Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2025

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Author: Crumley, M.M.
Title: JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER: BLOOD LUST

ISBN: 9798291600900

Also available in this series
JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER: BLOOD OATH (Book 1)

JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER: BLOOD TIES (Book 2)

JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER: BLOOD FEUD (Book 3)

Target Audience: Adult

Subjects:
Urban Fantasy/ Horror Comedy

This is a work of fiction, which means it's made up. Names, characters, peoples, locales, and incidents (stuff that happens in the story) are either gifts of the ether, products of the author's resplendent imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or dying, businesses or companies in operation or defunct, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

M.M. Crumley Book List

Urban Fantasy

THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY SERIES

BOOK 1: HIDDEN

BOOK 2: COUP D'ÉTAT

BOOK 3: RUTHLESS

BOOK 4: INSTINCT

BOOK 5: ROGUES

BOOK 6: EMPIRE

BOOK 7: OMENS

BOOK 8: CHASM

BOOK 9: FERAL

BOOK 10: OBLIVION

BOOK 11: RELENTLESS

BOOK 12: REQUIEM

BOOK 13: HELLION

BOOK 14: SHADOWS

BOOK 15: INDEBTED

BOOK 16: FATHOM

BOOK 17: FEROCITY

BOOK 18: ONSLAUGHT

JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER SERIES

BOOK 1: BLOOD OATH

BOOK 2: BLOOD TIES

BOOK 3: BLOOD FEUD

BOOK 4: BLOOD LUST

THE HOUSE OF GRAVES SERIES

BOOK 1: THREE LITTLE GRAVES & THE BIG BAD WOLF

BOOK 2: OVER THE RIVER & THROUGH THE WOOD

BOOK 3: FIRE BURN & CAULDRON BUBBLE

BOOK 4: A HUNTING, A HUNTING WE WILL GO

BOOK 5: AND HE WALKED A CROOKED MILE

BOOK 6: HOLIDAY SPECIAL: DECK THE HALLS

THE LEGEND OF ANDREW RUFUS SERIES

BOOK 1: DARK AWAKENING

BOOK 2: BONE DEEP

BOOK 3: BLOOD STAINED

BOOK 4: BURIAL GROUND

BOOK 5: DEATH SONG

BOOK 6: FUNERAL MARCH

BOOK 7: WARPATH

Writing as M.M. Boulder

Psych Thrillers

THE LAST DOOR

MY BETTER HALF

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

MY ONE AND ONLY

WE ALL FALL DOWN

To find me on Facebook, just search for M.M. Crumley

Visit my website at www.mmcrumley.com

BLOOD LUST

M.M. Crumley

For the mother…

For the real anima…

For the feminine principle…

For the woman's hut…

For the moon and the dark side of the hill…

Character List

Janey Falke (norm): our protagonist

Two Stones (norm): travels with Janey

Brings the Rain (norm): travels with Janey

Wolf Heart (norm): travels with Janey

Admetos/Father (?): leader of the saints

Ahanu (shaman): meddling time-traveling shaman

Ana: one of the first women, Admetos's wife

Asohave: Emonah's son

Ayita/The Mother: mother of all things

Beleka: one of Ana's sisters

Carmina (norm): Enrica's granddaughter

Charlie (norm): one of Pecos's men

Chief Nayati Mohkave's father

Cuts Deep: the knife that Brings the Rain gave Janey

Cyra: one of Ana's sisters

Doyle (norm): one of Pecos's men

Eddie Falke (norm): Janey's brother, deceased

Emonah: one of the women from Mohkave's tribe

Enrica (norm): takes care of Pecos's house

Gideon (?): St. John's son, one of the saints, Janey killed

Granny (norm): woman from Janey's home back east

Helly (Hell and Damnation): Janey's horse

Heskovizenako/Hes: one of Janey's friends from Mohkave's tribe

Joe (norm): one of Pecos's men

Luella Anderson: tried to kill Pecos, Janey killed

Mohkave: Janey's friend

Niobe: one of Ana's sisters

Old Man Finnegan (norm): a man back east who gave Janey the shudders

Pecos (norm): a rancher who likes to find trouble

Roaring Waters (norm): man who asked Janey to scalp the saints

Saint Killer: the knife that Roaring Waters gave Janey to scalp with

Señora Teodora (shaman): helped Janey make peace with her past

Silas Falke (norm): Janey's Pa, deceased

Somana: one of Ana's sisters

The boy/Andrew Rufus: one of Pecos's men

The mother: the leader of the women in Mohkave's tribe

Victor St. John (?): leader of Janey's wagon train, part of the saints

Will & Sol Falke (norms): Janey's other brothers, deceased

Chapter 1

Janey Falke exhaled deeply, trying to settle her pounding heart. Going right into the bear's den and saying hello was the height of stupidity, but what choice did she have? She needed St. John's help to find Admetos, and she was convinced St. John would help her.

In her dreams, she had watched St. John speak of Admetos over and over and over. His words had neither been kind nor filled with respect. St. John loathed his father; perhaps nearly as much as Janey loathed St. John.

Only her feelings about St. John were a little confused now. She had seen St. John a hundred times through Ana's eyes, and Janey knew that he had once been a cheerful child with a flashing smile and twinkling eyes. She didn't know for sure, but she couldn't imagine Pa ever having twinkling eyes.

It didn't matter how cheerful St. John had been as a child though. It didn't matter how gentle he had been as a young man. What mattered was that he was a filthy people eater, and Janey had sworn to kill him.

She would kill Admetos first, and then she would kill the rest of the saints, including St. John, so Roaring Waters could be free to join his people. It was the least she could do.

After all, it was her pa and brothers who had eaten Roaring Waters's wife. She owed him his revenge, and she was going to get it for him, no matter who or what stood in her way. 

Her heart was trying to pound again, and she calmed it once more. So what if she was inside St. John's house? It was just a house. She was what mattered, and she wasn't scared. She wasn't going to run and hide. She wasn't going to bother counting exits. She already knew how many there were anyway, but she wasn't going to use them.

She was Janey Falke. She was Hawk. And Hawk didn't run.

Furthermore, Hawk had shown Janey the truth of St. John, and she wasn't frightened of him anymore. St. John might be a lot of things; but at the core of him, he was just a weary old man.

Besides that, she had a plan for dealing with St. John. She might not be able to kill him, but if he didn't want to cooperate, she would simply pin him to the wall and cut off pieces of him until he changed his mind.

Her breath suddenly caught, and she had to work to still her racing heart. St. John was home. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. There was a subtle shifting to the air, like it was moving to accommodate his presence.

"Stay with me, Hawk," Janey whispered, exhaling in relief when the mark on her hand burned in response.

Unlike Jake, Hawk would never leave her. He wasn't a Falke, and he wasn't weak or scared.

But even with Hawk's strength, focus and courage, Janey was still intimidated by St. John. He was thousands of years old; he was impervious to death blows; and he was a man. She was just a girl; she was not impervious to death blows; and she was a mere seventeen years old. In comparison, she was nothing.

She closed her eyes and forced that thought away. Those words had been spoken in Pa's voice, and his voice no longer mattered to her. She had banished it and replaced it with her own. She was not nothing. Even St. John had seen that.

To calm her nerves, she pulled out Saint Killer and began cleaning the undersides of her fingernails.

She could feel St. John moving closer, and she knew it wouldn't be long. A second later, she heard him inhale sharply, but she didn't look up.

She wasn't afraid. She had walked into the bear's den, and she wasn't afraid.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?"

St. John's voice slid over her, so familiar but like cactus prickles on her skin. She controlled her impulse to shudder, looked up at him, and met his impenetrable eyes.

"I was just passing by," she said with a shrug.

Power oozed rather lazily from him, infiltrating the entire room; and she realized she was finding it difficult to breathe. She forced her breath in and out, but it wasn't fear making her chest tight; it was merely the overwhelming sensation of his presence. He commanded more attention than anyone should.

He looked just as she remembered him. Powerful and imposing. But what annoyed her was his full head of hair and perfect eyes. She wasn't afraid of him though. Not anymore. He was taller, stronger, and more powerful than she was, but she was absolutely confident in her ability to remove his eyes. 

"Sit," Janey said, gesturing towards the chair beside her.

St. John grinned slightly before strolling into the room, lifting her feet off of the table, and dropping them to the floor. Then he pulled out the chair nearest her and sat in it.

She could see the challenge in his eyes, but she didn't care. She could also see the interest, and she knew from watching him in her memories that his eyes only looked like that when he was with her.

Hawk had shown her the truth, and she knew that St. John was old and tired. He was bored of life, and he was sick of Admetos. Janey was the only thing that made him feel alive. She hated that, but she didn't see why she couldn't use it to her advantage.

"Why are you here?" he asked once more.

She stared at him for a moment, mind scrambling for an answer. She hadn't actually thought this far ahead; she had been focused on making herself enter his house and confront him, but now that she had done that, she wasn't sure what to do.

"I've been told you know where I am all the time," Janey finally said.

"True," he allowed.

He was a hunter; she was his prey. At least, that was what he thought.

"I've given it some thought, and here's what I think," Janey went on. "I think you know I'm going to kill Admetos, and I think you want me to kill Admetos."

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Perhaps."

"So take me to him," she said.

"Take you to him," he replied with a slightly incredulous laugh. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," she affirmed.

She knew it wasn't really that easy. She needed to get close enough to Admetos to poison him, but she would deal with that when the time came. First things first though, she needed to get St. John to agree to help her.

