of herself, but it was futile. When she spoke again, it was still Grimaldi’s smooth voice that came from her lips.
“Most Warlocks keep up a constant defense against such hostile magic.” Grimaldi regarded Stanton with a lazy smirk. “But I am able to sneak it past him because he was asleep.” Then Grimaldi paused thoughtfully. “But it do not work on you. Very unusual. Very unusual indeed.”
“So you work for Caul.” Emily hurried to change the subject. That Grimaldi didn’t know about the stone was something, at least.
“Caul hire me,” Grimaldi said. “He offer me a thousand dollar for each of you. But I am not take you to Caul. There are others who want you. Others who will pay ten times more.”
“Who?” Emily breathed.
“They are call the Sini Mira,” Grimaldi said. “Sons of the Earth.”
Sons of the Earth.
Something must have passed across Emily’s face when she heard the words, for Grimaldi peered at her with close interest. “You know of these?”
“No.” Emily lied. Komé had said the Sons of the Earth were waiting for her. That she must go to them. Surely the Holy Woman couldn’t have meant this? That this body-jumping bounty hunter—this Manipulator—was to take her to them?
Emily noticed that Rose’s body was shivering harder now. A miserable tear streaked a path down her dirty face.
“And are you going to let Rose go?” Emily demanded. “Once you’ve delivered us?”
“Oh, of course I will let Rose go!” Grimaldi’s voice was slimy with pretended kindness. “Her body has amuse me, but I ride her since Promontory, and carissima Rosa, she grow so tired. Soon, her mind will be broken, and then she will be just a lump of meat. It does not do for a huntsman to ride a beaten horse. So I will take a new body.” Grimaldi eyed Stanton. “His body.”
Emily saw a shudder of revulsion pass over Stanton’s entire frame.
“Like hell you will.” Emily knew she had only one chance. She launched herself at Rose with a wildcat cry, knocking the girl’s body to the floor of the compartment, grabbing for the uchawi pod at her throat. Stanton stared down at them from his position by the door, his eyes fixed and glazed, his hands clenched in fists.
“Bind her, Warlock!” Grimaldi screamed at Stanton. “Use your magic, hold her!”
Stanton did not move, just clenched his fists even tighter.
Rose had Emily’s arms pinned at her side, but Emily worked one free, reaching up, fingers searching for the uchawi pod. The blond girl was heavier, her muscles strong from farm work, but Emily was strong, too. She grabbed a handful of Rose’s now-loose hair, jerking her head down.
“Bind her, Warlock!” Grimaldi shrieked again. “I command you. Do it now!”
“No,” Stanton choked. “No magic.”
Rose rolled swiftly up over Emily’s body, straddling her. With a ferocious cry, she brought her fist down hard into Emily’s face—twice, three times. Emily fell back, stunned; the world spun and shuddered.
“Warlock, I command you!” Grimaldi’s voice became vast and awful; Rose’s hand clutched at the uchawi pod around her throat. Stanton winced, throwing his hands up over his head.
“No magic!” he screamed, his voice edged with agony.
Then, Emily saw it. Tucked underneath one of the seats was Rose’s flowered carpetbag. Even ridden by a body-jumping bounty hunter, the girl wouldn’t leave her treasured books behind. Emily reached for the heavy bag and grasped the rattan handles. She swung it up, smashing it against the side of Rose’s head. Rose toppled. Emily swung herself over the girl’s body, using the carpetbag like a bludgeon, bringing it down again and again. Blind, heart thrashing, she hardly knew what she was doing.
Finally, she stopped, and Rose lay still. Emily grabbed the revolvers from where they’d fallen, used the side of a seat to pull herself to her feet. She cocked the revolvers, pointed them down at Rose. Blood streamed from her nose; she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Kill her!” Stanton bellowed, his eyes shifting and churning with strange confusion. “Kill her, for God’s sake!”
“It’s not Rose’s fault!”
With a roar, Stanton grabbed her and threw open the door, pulled her out of the compartment. They careened down the hall, into the vestibule. There was the thunder of clattering wheels, the hot inferno blast of steam rising up from the train’s brakes.
Stanton wrapped his arms tightly around her body.
“Hold on to me,” he said.
And then they jumped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Cockatrice
They fell hard on the small gravel of the siding, crashing through scrub and dead weeds. They