to other more suitable lodgings after your meal.”

“Seems an awful lot of guns for a stroll to the mayor’s place,” Cedar said as the Madders all clambered up into the tall carriage.

“Father Kyne there doesn’t care to have the telegraph lines hooked up to his church, so there was no faster way to send an invite,” the sheriff said. “Besides, there are plenty of people passing through town out to make trouble. We get our share of tramps and rowdies. Wouldn’t stand for you to be delayed.”

“Delayed?” Cedar said as he walked down the porch with Mae. “I’m surprised the mayor knew we had arrived.”

The sheriff’s mouth curved up for the briefest of moments, but no humor took hold in those dark eyes. “We hear all sorts of things from both sides of the Mississippi here in this town. Every corner has a wire, and every house a telegraph key. Isn’t a thing that happens in this town the mayor doesn’t know about.”

“That’s thorough of him.” Cedar and Mae walked to the tall coach.

“He’s a very caring man,” the sheriff agreed. “Always has the good of this city on his mind.”

“Hurry up, now, Mr. Hunt,” Alun called. “We wouldn’t want to keep the mayor waiting.”

Cedar had followed Alun Madder and his brothers into danger before. He didn’t enjoy making a habit of it. But Mae was right. If there was trouble, it would be good to have a witch at the table. And it might not be bad to have a bounty hunter either.

They climbed the ladder and Cedar ducked his head through the coach door and settled onto the plush green velvet of the seats arranged on either side of the carriage.

The coach was roomy, luxurious. The three Madder brothers sat on the bench opposite him, Mae, and Miss Dupuis.

The footman shut tight the door, and then the driver let loose the brake. The carriage pulled forward rather smoothly through the snow and chugged along at a smart pace.

“Do you know what this is about?” Cedar asked over the creak and jostle of the carriage.

“It’s about old debts and new wars, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Mayor Vosbrough has never quite sided with the people who have the best interests of this country in mind. We’ve wondered why he settled in Des Moines. Now that the railroad hub is here in the town connecting rivers and lands and coasts, well, seems to make some sense as why he’s here.”

“He’s powerful and wants more power,” Bryn said.

“Power,” Cadoc mused. “Perhaps that is all the town is made for.”

“And what does this have to do with you?” Cedar asked. “He wouldn’t be the first man to use money or other means to bend the law and the progress of civilization to his favor.”

“He’s not a man,” Cadoc said so softly only Cedar’s sharpened hearing allowed him to make out his words. “He’s a devil.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that, brother Cadoc,” Alun said. “He’s a devil with plans. The worst sort of devil to have. Mr. Hunt, promise me this: you will look for the Holder. No matter what happens.”

“I’ve never gone back on my word, Mr. Madder,” Cedar said. “I caught the scent of the Holder. I think it’s nearby.”

“Is that so?” Alun said. The brothers exchanged a look.

“Lucky for us,” Bryn said.

“Lucky for someone,” Cadoc said.

“Luck or otherwise, I expect you to be looking for it,” Alun said. “If, of course, we survive meeting the mayor.”

“That sounds rather final,” Mae said. “Do you think this is dangerous?”

Alun raised one bushy eyebrow and dug in his pocket for his pipe. “Don’t think it, I know it. Life is danger, my dear woman. Today we happen to know just exactly where the danger’s coming from.”

“What did you do to him?” Cedar pressed.

Alun paused and gave Cedar a hard look. Then he patted his pockets and Bryn offered him a welding striker, from which Alun lit the tobacco in the bowl.

“The Madders and Vosbroughs have history, Mr. Hunt. It is a long history. That’s all you need to know.”

Alun puffed away on his pipe and folded his arms over his chest, staring out at the passing city. It was clear he would say no more.

Drama or foolery. Cedar didn’t have time for either.

“A man deserves to know what foe he might be facing,” Cedar said.

But none of the brothers said a word.

Cedar settled back. Fine. He’d gone blind into war before. He didn’t think breakfast would be the worst battlefield he’d ever navigated.