St. John studied her for a long time, and she met his gaze evenly. She refused to hide from him. She had no reason to hide.

"How do you plan to kill Father?" St. John asked.

This was the moment she had been dreading. She could feel the command in his words, and she knew he was using his compulsion.

You do not own me, and I will not answer, she thought determinedly, hoping that her will was stronger than his and that she would be able to deny him.

She stared at him, silently cursing him and dreading the moment her mouth would speak without her consent.

But it didn't.

A tremor of hope ran through her. Another second passed, and still she didn't speak. Elation filled her. Her mouth was her own, and it did what she told it to.

"I'm not going to tell you," Janey said with a wide grin.

She was certain that shock had never filled St. John's face until this moment. 

"How are you going to kill Father?" he asked again.

The command was still there, and this time it pulled at her like a river's current, but she held strong.

"You'll just have to wait and see," she said with a laugh.

His face paled slightly, but then hunger filled it, fierce hunger; and her stomach turned. Anger she could deal with, but he wasn't angry that she had denied him; he was pleased, and that frightened her more than anything else he could have done.

I'm Hawk, she thought a little desperately. I'm strong.

St. John leaned towards her, and she forced herself to stay still. She hated the hunger in his eyes, and she didn't want him touching her. But she wasn't afraid.

He gently tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, but he didn't stop there. His hand moved down her jawbone and feathered over her cheek. His touch was nearly as light as a butterfly's, and she despised it.

"I'll take you to Father," St. John said softly. "I'll take you, but I trust you have a plan because I'd hate to watch you die. It appears I've grown quite fond of you."

St. John's words were completely sincere. He didn't want to see her die any more than she wanted to die. And in his own sick way, she could see that he was quite fond of her. She had been counting on it.

Hawk had shown her that St. John was nothing like Old Man Finnegan. Old Man Finnegan had wanted Janey for one thing and one thing only. It hadn't been her power or her mind or her ability to reject compulsion. It had been her body, and she shuddered to think of what he had planned to do with it.

St. John might want her body, but it was almost an afterthought. She could see that what he wanted most of all was the stimulation of her company and her presence. And she was glad that he did because it was the one hold she had over him.

She wasn't like Luella Anderson though. She didn't know how to twitter and keep a man hanging on her every word. She was Janey Falke. She was straightforward, completely unrefined, and she never bothered to beat around the bush.

For once though, she was going to play it Two Stones's way because she had a suspicion she should at least try to pretend be a little more mysterious and reserved than normal.

St. John was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to speak, so she smiled slightly and said, "When's dinner?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"I thought we could talk more over dinner," she replied.

She knew she had chosen wisely when his lips curled in a grin of pleasure.

"An hour," he suggested.

"Fine. I'll take my things up to my room," she added as she stood. "No need to escort me; I know the way."

"Shall I have a bath sent up?" St. John asked.

"No," she stated. "I won't be changing."

"Are you quite certain?" he drawled. "Silk feels very different against the skin than…" He gestured dismissively towards her clothing before saying "cotton."

To give herself a moment to think, Janey leaned over and picked up her scalp belt before facing St. John once more. His eyes were practically burning now, and she had to work to control her need to move away from him.

Her heart was pounding again. She had no idea what she was doing. She hardly knew what he was hinting at, even if she did know what he was hinting at.

She wasn't skilled enough to play this game with him. He was well over five thousand years old; she was just a child. He had married and had children, probably more than once; and she knew nothing of that. She knew nothing of the ways of men and women, and she didn't want to. All she needed to know was just enough to keep St. John at arm's length.  

She had watched him enough to know what pleased him and what didn't, but she had a suspicion he would hardly be happy if she became what he thought he wanted her to be, a proper lady with proper manners. It was the savage in her he liked.

"I've terrible table manners," she forced herself to say. "And I'd hate to ruin one of those frilly things. Just some water to wash my face."

"I purchased new clothing for you," St. John said, his voice as smooth as the silk he had mentioned. "You might find something you like."

"Not interested," she said flatly. "And frankly, I doubt if you'd find me nearly as compelling if I was willing to put on a dress."

With that, she moved past him, chest only easing when she had reached the staircase and was certain he hadn't followed her.

This was her stupidest idea yet. She would rather kill all the men on the bison train all over again than do this.

She didn't know Admetos though; she didn't know how to find him or how to get close to him once she did. She needed St. John's help.

When Janey reached the room, her room, she stood with her hand on the door handle, trying to calm her racing heart.

This room had been the stage of her darkest hour. She had been torn from Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain. Jake had abandoned her. And she had been completely at the mercy of St. John. She had felt her weakest here. She had been her weakest here. And she had lost everything.

She had bathed because St. John had told her to; she had dressed in a dress because he had told her to; she had used the damn fork because he had told her to; and she had betrayed her family because he had told her to.

She loathed him with the entirety of her being. He had never raised a hand against her, but she hated him more than she hated Pa and Eddie.

She was learning to understand herself though, and she knew that it wasn't him she hated at all. Or she did hate him, but the truth was she hated her own weakness.

St. John hadn't compulsed her when he had told her to put on a dress or use a fork. He had simply told her to do so, and she had been so frightened of what would happen if she displeased him that she had.

She wasn't weak anymore though. Perhaps she never had been weak. Perhaps she had only thought she was weak.

Her entire life she had seen things as weakness when they hadn't been. She had hidden from Pa when she could, and she had thought that was weak. But it had been survival; just like the rabbit hides from the wolf.

She had worn the dress, and she had thought that was weak, but it had been survival. She hadn't known how to kill St. John, and she had chosen to go along with him until she could run and hide.

She was very good at surviving; and, by taking one little step at a time, she was going to survive this as well. She was going to cut the wood, strip the bark from it, straighten it over the fire, fasten the arrowhead and the fletching into place, and before long, she would have an arrow that would pierce through St. John's heart and kill him.

Resolve strengthened, Janey took a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and stepped into the room.

It looked exactly as she remembered it.

But now that she was on the other side of things, now that she had chosen to come here instead of being forced to, she could admit that it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen.

The bed was large, and there were gauzy white curtains hanging down around it that reminded her of mist drifting through the forest. There was a bouquet of dried flowers on a stand next to the bed, and it looked like a little rainbow in a vase.

All of the furniture was light and airy, like it had just walked from the forest and settled here for a while; and Janey felt as if this room belonged inside of a fairy tale.

Her appreciation for the room irritated her, so with a snort of disgust Janey laid her scalps and saddlebags over the back of a chair before walking over to one of the windows. She pushed aside the lace curtains, frowning when she saw that the iron bars that had once covered the windows were gone.

This room was no longer a prison; it was just a room. St. John had somehow known she would come back; he had known she would return. He had planned on it, but he wasn't trying to cage her anymore; he wanted her to cage herself.

She pushed aside the panic that threatened her and looked up at Sun Peak in the distance. Autumn was just kissing the trees leading up to it, and the yellows stood out rather brilliantly against the greens and blues. 

Somewhere out there in the woods, Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain were watching over her.

She pressed her hand against the windowpane and whispered, "Brothers."

There was a knock on the door, and she turned and walked over to it. Her heart was pounding, but she knew it wasn't St. John; it was just the water.

Janey opened the door and saw that it really was just a boy with a pitcher of water. It was the same boy who had let her into the house in the first place. She hadn't even had to threaten him; he had recognized her.

"Your water, miss," he said as he moved past her to put the pitcher on the washstand.

"Can I ask you a question?" Janey said before he could leave.

"Yes, miss?"

"Why are you so scared of St. John? Does he beat you?"

"No, miss. He never raises a hand to the servants, miss."

The boy didn't act as if he was lying, and that didn't make sense. He was terrified of St. John. She could feel it.

"Then why are you scared of him?" she pressed.

The boy's eyes darted from one side to the other, and then he whispered, "'Cause he's the devil, miss."

She didn't know what that meant, and she was about to ask, but the boy went on.

"He rarely eats; he hardly sleeps. When he's here, he spends all of his time in his study or up on the roof."

"So?" Janey asked.

"Didn't you hear me?" the boy exclaimed. "He rarely eats, not enough to stay alive, that is. And never sleeps! What other explanation is there? He's the devil, come to tempt us into sin."

With that impassioned statement, the youth quickly left the room.

Janey rolled her eyes and made a snort of disgust. St. John wasn't the devil; he just wasn't anything like them.

It bothered her that he didn't beat them though. It would have been easier to continue hating him if he had, but she reminded herself that he was responsible for Roaring Waters's wife's death. And the other people from Roaring Waters's village. St. John wasn't the devil, but he was by no means an innocent either.

She quickly washed her face and hands before turning to survey the rest of the room. There were small paintings on the walls, paintings of gardens and flowers. They were beautiful; although she imagined that the real thing had been even more beautiful. It seemed a rather silly thing to try to capture the likeness of nature and put it inside of a room. All one really had to do was walk outside.

And that was exactly what Janey wanted to do. Walk outside. The walls were already starting to close in on her a little, and she took a deep breath and whispered, "I can do this. This is where I'm supposed to be. The spirits sent me, and the spirits are never wrong."

Never mind that she would rather be anywhere else.

But she wasn't stupid. She knew it wasn't just as easy as walking up to Admetos, pulling open his mouth, and dumping in the poison. And she wasn't Ana, so she couldn't just slip it into his drink either. Not only did she need St. John's help to find Admetos, but she also needed his help to get close enough to Admetos to do the job.

