bit back a cry. Her mother's face stood at the edge of the firelight, features etched with love and fear. Her lips moved, but the woman could not understand her words. She blinked back tears. It was just a phantom of her guilt and her fear. Were she here, her mother would surely want her to go through with this. She had been a strong woman in life; she would have understood this desire to protect her people. The American soldiers had guns and numbers, but they did not have knowledge of these arts.
"Now," the old woman croaked.
The woman turned back to her. "Yes?"
The crone's eyes flashed red in the darkness. "You are ready?"
"Yes," the woman said again, trying to give more strength to her voice than she felt.
"You may never go back," the old woman said. "No-one may turn from the Witchery Way once they begin walking it. It will be with you and you with it until you die."
"I am ready."
A dry cackle spilled from those ancient lips. "So be it, girl. Come," she said, beckoning with a withered claw. "Come and take the power you desire."
The woman swallowed back her doubts, closing her ears to her mother's faint cries. Keeping the image of the American soldier's face in her mind, she stepped forward. The scratchings in the dirt were unreadable in the flickering light, but the woman knew the meaning of the animal skin laid next to them. Letting her anger fuel her need, she slipped out of the doeskin tunic she wore and knelt next to the hide.
Above her, the old woman's lips spread in a toothless grin.
The next morning, Victoria pulled on her clean shirt and denim trousers, ate a quick breakfast of flapjacks, and stepped outside. The sun had just climbed above the tops of the buildings, but a slight chill hung in the air. Victoria relished it, knowing that the hellish swelter would soon smother the dusty streets. The townsfolk moved sluggishly around her, as if they could not move properly unless their limbs were greased by sweat.
When she reached the saloon, Victoria found Cora's business partner Robert behind the bar. He wore a button-up shirt and tie beneath his jaunty, small-brimmed hat. Had he been in a bank or office tower in London or New York City, he might have looked right at home. Standing behind the bar of a dusty saloon, he seemed displaced and vulnerable. For the first time since her arrival, Victoria thought she might not be the most awkwardlydressed person in the room.
Robert's face brightened when he caught sight of her. "Ah, Miss Dawes. Wonderful to see you again."
"Likewise," she said, returning his smile. "How have you been?"
"Much the same as ever," he replied. He looked her up and down. "I'm guessing the getup was Cora's idea?"
"Quite right," Victoria said, stepping up to the bar. "Speaking of whom, has she been about this morning? I'm rather surprised not to find her where you are."
Frustration creased Robert's face. "I was, too. You wouldn't think it would be difficult for someone who lived in the saloon to open it on time, would you?"
"Certainly not," Victoria said.
"Yet here I am," he said, turning his palms upward, "and here I will remain until she remembers where she belongs."
"I don't expect Cora is a particularly easy woman to keep in line."
"Heaven spare me," Robert said, shaking his head. "I don't think any man anywhere has ever been able to keep her in line. Those who tried at one point or another aren't among the living anymore, or so I imagine."
The memory of Cora facing down the blue-eyed monster came to Victoria's mind, and she laughed. "Somehow, that seems all too likely."
"My other partners figured I'd lost my mind when I agreed to help Cora open this place," he said, looking around the near-empty saloon. "Truth is, had she wanted to start any other kind of business, I would have turned her down in a blink, but I knew she would be reliable so long as there was whiskey and poker involved. She's got enough of a reputation that I knew she'd pull in a crowd. Can't say I understand the name, though."
"Did she not explain it to you?" Victoria asked.
"Don't see why it matters none."
Both Victoria and Robert started and turned at the sound of Cora's voice. The hunter stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning light. Her spurs chimed as she strode over to the bar. "Ain't like most of the