The frozen landscape of the city shifted from trees and two-story wood-frame houses to wide lanes cleared of deep snow, drifts piled up on either side of the roads teetering against tall brick buildings and wrought iron gates.

Down those roads rattled every manner of steamer cart: brass and wood, and one that seemed made of silk handkerchiefs and fine embroidery. Horses added to the muddle, and heavy muler wagons belched out smoke and hot ash that flashed red before dying gray in the wet snow.

Plenty of people were in the street, in tailored coats and high hats, bonnets with lace that matched the hem, boots in bright blues and yellows tied up in black. All those people crowded together wearing browns and gray and sensible black, with scarves or mittens adding a coy flip of color, like birds flocking beneath the shadow and bleak light of the day. Mixing and milling, they ducked under bright red awnings that were stretched out from towering buildings.

All the shops had glass windows, goods stacked for display, and door latches polished bright.

But the thing that caught Cedar’s eye was copper wires that spooled from roof edge to roof edge. Crossed and tangled, caught up with glass globes, looping down poles, and spun along windows, the copper wires looked like a great metal spider had gone mad and stitched the entire city together with thread.

Telegraphs in every house. The sheriff hadn’t been boasting.

Des Moines might have once been a sleepy town, but no more. Rail, river, and sky had packed its streets with people eager to work, businessmen in smart suits and jackets, bowler hats and canes, and women in silk tuck-edged umbrella skirts and parasols.

Mixed among the upper class were cowboys, farmers, and miners, all in sturdy workaday clothes, overalls, and heavy boots, walking with the sort of determination found in men who sweat for their pay.

Newspaper boys called out the morning headlines at street corners, and the airships rattled fans overhead as they hummed toward the skyscraping tether towers just outside the city, dragging bulbous shadows over the streets and buildings.

This was a working town, a shipping town, a building town.

This was a city.

The old yearning of days long past, when he had sought a scholarly life, settled around him again. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine himself out in those streets, hurrying for a meeting, for a class, for the day’s business. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine the nice suit, the companionship of learned men, the steady dignity of education, reading, and other comforts.

Mae shifted a bit, her hand upon the tatting shuttle she wore beneath her coat. She was worried, uncomfortable. He didn’t know if she’d ever been to a city this large. Most of her days had been spent in the coven and then on the farm she and her husband owned. He touched her hand where it rested on the seat between them, meaning to lend her comfort.

She turned her gaze away from the window to him.

All the thoughts of his previous life faded away.

She was his life now, his future. Maybe they’d settle in a city once he found all the pieces of the Holder for the Madders. Maybe they’d settle on some faraway hill and take up farming.

Whatever they chose, he knew wherever this woman was, his heart would find home.

She searched his face, and he wondered what she saw there. His long sorrows? His fleeting joys? He wondered if his growing love for her was plain in his eyes, wondered if it was clear without words how he felt about her.

She frowned. “Are you all right? Did you sleep at all?”

“No. Not a wink. But I’m fine enough.”

She gave him a fleeting smile, then looked back out the window. She didn’t remove her hand from under his, and they rode the rest of the way through the loud, busy city to a grand manor house.

The carriage rolled up right in front of the marble stairs that made a half circle in front of a four-story brick building with spires and creased copperplated roofs. The building was a fine specimen of architecture, sporting crisp white balconies and scrolling trim that framed every window.

“Remember your promise, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “The Holder is all that matters. The longer it remains out of our reach, the more damage it does. Wars, disease, and madness. And if it falls in the wrong hands, our civilized world will be gone in a snap.”

Alun shoved the door, nearly nicking the footman who jumped down out of the way.

Bryn lifted his woolen hat, smoothed down his tousled hair, and adjusted the monocle over his bad eye. “We’ll know if you aren’t looking for it,” Bryn said. “We’ll know if you falter. Do not disappoint us in this, Mr. Hunt.” He ambled out the door behind his brother.

Cadoc reached out for the doorframe but paused.

“This is long coming, this encounter between the Vosbroughs and Madders,” he said. “Remember your promise to us and all those living. Finding the Holder is all that will save us in these dark days. This is a grim time, and it is a grim game we play with the world in the balance. The winning or losing hinges on you, Mr. Hunt—on you finding the Holder.”