With an angry growl, Janey started pacing. She hated being inside. She hadn't minded Pecos's house after the first day or two because she had liked Pecos and the others. She did not, however, like St. John; and the idea of sharing a roof with him set her teeth on edge.

She paced for another minute before glancing up at the clock over the mantle and sighing when she saw that she still needed to kill another forty-five minutes before dinner. Why had she tried to be clever? She should have just talked to him right then and there.

She reminded herself that he had liked her deliberate evasion. She had made the right decision, but she wasn't just going to stand here and stew for nearly an hour. It would drive her mad. She needed something to occupy her time.

She glanced around the room, eyes narrowing when she saw the bookshelf full of books near one of the chairs. She remembered the room exactly, and she knew without a doubt that the bookshelf hadn't been there before.

She walked over to it and knelt to read the titles, shock coursing through her as she did.

The books were all collections of fairy tales.

She had only mentioned fairy tales once. In passing. But St. John had heard her, and he had purchased fairy tales for her. And they were here, in her room, because he had known she would come back. How the hell had he known? And why the hell had he bothered to buy her books?

Pa had never bought her a damn thing. He hadn't cared that she liked books, and he had beaten her when he had found out that she could read and then forbidden her to read. He had also forbidden her to do math. He had taken great pleasure in explaining to her that the worst thing a woman could do was try to think, and he had done it with his fists.

St. John obviously didn't share Pa's opinion, and that confused her. St. John liked that she had told him no. He had liked when she tried to kill him. He listened to what she said. He had known she would return; he had wanted her to return; and he had removed the bars from her windows just for such a day.

Janey didn't understand him at all, and it was making it very difficult to deal with him.

But he wasn't in the room right now, and she had nothing else to do and nearly an hour to while away, so she gave into her yearning and chose a book at random before curling up in the chair beside the bookshelf.

She trailed her hands over the book with a sort of reverence. This book belonged to her. She knew that it did. Just like the clothes in the wardrobe, St. John had purchased these books for her. She would be the first person to ever touch their pages.

Janey knew she was walking right into his trap. St. John was a hunter, and he had chosen his bait according to his prey. If she was smart, she would burn the books in the fireplace and continue pacing. And maybe she would. Later.  

Chapter 2

Janey was so caught up reading that she didn't hear anything until St. John said, "I'm happy to see you're enjoying the books, Jane dear."

Janey startled and glanced up quickly, annoyed to see that St. John was sitting on the corner of the bed, watching her with an amused smile.

She sighed heavily, furious with herself. She hadn't heard him knock, if he had; and she certainly hadn't heard the door open. Apparently, her ears still needed some work.

But even if her ears hadn't been paying attention, her neck hairs usually warned her when a creep was nearby, and they hadn't even tingled. Why hadn't they tingled? For that matter, why the hell weren't they tingling now? St. John was only a few feet away from her, and her fingers should be itching to kill him, but they weren't.

Janey couldn't explain it. The best she could do was blame Ana.

St. John hadn't said anything further, and he appeared to be waiting for her to speak. Janey looked from the book in her hand to St. John's smiling face.

She had been wrong earlier; he was the devil.

She glared at him and ground out, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, tone full of humor.

"The books."

"Do you like them?"

She had told him thank you, and that should have been enough. It irritated her that he was asking for more. She was hardly going to tell him that she loved them. Fairy tales had always been her favorite stories to read, and these books weren't ragged and dog-eared like Granny's had been. These books were beautiful and pristine. The pages were gilded and full of fantastical illustrations of knights and fairies and dragons. She had never seen such beautiful books, and even though they should have been tainted by the fact that St. John had been the one to buy them for her, they weren't.

"They're beautiful," she finally said. She set the book to one side and stood before saying, "Is it time for dinner?"

He nodded.

"I'm not going to take your arm," she stated, gesturing towards the doorway.

"I never imagined you would," he replied, eyes twinkling.

He didn't seem disappointed by her rejection; in fact, judging by the look on his face, she suspected he was even more fascinated by her now than he had been a year ago.

She wished she could quell that, but she didn't know how; and furthermore, as much as it bothered her, she wouldn't quell it if she knew how because St. John was hardly going to be inclined to help her if he didn't like her.

St. John moved through the doorway and down the stairs, and Janey followed him. When they reached the dining room table, St. John pulled out Janey's chair for her and, with a roll of her eyes, Janey sat.

She felt very different than she had a year ago. She wasn't scared of St. John anymore. She was terrified of him, but she wasn't scared of him. She knew he wouldn't try to hurt her or eat her or even kill her. If he had wanted to do any of those things, he would have attacked her before now. She hadn't been hiding from him; the spirits hadn't kept her safe; St. John had merely withdrawn.

She wasn't in any danger with him. He was just going to watch her with those strange eyes of his and touch her face or her hands or her hair. Not things she liked, but all things she could handle. If he tried to do something she couldn't handle, she would simply gouge out his eyes over and over again.

The boy from earlier set a small plate in front of Janey, and she glanced down at it before rolling her eyes once more. She couldn't believe they were going to go through all of this again. She wished St. John would eat like a regular person.

Pecos and the others hadn't bothered with rows of forks and knives. They had just eaten; and in the midst of it all, they had laughed and joked. For a second, she lost herself to missing them, but then she pushed all thoughts of them away. She couldn't think of them now. They were on their path, and she was on hers.

With a sigh, Janey picked up the small fork to the left of her plate, because she knew from watching St. John that it was the correct one to use, and cut the small piece of food in half before stabbing part of it and eating it.

St. John was watching her eat, but she tried to ignore him as she finished off the other half. She was sure it tasted fine, but she would rather eat rabbit by the fire than whatever the hell this was at the table.

She swallowed another sigh as she thought about Two Stones and the others. She wondered what they were eating and what they were talking about. They would normally be heading towards the mountain by now to make arrows. Would they make arrows without her? Would they tan hides? She knew they would, and she bitterly resented not being there to help them.

Frustrated with herself for lacking focus, she forced her attention back to St. John.

The look in his eyes made her want to shudder, but she held his gaze and said, "Tell me about Admetos."

"Gladly. If you answer my question first," he drawled.

Janey shrugged.

"You grew out your hair," St. John said.

"That's not a question," Janey stated.

He smiled slightly before saying, "Have you left Jake behind?"

"He left me," Janey said, irritated at the bitterness that managed to work its way into her tone. St. John raised an eyebrow, and Janey said, "You wouldn't understand. But in answer to your question, Jake's dead."

"I cannot say that I'm sad to hear it," St. John murmured.

"You and everybody else," she grumbled.

"Do you find it so terrible being Jane?"

"Have you ever been a woman?" she retorted.

"I cannot say I have," he chuckled.

"Then as I said, you wouldn't understand."

St. John studied her inquisitively before saying, "What is it about Father you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I only know him for as long as Ana was alive."

Her statement did not seem to shock him.

"Mother," he said softly.

"Yes."

"She came to you?" St. John inquired.

"Yes."

"How?"

Janey studied him for a moment, not really sure if she wanted to tell him the truth.

"Ana is… She's stuck," Janey finally said.

"Stuck?"

"With Admetos. She can't be free until you're all dead," Janey said, working to keep her tone emotionless.

"Are you saying that Mother wants you to kill us all?" St. John asked, lips curling up slightly.

"Ana wants me to kill Admetos," Janey admitted.

Ana had never said a word about Janey killing her sons.

"I see," St. John said thoughtfully.

"You see what?" Janey demanded.

"Mother wants you to kill Father, but you've taken it upon yourself to kill the rest of us."

She hadn't just taken it upon herself; she had made an oath to Roaring Waters. And it wasn't something she could just walk away from; she had tried.

"You eat people," Janey stated.

"And?"

"Steal part of them when you do."

"I doubt if they were doing anything with it," he shrugged.

"This is stupid," Janey muttered to herself.

She had been a fool to think she could do this. She couldn't sit at a table with St. John and talk about Admetos like people talked about the weather. There had to be another way. 

"You'll never find him without me," St. John said.

She knew that was true, so she bit off whatever retort she had been about to hurl at him and said, "Just tell me about him."

"Father is… Father," St. John said carelessly.

Janey could see the weariness beneath his carelessness though.

"He craves power," St. John said. "He always has. He is never satisfied. The only difference is that now he's too frightened to go look for it."

"Why is he frightened?" Janey pressed.

St. John held up his hand, and Janey waited impatiently as the servants removed the plates and put bowls of soup onto the table.

Once the boys had left, she said, "Why is he frightened?"

"We had a setback in Europe," St. John said. "You would think that in this modern age people would have moved past such ridiculous fears, but once you're labeled a witch, it is difficult to get anything done. We don't age," he said, his tone making it clear that this was obvious. "So if we are in the public eye, we have to move quite often. Even if we pretend to age, it's difficult to maintain the fiction for more than forty years or so. People begin to get suspicious."

"What does that matter?" Janey broke in.

"Spoken as someone who has never been on the wrong side of an angry, frightened mob," St. John replied with a soft chuckle.

"You're invincible!" Janey spat.

"Are we?" he rejoined. He laughed at the look on her face and said, "Oh, I suppose we are. More or less. Your soup is getting cold."

"Why do you care?"

"If I'm going to go through the trouble of eating, I am going to do it well," St. John said.

He turned his complete attention to his soup, and Janey watched him in disgust. Trying to get information from him was like trying to get information from Two Stones. Frustratingly impossible.

She picked up the soup spoon because she had nothing better to do and quickly ate her soup. And then she waited.

"You really need to learn to take pleasure in the little things of life," St. John said when he finally put down his spoon.

"I do," she growled. "Flowers, sunrises, stars, butterflies."

"Which star is your favorite?" he asked.

She blinked in confusion before saying, "It's daylight."

"So?"

"How could I possibly tell you which star I like?"

"They have names," he said. "I can teach them to you," he offered, eyes passionate.

No doubt about it; he was the devil.

"I don't need to know their names," she ground out. "I just look up, and I know them."

"Yes, but it might be nice to know them by name, don't you think? I have a telescope on the rooftop balcony. You can show me which one you like tonight, and I'll tell you its name."

She hated him. Absolutely hated him.

"It's the oddest thing," St. John said with a chuckle. "You seem to despise me even more when I'm kind. Would you prefer me to be cruel?"

"Yes," she spat.

"Why?"

His tone was teasing, and she realized immediately that he knew why.

"Because you're a filthy people eater," she ground out, "and you should act like one."

"It's rather difficult to stop eating people once you've started," he said frankly. "Nothing else gives you quite the same burst of life."

There. Now she remembered why she hated him.

"Tell me what happened in Europe," she demanded.

"I will tell you what happened in Europe on two conditions," he countered.

"What are they?"

"One, you call me by my name. Two, you show me your favorite star tonight."

She had no experience at all, but she wasn't so stupid that she didn't know what he was doing. The trouble was, he had all the time in the world to play games, and she didn't. She couldn't afford to tell him no. But at least he was leaving the choice up to her.

"Fine," she ground out.

"Fine…?"

He made a motion in the air, and she snarled angrily under her breath before saying, "Victor. Please tell me about Europe."

"Thank you," he said softly.

She could tell that hearing her say his name had truly pleased him, and she wished she hadn't, but what did it matter? She needed to know more about Admetos, and St. John was the only one who could help her.

The servants had returned and were changing out the bowls for plates, so Janey didn't press St. John to speak. She knew he would speak as soon as the servants left, and he did. 

"We have been kings a hundred times or more. We rise; we fall. We conquered nation after nation from the inside, but as time passed, we learned to rule from the shadows. Father, however, has never been content with ruling from the shadows," St. John said wearily.

"We would have never had to leave Europe, but Father made a play for open power, and it turned out rather badly. We escaped. We always do," he added with a shrug. "But we lost our houses, our artwork, and much of our wealth. It's wearisome to constantly begin again. But we're so good at it. Why bother to change?"

He sighed heavily before saying, "I had the most captivating painting by Corrado Giaquinto, and I shudder to think what might have happened to it."

St. John seemed truly vexed, and Janey couldn't understand why. Except for the things she needed to stay alive such as her clothes and her weapons, she had six possessions and she carried them with her everywhere. The idea of owning something for the sole purpose of hanging it on a wall confounded her.

St. John had stopped talking to take a bite, and Janey watched irritably as he slowly chewed, his eyes slightly closed.

She ate because she needed to, not because it pleased her. Everything about St. John was backwards, and nothing he did had any purpose.

"You've so much to learn about life," he said when he noticed her watching him.

"Such as?"

"There's no point in living if all you're trying to do is get to the end."

"What?"

"You're in such a hurry to finish the task that you aren't enjoying anything up to that point."

She disliked him all the more because that sounded so much like something Two Stones or Brings the Rain would say. He was wrong through; she enjoyed things; just not things with him.

"The roast is delicious," St. John commented. "You should try it."

She rolled her eyes, cut off a piece of the meat, and ate it.

"There," she said. "Now tell me about Europe."

"You didn't even taste it," he chastised.

"I don't need to taste it," she retorted.

"You really do," he said. "Otherwise, there's no point."

"The point is being strong enough to fight," she insisted.

"The point is finding some measure of joy in the day to day pursuits so you don't go insane," he countered. "When you see that favorite star of yours, what's the point of looking at it?"

She ignored his question and ground out, "Just tell me about Admetos."

She had only been here for an hour or two, and he was already twisting her mind into knots. This wasn't about her; it was about Admetos.

"Taste your food, and I'll tell you about Admetos."

"No," she said. "We already made a deal. Victor," she added pointedly.

"Indeed," he said with a smile. "And I told you what happened in Europe. We were settled nicely in place. We held the court of power in Austria, but behind the scenes, as we had done for many, many years. In spite of our position; however, and perhaps provoked by some of our more idiotic progeny, Father decided to make a play for public power by launching a revolution against the monarchy."

St. John paused to take another bite, and Janey ground her teeth silently. If he knew how much his pauses irritated her, he would only torment her more, so it was important she hide her impatience.

"It did not go well," St. John sighed. "We had but an army of about six hundred, which in spite of our unique talents, is not many when compared to several hundred thousand. In the end though, it was the people who turned against us. Royals by blood are so much easier to accept than royals by sheer power. It was a tragedy, although not entirely unexpected. Father has always been too hungry, and he is always grasping for more, but that is all I shall tell you unless you slow down and actually enjoy your dessert."

Janey swallowed a growl. St. John was clever, and she hated that. He wasn't forcing her to do a damn thing. He was offering her trades. In other words, he was leaving it entirely in her hands. She could have whatever she wanted, but only if she gave him what he wanted first.

There were not words enough to describe the depth of her hatred for him.

The plate in front of her was whisked away and replaced with a smaller plate. She didn't look at it, but she could smell it, and she knew it was chocolate. It was as if St. John had crawled inside her mind and divined all of her weaknesses. Fairy tales, flowers, stars, and chocolate.

He was trying to tame her, like one might tame a wild fox, using little treats along the pathway towards the house. It wasn't going to work though. She wouldn't be Janey if she wasn't soaring freely.

She stared at the dessert, her mind in turmoil. She had come here to learn about Admetos, but in their strange game of tug-of-war, she felt that St. John was winning, and she wasn't quite ready to cede him the field.

"I find I'm not in the mood for sweets tonight," she said firmly.

"Another time," St. John shrugged.

"I'll be in the garden," she ground out. "Come get me when it's dark enough to see the stars."

"I am at your command, Jane dear," he said with an easy smile.

And although it felt like running, Janey quickly stood and left the room.

She had managed well enough when she was sitting across from him, but now her chest was tight and she could barely breathe. By the time she reached the door that opened out into the garden, she was gasping. She needed air, and she needed it now. She pushed open the door and ran outside, taking huge gulps of air.

She hated playing white or whatever this was. She had thought that she was past the labels, and maybe she was; but right now, she felt like a weak white girl who wanted to run away and hide in the woods.

It wasn't her fault that Ana hadn't killed Admetos when she was supposed to. So why the hell did Janey have to clean up Ana's mess?

Hawk's mark on her hand began to burn, and she remembered why. Because she had promised Roaring Waters his revenge, and she was a white girl who actually kept her promises. There was no getting out of this; there was no running. She had to keep pushing forward, no matter what.

She suddenly realized that she had reached the wall, and she stared out at the trees beyond with a sense of longing. She didn't want to be here any more than she had wanted to be here a year ago.

She could still feel the terror that had consumed her then; she could still feel her uncertainty. She hadn't been strong enough, not yet, and so she had run from St. John. She had run because she had needed to, and she had come back because she had thought it was time to kill Admetos.

She was certain she could kill Admetos if she could only get close to him, but she wasn't certain she had the strength to battle someone like St. John and win. St. John frightened the hell out of her, and he frightened her because he confused her.

She didn't understand him, and she didn't understand herself when she was near him. She felt that if she wasn't careful, she would keep giving him what he wanted. She would keep using the right fork and telling him what he wanted to hear, and then one day she would wake up and realize that she wasn't Janey anymore, but Jane.

The mark on her hand began to burn again, and she pressed her other hand against it, trying to draw on Hawk's strength. Hawk had helped her kill over two hundred men; with his help, she could surely deal with just one.

And hadn't she already won? When St. John had tried to compulse her, she had denied him. But she had also answered all of his other questions. Not because he had compulsed her, but because he had simply drawn her into conversation without her realizing it.   

She ran her hand over the fading blooms of the St. John's wort plant and said, "Will you help me be strong as well?"

Hawk was loaning her his strength; perhaps St. John's wort would shield her from her own tumultuousness. 

The plant didn't reply, or if it did, she simply couldn't hear it. She was beginning to suspect that white people ears weren't quite as good as Indian ears, but maybe it was just her ears.

She consciously calmed her heart once more. She didn't know why she was so worried. St. John didn't want to hurt her. But that was just it; St. John didn't want to hurt her.

She only understood two types of people. The type who wanted to hurt her, and the type who wanted to help her, and St. John was neither. She didn't know what to do with neither.

Her neck hairs were being curiously silent. None of her creep triggers were there. When she had sat at the table with St. John, her fingers hadn't itched to kill him, not like they had the first time she had eaten with him. Something was clearly wrong with her.

Or maybe it was Ana's memories of St. John as a boy that was making it difficult. But it wasn't as if Janey hadn't killed children before.

It was almost as if… It was almost as if St. John was a completely different person, but Janey could hardly wrap her mind around that.

He seemed amused by her defiance of him, not irritated. He hadn't spoken once of eating her. And his entire demeanor seemed… different.

She didn't know how to describe his change, but she couldn't let it affect her. St. John was a creep; it didn't matter how he treated her or his servants or his horse for that matter. He had eaten his own damn mother; he had encouraged Eddie to eat Roaring Waters's wife; and he had eaten who knew how many people himself. St. John was a creep; she knew he was a creep.