And then he was out the door too.

“They have always been so theatrical,” Miss Dupuis said, tugging her gloves tighter to her hands. “Once they gave farewell speeches fit for a king when all they did was walk from one room to another to get a beer.”

“So you don’t think this is serious?” Mae asked. “You don’t think they are serious?”

Miss Dupuis frowned just slightly, setting a thin line between her brows. She had seemed pale and often frail since her man, Otto, died. But not now. Now she considered the facts as presented with the mind of a scholar.

“From what little I know about the Vosbrough family, I think it is very serious,” she said sadly. “And the Madders are not wrong about the Holder. Each piece is enough to tear down this great country, to hold all lives hostage. Those who want to possess it and use it as a weapon will go to great lengths to do so. Killing. Torture. The Holder is a poison that will spread quickly. I wish it had never been made.”

Something about her words was familiar, and tugged at his gut. But the faint feeling was gone as soon as it came.

She stepped down out of the carriage, and after a brief moment Mae followed and Cedar did the same.

The cool morning air seemed colder now. The Madder brothers swaggered up the wide steps, passing between the smooth marble columns like soldiers come to declare victory. These three short, bull-built men in the plain clothes, worn from long miles of travel, carried about them an air of something more dignified, something strong and righteous.

If Cedar didn’t know them, he’d think they were royalty come to inspect an outpost of their rule. Or conquerers come to take the spoils of war.

Cedar made note of the manor’s doors and windows that could be used for escape, and kept count of how many guns and other weapons the men who accompanied them into the house carried.

Sheriff Burchell walked in front of the group, and scar-faced Deputy Greeley and one other man followed behind Cedar.

The manor was warm inside and well lit with high chandeliers of cut crystal and electric lights strung on copper wire. Green and gold wallpaper padded the walls, and the marble floor was covered by an expensive carpet, resplendent with flowers and vines.

The high arched ceiling was stamped with copper that reflected light like a low fire. Opulence.

Standing at the far end of the massive entry hall was a man.

He was dressed in a respectable, but not overly expensive, three-piece gray suit, tailored well to his solid, lean frame, and he was shorter than Cedar, but likely just under six feet. He had yellow hair brushed back that curled just below his ears. He was clean shaven, his eyes a bright blue. His nose might have once been straight, but someone had flattened the bridge of it so that it crooked to one side.

When he smiled, a dimple shadowed his cheek.

“Welcome, my friends!” he said in a friendly voice, arms wide. “Welcome to my home. I hope you’re hungry. Breakfast is hot and delicious and served. Please come on in this way.”

He gestured toward the wide double doors to his right, and Cedar caught a strong scent of cologne with hickory and cherry overtones.

The scent triggered pain that rolled down his spine. His palms slicked with sweat. There was something very dangerous about this man. Cedar wanted to take Mae’s hand, turn, and leave the manor. Run, if they had to. But it was an unreasonable fear that seemed to spring from his nightmares.

And he was not the kind of man who gave in to nightmares. He forced himself to stroll into the room.

The mayor walked into the dining room, still talking.

“It has been years since I’ve had the great honor to dine with the infamous Madder brothers. As soon as I’d heard you’d come to town, I couldn’t wait to invite you and your…” Here he tossed a look back at the rest of them, his quick gaze weighing and balancing Miss Dupuis, then Mae, before resting on Cedar.

He showed no reaction on meeting Cedar’s steady stare. Cedar knew most people didn’t like holding eye contact when the beast hovered just beneath his surface. But Mayor Vosbrough only smiled.

“. . .most interesting traveling companions to join me in a meal,” he finished. “I always trust the Madders to find the most fascinating people, and I am not disappointed today. Please, be seated.”

Cedar had seen dance halls smaller than this room. A long wide table took up the meat of the space, with equally impressive cushioned and carved chairs set along it.

It was a beautiful place. A plush place.

Just the kind of place where Cedar would expect the devil to sit down for a meal.