"Hell and damnation," Janey muttered as she turned away from the bush and started pacing the garden. Her fingers were twitching, and her entire being felt twisted up.

She didn't like sitting still. She didn't like being trapped behind the garden wall, even if she wasn't trapped, not really. She didn't like making polite conversation, if that was what they were doing, and pretending like she wasn't going to kill him. He knew she was going to; why were they both pretending differently?

How long would she have to endure this? She had hoped he would just take her to Admetos, but she could see now how foolish she had been.

St. John wanted her with him; he wasn't just going to take her to Admetos and be done with her. He didn't want to be done with her.

What if he dragged this on for days? Or weeks? She couldn't do it. She just couldn't. She couldn't keep looking across the table at St. John and seeing that hungry look in his eyes.

Furthermore, at Pecos's, there had been things to do. She had helped with the work and the chores; she had learned to make biscuits; she had fought Charlie and played with Carmina.

Here there was nothing. All there was to do was read and eat and pace. No wonder St. John was bored to death. His life had no meaning and no purpose.

"Excuse me, miss," a soft voice said.

Janey turned with a snarl, instantly regretting her actions when the woman behind her ducked her head and stuttered out an apology.

"It's not you," Janey hastened to say. "It's me. It's my damn ears. It doesn't matter. What?"

"Mr. St. John asked me to bring you some tea," the woman whispered.

Janey surveyed the tray in the woman's hands and shrugged her acquiescence. It wasn't as if she had anything else to do.

"Where would you like me to put it?" the woman asked.

"That thing over there," Janey said, pointing towards an open structure in the middle of the garden. "What's it called?"

"That's the summer house, miss."

"I'll sit there," Janey said.

The woman nodded and hurried towards the structure. She placed the tea tray on the table, tucked her hands behind her back, scuttled away from Janey, and said, "Will there be anything else, miss?"

"What's your name?" Janey asked.

"Mary."

"Mary," Janey repeated. "Thank you for the tea. Is St. John nice to you?"

"Nice?"

"Is he kind? Does he beat you, hurt you, abuse you?"

"No!" Mary gasped, her face reflecting genuine surprise at the mere suggestion.

"Of course he doesn't," Janey sighed. "What are the boys' names? The ones who serve the table?"

"George and Jacob."

"Are there other servants?"

"Three more domestics," Mary replied. "And five men who take care of the horses and the grounds."

"Are we near a city?"

"We're not far from Colorado City. They're building up a new town as well," Mary went on, the fearful tone of her voice gone. "Colorado Springs they're calling it."

Janey made a noncommittal sound. She had no interest in cities. She had just wanted to know where they were.

"Mr. St. John brought us with him from back East," Mary said proudly. "Except for the two boys; they're locals."

"St. John has a house back East?" Janey asked.

"Yes, miss. Three times the size of this one," Mary added. "I've been working for him since I was a girl, miss."

"So you know he doesn't age?" Janey asked skeptically.

"Of course, miss. We all do. 'Cept for those foolish boys. They're trouble, but they seem to amuse Mr. St. John. Your tea will be getting cold, miss, so I'll leave you to it."

With that, Mary ducked her head politely and backed out of the open doorway, leaving Janey all alone.

Janey sat on the divan with a sigh and looked through the open windows at the garden beyond. This little summer house was in the ideal spot. Not only was the garden absolutely breathtaking, but she would also be able to watch the sunset from where she was sitting.

"Damn you, St. John," she muttered softly as she turned her attention to the tea tray instead. The sight of a book sitting by the teapot wrung a laugh from her, and for a moment she laughed loudly just so she wouldn't start crying.

When she had managed to control her emotions, Janey poured herself a cup of tea, took a sip, then picked up the book titled Culpeper's Complete Herbal and started reading.

She hadn't even realized that the sunlight had faded until an aura of warm yellow light suddenly illuminated the entry she was reading about asparagus.

She didn't look up from the book; she knew it was St. John without looking.

"Did you know that asparagus can ease a toothache?" she said. "Although I haven't seen any asparagus this far west so it's a moot point, but still interesting."

"That is surely one of asparagus's least stimulating attributes," St. John replied, his voice strangely amused.

Janey cast him a curious glance, but he didn't explain his amusement, merely said, "What does it say about St. John's wort?"

"I haven't gotten there yet," she replied.

"Can't you read ahead?"

Janey made an irritated noise, but she flipped through the book until she located St. John's wort. She quickly read the entry before saying, "Culpeper recommends it for melancholy and madness; so really, it's the perfect plant for you."

"Fortuitous. And how would I use it?" St. John asked.

She looked over at him in surprise, startling slightly when she realized how near he was. It took all of her control not to scoot away from him, but she did return her gaze to her book so she wasn't looking at him.

"Jane?" he prodded.

"You would… um… harvest the flowers, dry them, and make them into a tea," she murmured.

"A little late for that now," he pointed out.

"Next summer," she agreed.

"If I'm still alive to do it," he chuckled softly.

Janey's eyes narrowed at his tone. How could he joke so blithely about his death? Or anyone's death? Didn't he feel anything? Or maybe that was the problem; maybe he simply didn't feel.

"Come; the stars are beginning to show themselves," he said.

He had stood, and he was holding out his hand to her, but she stood without taking it. She would go with him to look at the stars, but she refused to touch him.

He smiled at her before leading her towards a staircase at the back of the house.

"I learned how to use a telescope from Galileo," St. John said as they walked. "He was a fascinating man. He would have been even more fascinating if he had not had a patron. A free man will seek whatever pleases him, but a bound man will seek whatever pleases his master."

St. John's words were weary, and Janey knew he wasn't just speaking of Galileo now.

"Why don't you just… not?" she asked.

"Not serve Father?" he asked, tone full of humor. "You may as well ask the sun not to rise. Here we are. Show me the star you like, and I will find it in the telescope for you."

Janey looked up at the darkened sky and gasped softly. No matter where she was, she was always awed by the night sky. Always.

Two Stones and Brings the Rain had often talked about the stars, but they had never told her what their people had named them, and she hadn't thought to ask. There were so many; the idea of naming them seemed ludicrous to her.

"There are too many," she protested. "They can't possibly all be named."

"Only the ones that form the constellations or are beacons in the sky are named," St. John replied. "Which one is yours?"

She didn't know. She only knew which one Wolf Heart's was, and that was her favorite star. She pointed at it, and St. John hummed softly before moving to adjust the telescope that was standing near the edge of the balcony.

Janey had never seen a telescope in person, and she only knew of them from Granny's books.

"Go ahead and look," St. John urged as he stepped away from it.

Part of her was afraid, but the rest of her wanted desperately to see what it looked like, so she stepped up to the telescope and moved her eye to the eyepiece.

At first she couldn't see anything, but then she blinked and there it was. Ten times brighter and a hundred times larger than it was to her naked eye.  

"It's beautiful," Janey breathed.

And she suddenly wished that just once she could have the wings of Hawk so she could fly up into the sky as high as she could go and gaze at the stars from there.

"It's part of the Scorpius constellation," St. John said. "There're two stars there, and they're called the Scorpion's Stinger."

"How do you know that?" Janey asked.

"I've been alive a very long time. Long enough to learn quite a bit about the stars. Come here."

It wasn't an order, but Janey bristled anyway. He must have noticed because he added a "please."

With a little regret, Janey stepped away from the telescope.

"If you follow the stinger," St. John said, "you can see the rest of the constellation. You know what a scorpion looks like?"

"Yes," she muttered.

"Do you see it?"

She followed his finger as he traced out the stars, and she suddenly saw the scorpion lying up there against the black blanket of night.

"And if you look just to the right of the stinger stars," St. John continued, "there's a little cluster that I always thought looked like a butterfly."

Janey considered pushing him off the roof, but she knew it wouldn't kill him, and it would probably put him in a foul mood and he would refuse to help her.

"Do you know the story of Scorpius?" he asked.

"No."

"Do you know the constellation Orion?"

"No."

"In the winter, there are three bright stars in a line like a belt, with a few hanging out below like a sword," he said.

"I know the one," she said.

"That is Orion. He was a hunter who boasted that he would kill all the animals of the earth; and so Gaia, the earth mother, sent a scorpion to kill him."

"Is this a fairy tale?" Janey asked.

"Greek mythology," St. John replied. "All a little bit more real than tale. I have a book on Greek mythology in my library. You may borrow it if you wish."

Perhaps she would throw him off the roof, after all. It would probably take him a minute or two to heal, especially if she threw the telescope on top of him.

She discarded the thought once more, and for just a moment they stood side by side, staring up at the brilliant night sky.

"Thank you, Jane," St. John finally said. "Thank you for showing me your favorite star."

He had taken a hold of her hand as he spoke, and she wanted to yank it away, but she didn't.

"What time would you like to break your fast in the morning?" he asked.

"Whenever," she ground out.

She wasn't going anywhere apparently, so it didn't matter when they ate.

"Shall we say nine?"

"Fine."

He was still holding her hand, and if he didn't let go of it soon, she was going to kill him on principle.

Even though it was dark, she could see his face, and she could see that he was smiling.

"One more thing, Jane," he said, tone full of something she couldn't quite identify.

"Yes?"

"It would disappoint me very much if you never call me by name."

With that statement, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand and left her standing on the rooftop all alone.

She regretted not throwing him off the roof. It wouldn't have killed him, but it would have saved her hand from being touched by his filthy people-eating lips.

Chapter 3

Janey didn't bother going back inside. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep in there, not tonight. Tonight she needed to be surrounded by nature.

A wave of homesickness washed over her, and she wished more than anything that she could run through the woods until she found them, but she refused to put them in danger.

She had a suspicion that St. John would leave them alone just to please her, but she was hardly going to trust their lives to the whims of a madman.

She navigated quickly through the garden, hardly hampered by the lack of light. Years of night watching had honed her sight well, and she didn't need the light of a fire to see within the shadows.

When Janey reached the little stone wall surrounding the garden, she leaped easily over it and stalked out towards the forest beyond. She could feel St. John's eyes on her, but she knew he wouldn't try to stop her. She had come to him, and as long as her scalps were inside his house, she would return.

She walked among the pine trees for several minutes before choosing one and climbing up it to the top. She couldn't see Sun Peak, but she faced the way she knew it was and stared out into the distance, wondering where Two Stones and the others were and what they were doing.

She hated being apart from them; and once more, she questioned her path. She had chosen this path when she was only thirteen. She had been completely devastated at the time, and she had been much too young and inexperienced to understand anything.

Had she chosen correctly? Should she have stayed with Mohkave instead? Should she have stayed with Pecos? Should she have stayed with her brothers, but followed a path of wandering instead of vengeance? Was she really the one to kill Admetos?

St. John's story of the scorpion returned to her. The earth mother had sent the tiny scorpion to kill a mighty hunter, and the scorpion had prevailed, using poison.

Janey didn't believe in signs but if she had, it was staring down at her from the sky tonight.

She was many things. She was Janey, she was woman, she was Hawk, and she was the tiny scorpion. She was going to crawl unnoticed into Admetos's boot and poison him. That was her task. She had promised Roaring Waters, she had promised Ana, and she had promised the mother. When would she finally accept that there was no other path?

With a sigh, Janey closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she had been this lonely and this confused. She hadn't even been this confused when Two Stones had dropped her off at Pecos's.

She didn't know why she was so muddled in her mind. But she did know that she wasn't just afraid of St. John; she was also afraid of herself. Which was stupid because she knew who she was now. Didn't she?

She felt like pacing, but she couldn't. What she really needed was Two Stones and his wisdom, but since Two Stones wasn't here, she would dream of him and listen to his words of wisdom once more.

"I miss you," she whispered as she let go of the day and allowed herself to fall asleep.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting across the fire from Two Stones.

"You look worried," he said.

She searched her memory for the recollection of this moment, but couldn't find it.

"Uh…"

"Are things not going well?" Two Stones asked.

"Two Stones?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"But…"

"Stutters when Speaks would be good name for you," he said, smiling slightly.

She laughed before saying, "But no… But what… I don't understand. I've never lived this moment."

"Neither have I."

"But I'm dreaming," she pressed.

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"You and I are both asleep. You called to me, and here I am."

"I…"

Janey shook her head. Maybe this was an actual dream. She never had those, but she supposed it was possible.  

Two Stones sighed and said, "I am here."

"Prove it," Janey retorted.

"I know everything you would know, and you know everything I would know. There is no way to prove it," he stated.

She frowned because he was right.

"Spirits say you are troubled," Two Stones said. "What is troubling you?"

Real or not, she needed to talk.

"St. John," she said. "I'm not… I'm no match for him. I don't know what he wants…"

She trailed off, shook her head, and said, "I do know what he wants, but I don't know what he wants."

"What does he want?" Two Stones asked.

"He wants me to kill Admetos," Janey said. "But that's not all. He wants… He wants… me. But I don't know what that means," she admitted.

"He wants you as a man wants a woman."

Janey managed to nod.

"But it's not just that," she said, tone weary.

"What more?"

"He wants… I think he wants my company," she said, confused by such a concept. "He wants a companion. He wants someone to talk to, someone to amuse him, someone to make him feel alive. He's bored and all alone and weary, and being with me makes him feel alive."

She frowned at the fire before saying, "But he knows I'm going to kill him. Maybe he doesn't believe I can, but he knows I'm going to try. Why not just take me to Admetos so I can finish this?"

"Because he doesn't want to. You make him feel alive," Two Stones replied.

Janey rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily. Apparently, the Two Stones in her imagination was exactly like the real Two Stones.

"He's very… thoughtful," she said, tone aggrieved. "He took the bars off the bedroom windows; he bought me fairy tale books and an herbal. He listens when I speak. He showed me Scorpius. It's different this time," she said irritably. "He's not trying to possess me or force me to be someone I'm not, and I don't know if that's just because he understands his prey better than he did before or what."

"Hawk shows you the truth, does he not?"

Janey shrugged.

"Janey."

"Yes," she grumbled.

"And what does Hawk show you?" Two Stones pressed.

"A weary old man."

"Is that all?"

"I don't know," she stated. "All I know is that my neck hairs aren't tingling, and they should be."

"You want him to fit neatly inside your label," Two Stones said.

"What label?" Janey demanded.

"Your creep label."

"He's a creep!" she insisted.

"Yes, but not all creeps are the same, and not all creeps are evil in every aspect of their lives. That is a lesson you still need to learn."

Janey glared at Two Stones for a long moment before saying, "Are you really Two Stones?"

"Are you really Janey?"

"Hell and damnation! You are! How are you? I mean, how are you here? Like this? What the hell?" Janey exclaimed.

"You called me to you."

"But I don't… What are you saying?"

"You were in need, you called, and I came."

"But I'm dreaming," Janey protested.

"Yes; and to you, the dreaming is just another aspect of life."

"Could you try to make sense?" Janey demanded.

Two Stones smiled and said, "While most of us just briefly cross over the dream world, much as we might cross a stream on a horse, some of us swim in the waters."

"Was that your version of making sense?" she snorted.

He laughed and tried again, "I went to sleep this night, and I dreamed of nothing much. A few random thoughts tumbled together and danced across my vision; but then you fell asleep and pulled me to you. Because you can control the direction of the water, not just for yourself, but for those closest to you."

"No," Janey argued. "It's never been this way before. I always dream of the past."

"Always?"

"Mostly," she insisted, remembering Ana, the mother, and Roaring Waters.

"I am wrong then. You are merely dreaming."

"Oh, hell. It really is you," she grumbled.

That was all she managed to say before the enormity of such a thing made her absolutely speechless.

She was meeting Two Stones in her dream. She was dreaming of Two Stones, and he was dreaming of her, and they were here, together. Could she dream of anyone? Was she really the one controlling this moment?

"How do you know it's not you?" she demanded.

"I have seen more than thirty spans, and I have never met with anyone before."

"Maybe you just didn't have anyone to meet."

"Perhaps."

She hated it when he used that tone.

"What about when you spoke with Chief Nayati?" she asked.

"The spirits took me to him. I wasn't even asleep."

"Whatever," she hissed, rolling her eyes. "It must be me then; are you happy?"

"If you are," he replied with a shrug. "Time grows short. Was there something you needed?"

"Isn't there some other way to find Admetos?"

"Spirits say no."

Janey thought briefly of Charlie. After all, Charlie could find anything; everyone said so, but she refused to pull them into this. She could hardly guarantee they would survive, and she had enough deaths on her conscience.  

"I'm scared," she whispered. "It's not the same. I expected something different. I know I hate him; I know I'm going to kill him, but I…" She sighed and said, "He's eating away at me like a river eats away at its banks, and I don't understand it."

"Life with him would be a very different life," Two Stones said thoughtfully.

"What?!" Janey exclaimed, nearly jumping to her feet. "I don't want a life with him! I just want to be able to kill him without… without…"

She couldn't say it.

"Without mourning it?" Two Stones suggested.

She nodded.

"I do not know how to kill without mourning," he replied, tone grieved.

"I've only ever mourned the children," she admitted.

"I mourn everyone."

"Why?"

"There was life there, given by the mother, and it was never meant to be used wickedly. I mourn the loss of life."

"You're better than I am," Janey told him. "What did you mean when you said I had labeled him a creep but he didn't fit?"

"St. John steals life from others, from innocents. By your measuring stick that makes him a creep, yes?"

"Yes!"

"But he can be kind. Perhaps he was a good father. Perhaps a good mate. And that doesn't fit your label."

"Sure it does," she argued. "Creep, dead. Done."

"Then why are you struggling so?"

She didn't know. Was there such a thing as a nice creep? Was there such a thing as a creep who wasn't creepy all of the time? Weren't they still a creep, no matter what? Pa certainly had been. Janey's neck hairs had always warned her when Pa was nearby.

"My head hurts," she muttered.

"Spirits say you must walk this path to understand self."

"That makes no sense," she sighed.

"When you know the answer, you will know the answer," Two Stones said. "We missed you tonight."

"I missed you," Janey replied earnestly. "What did you eat?"

"Squirrel and some late currents."

"That sounds delicious," Janey sighed. "What do you call the constellation around Wolf Heart's star?"

"What is a constellation?" Two Stones asked.

"A group of stars," Janey replied, and she made a motion with her hand to illustrate the group of stars she meant.

"We call it Medicine Claw," Two Stones said when she was finished.

"I like that."

"There is a legend that it will help to heal the earth in her time of need."

"Tell me about it," Janey requested.

"There was a great healer among our people," Two Stones said. "He was not a healer of the body, but a healer of the spirit. He could look at a man and know what was troubling him inside his heart. A time came when he went on a vision quest to seek an answer, but he never returned. At the same time, Medicine Claw appeared in the sky and many people were healed. Our people celebrated the return of Medicine Claw every spring."

"Why don't you still celebrate?" she asked.

"There are only three of us," he said, his voice a little mournful.

"Four," she corrected.

She wasn't upset that he hadn't included her. She wasn't one of their people; she didn't know their stories; she didn't know their lands, but she could remember just as well as they could, and she could celebrate if they celebrated and dance if they danced.

"Four," Two Stones agreed. "We will learn to celebrate again."

Janey wanted to say something more, but there was a lump in her throat, and she knew it was because it was almost time for Two Stones's watch. When he woke up, she would be all alone again; and she didn't want to be alone.

"I'm no match for him," she said.

"In outright strength, perhaps not," Two Stones admitted.

"I don't mean that way," Janey muttered. "I mean the way he speaks. There's double, triple, meanings to everything he says. I feel like he knows what I'm going to do before I do. He knew I would come back, Two Stones. He planned for it. He has over five thousand years of experience, and I have seventeen. You have to admit that he's… smarter than I am."

"I have to admit nothing. I do not know St. John, but I know you. You are clever, you are wise, you are strong, and you never give up."

That wasn't true. She had given up time and time again. And then she had given up on giving up. She was a give upper.

"You are brave," Two Stones went on, "perhaps braver than anyone I have ever known. And you see to the truth of the matter in a way others do not."

She started to argue with him, but he cut her off and said, "You may not see how these things will help you, but they will. The spirits would not have brought you here if it was not time."

"Why did they bring me here?" she demanded.

"To learn."

"About Admetos?"

"About yourself."

And then Two Stones was gone, and she was sitting by the fire all alone.

"Don't leave me," she whispered.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Two Stones's voice said gently, "Like Hawk, I am always with you."

Janey didn't turn around because she knew he was already gone. The darkness was slowly closing in; the fire was dying low, and then everything shifted, and she was sitting at St. John's table, cleaning out her fingernails.

She carefully examined each moment she had spent with him, but it was always the same. Even when she thought they should, her neck hairs didn't tingle. She growled with irritation, hating St. John even more than before; and then she shifted her focus to him, studied his movements and expressions, and listened to the cadence of his words, learning from him as she did.

Wolf Heart touched her hand, and she woke. It was time for her watch, but there was nothing to watch. It was just her. All alone. In a tree.

She didn't go back to sleep though. She pretended her brothers were with her, and she watched the darkness. By the time the sun began to rise, her bones were stiff from the cold.

She didn't move though. Not yet. Instead she watched the sun kiss Sun Peak and pretended that she could hear Brings the Rain singing. She watched the light paint the early dusting of snow orange and pink, and only when the sky was bright with day, did she climb down from the tree and head back towards St. John's house.

One of the boys met her in the garden and said, "Good morning, miss. Mr. St. John said to watch for you. He thought you might like a bath to take the edge off the chill."

There was no doubt about it; she loathed St. John to the core. There was no good reason why a filthy people eater should be so damn considerate and kind.

"Which one are you?" Janey asked. "George or Jacob?"

"Jacob, miss."

"I'll take the bath, thank you. And some tea if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," Jacob said before scurrying off.

She didn't particularly like the idea of someone else doing all of her work for her. The boys would heat and haul her water; Mary would make her tea; someone else would cook her breakfast. And what would she do while everyone else did her chores? Just sit in her room and read? What an awful existence.

But she also didn't want to live like Enrica did. She didn't want her life to be full of cleaning and cooking and laundry. That was too close to Ma's life, and she wanted nothing to do with it. Enrica didn't seem to mind; she seemed to like caring for the cowboys in that way, but Janey wasn't interested in such a life.

She might be a woman, but she wasn't a cleaning woman. She wasn't a lounging woman either. She couldn't bear the idea of doing nothing but reading and eating all day.

So what kind of woman was she, and what was she going to do while she waited for St. John to actually help her?

She didn't know, so she did the only thing she really knew how to do; she went up to her room and paced. And when she was sick of pacing, she flopped into her chair and sighed. She might not be that type of woman, but it looked as if today she was going to sit and read.

And since St. John had been kind enough to sneak into her room and leave a book about Greek mythology on her bookshelf, she supposed she would start there.

She had never read anything about Greek mythology, and it wasn't long before she was completely fascinated by it. When she was finished with the section on Scorpius that St. John had marked, she flipped to the beginning of the book and began to read from there.

With a sudden hiss of dismay, Janey closed the book and dropped it onto the floor in front of her. What the hell was she thinking? She was sitting in this comfortable chair, waiting for her bath to be drawn, reading a book; and all the while Admetos was eating more people and Ana was suffering. She had a purpose for being here, and reading wasn't it.

She had just decided to hunt down St. John and force him to tell her what she needed to know when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called out.

Jacob pushed open the door, and he and George carried in the huge copper tub.

Janey stared at it in disgust, remembering the last time she had used it, but she wasn't that same girl. She had grown stronger. She could sit at the table with the devil now and not be scared. He didn't control her. He couldn't make her talk; he couldn't force her to betray her family.

She had to go through this to get to Admetos.

She suddenly laughed, realizing just how silly she was being. It was a bath, not a beating. Of course she could get through a bath. And it wouldn't bother her one bit. Because she wasn't that girl.

And when she was done with her bath, she would eat breakfast with the devil. What did she care? St. John could insinuate; he could imply; he could tease and do a hundred other things; but if he touched her, she would gouge out his eyes once more. He might be invincible, but that didn't mean she couldn't cause him pain and trouble, and a lot of it.

Mind relieved, and nerves settled, Janey continued reading until everything was ready. When the tub was finally full, the fire lit, and her tea tray settled beside her chair, the boys left, and Janey locked the door behind them.

Then, without giving herself much time to think about it, she undressed and lowered herself into the tub. The warm water was soothing, and she closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Her mind wouldn't slow down though. She kept thinking about St. John and Admetos, and she kept wondering why St. John didn't just walk away. She thought about what he had said on the rooftop about the sun not rising, and she wondered exactly what kind of hold Admetos had over his sons.

She would ask St. John today at breakfast. And this time, she wouldn't let him wiggle out of it. He might have all the time in the world, but she didn't. And even if she did, she wouldn't waste it on him.

She thought of questions she wanted answered until the water began to cool, and then she quickly washed and stepped from the tub.

When she was done drying off, she sat with her back to the fireplace and started to brush her hair. As she brushed, she studied the room, a little curious as to why she felt so different than she had a year ago.

She didn't feel trapped; she didn't feel scared; she felt annoyed. Annoyed that she had to play games with St. John to get what she wanted.

But she wasn't a fool. St. John wasn't going to help her if there wasn't something in it for him. And that was why she was bothering with silverware and baths and telescopes.

She stood with a sigh and quickly donned her clothing. Then, out of morbid curiosity, she walked over to the wardrobe and opened it.

She remembered the color of every dress that had been in the wardrobe a year ago, and she could tell at a glance that these dresses were different.

St. John had purchased these specifically for her, and she had to grudgingly admit that he knew her better than she would have liked because there was a pair of brown woolen pants and a blue shirt hanging to the side of everything else.

Janey pulled the shirt and pants from the wardrobe and laid them on the bed. The colors were richer, and the fabric was more pleasing than the clothing she owned, and she stared at them for a long moment before glancing at the clock. She had more than enough time to change, but did she want to? Was she really going to wear clothing that St. John had purchased for her?

But why the hell not? It wasn't a dress, it was nicer than her clothing, and it would please St. John. If he was pleased, he would give her what she wanted and she could be done with him that much faster.

Mind made up, Janey quickly changed; but as she studied herself in the mirror, she began to reconsider.

For four years now, she had been wearing boy's clothing that had been designed for boys. These clothes, however, had been designed for her, and they fit perfectly. Which meant that she looked exactly like what she was. A woman.

If she rode into a town dressed like this, there would be no escaping notice.

Janey suddenly grinned, and the woman in the mirror grinned back at her.

Who was hiding? She sure as hell wasn't. She was Janey Falke. She was probably wanted for murder. Lots of murders. And if they wanted her, they were welcome to come get her.

She quickly belted her knives and guns into place, and then she put on her moccasins. She would wear white man's clothes and use white man's guns, but she sure as hell wasn't going to wear white man's shoes.

Once her weapons were in place, Janey studied herself in the mirror once more, but even though she liked what she saw, her smile quickly faded.

If she was so unafraid, what the hell was she doing here? Her people were in danger, and she had left them. She should be by Mohkave's side, fighting. If she was really that strong, who could stand in her way?

Grief pulled at her, and it was unlike anything she had ever known. She didn't understand it, didn't understand how it could hurt so much more than a blow.

She knew why she wasn't with them, but she couldn't bear to think of it. She would stand by their side, and they would slaughter anyone who came for them. But then the white chief would send more and more and more soldiers, until Mohkave and his people eventually fell under the onslaught.

It was a time for rabbit, but Mohave's people weren't rabbit. They were bison. And bison didn't run. He stayed in his plains and his valleys. He stood by his home, and so would they.

She couldn't ask Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain to die for land that wasn't theirs. It wasn't a fight that could be won, and she wouldn't ask them to stand beside her until they died.

She loved Mohkave. She loved the mother and Hes. She loved Emonah and Asohave. She would protect them unto death, but she also knew when to run. They were choosing to die because they wanted to remain free. They wanted to stay with their ancestors. They wanted to be with their people.

And that was the one place she couldn't follow them. As much as she loved them, as much as they had opened their arms to her, their people were not her people. Their land was not her land. She had a different path; a path given her by a different mother. The mother. As much as Janey wanted to be with Mohkave's tribe, she had to let them go so they could follow their own path.

If only she could forget them so it didn't hurt so damn much. But she couldn't. She had promised to remember them, and she would. She would remember Mohkave and his people; she would remember the bison; she would remember them all. 

Chapter 4

Janey jerked sideways when a hand touched her elbow. She had been so lost thinking about Mohkave that she hadn't heard St. John enter.

"Jane," he said softly, eyes concerned. "Why are you crying?"

She hadn't known she was, and she swiped angrily at her eyes, furious that he had seen her being weak.

"I'm not," she spat.

"Is something wrong?"

Everything was wrong, but she was hardly going to tell him that. She didn't like him. He was evil. She hated him. And she was going to kill him.

"Breakfast?" she ground out.

His jaw tightened, and she knew that he was upset with her, but did he really expect her to fall against him and cry on his shoulder? She wasn't that kind of woman, and she never would be. And even if she was, his would be the last shoulder she would cry on.

The shadow that had crossed his features quickly passed as he surveyed her with a pleased expression.

"I knew you'd find something you liked," he stated.

"Yes," Janey said, trying to keep the sharpness from her tone. She was trying to please him, after all; that was part of the stupid game. "Thank you. Victor," she added, although it nearly killed her to do so.

"Next time, try to say it with a little less venom," he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes and snapped, "That wasn't part of the deal. If you wanted it said in a specific tone, you should have specified it first."

For a second, he looked surprised, but then he actually started laughing. He wasn't laughing at her either. He was just laughing.

Janey took a step away from him, baffled by his absolute mirth.

"If you and a jinn faced off, the jinn would walk away the worse for wear," he chuckled softly after a long minute of laughter.

"A jinn?" she asked.

"Ah, you've yet to read A Thousand and One Nights?"

She raised an eyebrow in confusion, and he said, "I'll see if it's in my library."

"I'm not going to be here long enough to read it," she felt the need to point out.

"Take it with you when you leave," he shrugged. "Take all of the fairy tales with you. They are my gift to you."

She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything; she just turned and left the room. She knew how to find the breakfast room. He would either follow her, or he wouldn't. She didn't care either way.

Only she did care, because she needed to know more about Admetos.

With a disgusted huff, she sat at the breakfast table and stared out one of the windows. She wasn't so lost to her thoughts that she didn't hear St. John this time, but she ignored him as he sat beside her, and she resolved to wait for him to speak.

He didn't say as word as he removed the lid from one of the trays, releasing the aroma of food into the room.

Janey's stomach clenched. She was fiercely hungry. She had only picked at her food last night, and she wanted to grab the entire stack of bread and devour it. That would not please St. John though, so she carefully picked up one piece of bread, buttered it, and took a bite.

It tasted fine, but she missed the taste of fire, the taste of wood. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined that she was with them, and then she opened her eyes and met St. John's inquiring gaze.

"Please tell me about Admetos," she said, in spite of her resolution not to be the first one to speak.

"I will answer three of your questions if you tell me why you were crying," he offered.

"No."

"Then I fear I'm needed in town today."

Janey bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him and said, "I will taste my food this morning."

"That's up to you," he replied. "Three questions if you tell me why you were crying. Otherwise, I find I'm busy for the rest of the day."

She loathed him with her entire being.

"Five questions," she countered.

"Deal."

Hell and damnation. She should have pushed for more.

"I'll even go first," St. John said cheerfully. "What is your first question?"

Janey stared at him, trying to remember all of the questions she had already come up with. She finally asked the first one that came to mind.

"Where is Admetos?"

St. John smiled and said, "He's about forty miles south of here. He lives in a sheltered valley near the river, surrounded by his guards, his walls, and his flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Is that a question?"

"No!" Janey snapped.

"I didn't think so," St. John chuckled. "Next question?"

She would hardly be able to locate Admetos with such a loose description. Or maybe she could. In any case, she needed to be more specific with her next questions.

"What is Admetos's plan?" she asked.

"To grow so strong that no one can defeat him," St. John replied easily.

Much, much more specific, she amended when he paused and looked at her expectantly.

"How does Admetos plan to grow strong, and what will he do once he is?"

"That's two questions," he pointed out.

"Whatever," she snapped.

She clearly wasn't going to win this game, but at least she was getting somewhere.

"When you eat a person, the strength you gain from them is in proportion to that person's strength. Eat a weak man, get weak power. Eating a normal person is useless, which is why I never do it. To gain true power, you have to eat someone of superior power. Like you, for instance," he said with a feral grin. "Or one of your companions."

She bristled at that, but he had already moved on.

"In these modern times, it's terribly difficult to find anyone worth eating, but similar to breeding animals or plants, it is possible to cultivate power. You take weaklings, and as they consume other weaklings, their power grows. When they've reached their limit, we eat them. Or Father eats them. We've been cut off for the time being," St. John said with a shrug. "Not that it matters. It's not as if we lose power; we just don't increase."

"So the wagon trains are just a way to feed him?" Janey demanded.

St. John raised an eyebrow.

"That is not another question," Janey ground out. "I'm just clarifying your statement."

"I'll allow it," he chuckled. "Yes."

That was less of an answer than she had hoped for, but at least she now understood what the point of the wagon trains was. Pa and Eddie had always been going to die.

She found it rather fitting that St. John had chosen abusers to feed Admetos; and if he hadn't encouraged them to kill the Indians in order to increase their strength, she might not have even cared.

"Eat," St. John urged. "And then I'll answer your final two questions."

She knew better than to argue with him so she finished her bread before taking a couple pieces of ham and eating them as well. 

It went against her nature to try to please someone she disliked, but she really did need him, so she ate slowly and tried to think about the food as she did. And she found that it changed the entire experience.

She was suddenly aware of the texture and the way the flavors mixed when she chewed. She couldn't remember ever paying attention to her food before, not like this, and she made certain to eat each bite with specific intent.

When she finished, she found St. John watching her, a hungry expression on his face; and she wondered if he had never learned to hide his feelings or if he simply wanted her to know what he felt. He was old as hell though, so she was guessing the latter.

"Did you taste it?" he asked, voice a little gruffer than normal.

She nodded.

"Did you like it?"

She nodded once more.

His eyes darkened, and Janey fought to hold his gaze. She was terrified of him, but she couldn't flee. Not again. She wasn't playing rabbit; she was playing hawk.

He poured her a cup of coffee, but she pushed it to the side and said, "Answer my other question."

"You like coffee," he pointed out.

"How do you know?" she demanded.

"I saw you drinking it when we were traveling. It was the one thing you would risk your father's fists for."

There was a question inside of his statement, and Janey considered ignoring it, but she didn't.

"This isn't coffee," she said derisively. "It's bland water."

"I see," he murmured. "I'll have a word with the kitchen staff."

As long as he answered her questions, she didn't care what he did.

"What does Admetos plan to do once he's strong?" she repeated.

"Try again," St. John shrugged.

"That's not an answer."

"You haven't said my name."

She snarled softly before saying, "Please answer my question, Victor."

He smiled brilliantly, white teeth flashing, and said, "This country is different than any of the others we secretly ruled. It requires a different method, and I imagine that Father thinks he knows what method that is. He's been studying it for years now, learning about its structure, and several of my brothers are in positions of power within the government. Once Father feels he is strong enough, he'll make a play for power once more. We can only hope he's smart enough to do it from the shadows this time."

Janey didn't understand, and she wasted her last question in an effort to do so.

"Why does he want power so badly? Why isn't he just content to live?"

"My father is a hunter," St. John said.

Janey knew that; Ana had told her so.

"In the beginning, he hunted to satisfy his people's hunger, but then he hunted to satisfy something else. His own hunger. He hungers for power and dominion. Did you read the story of Orion?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Orion thought he would prove his prowess by killing every beast of the field. His appetite was greater than his need, and Gaia punished him for his greed."

St. John was staring sightlessly out the window now. His voice was full of melancholy, and his face looked sad when he said, "There was no Gaia to punish Father."

That wasn't true. The mother had given the task to Ana; but Ana hadn't had the strength of the scorpion.

"He'll never stop grasping," St. John said softly. "Never. As long as there are others to rule, others to grind under his heel, Father will seek to do so. He only finds pleasure when he is dominating others."

St. John shook his head, as though clearing it, and turned to face her. "That was five questions," he said. "Now answer mine. Why were you crying?"

"Because I am going to lose my family, and there is nothing I can do about it," Janey said flatly.

He frowned and said, "Your family is already dead."

"Pa wasn't my family," she spat.

"You refer to your native companions then?" he asked.

"I already answered your question," she replied.

"So you have," he allowed. "I am sorry for whatever has grieved you," he added. "I will be busy today, but I will be home for dinner. Please eat with me."

She nodded, but she was irritated that he was going to avoid her all day.

"I prefer dresses, but I find that pants suit you very well," St. John said, grinning easily. 

She didn't care what he thought.

"Please make free use of the house. Consider it yours."

With that unsettling statement, St. John stood, bowed slightly, and left the room.

A moment later, Jacob was at Janey's elbow, asking her what she would like.

She would like for St. John to sit down and actually tell her something useful. She would like to be with Two Stones and the others. She would like Admetos's scalp on her belt. She would like to be done with it all.

But then what? What would she do when she was done? Where would she go? Did she have any purpose beyond killing the saints?

She had already decided that she would never stop killing creeps, but did she honestly believe that she could just ride around killing people for the rest of her life? She didn't know. And that was more distressing than she cared to admit.

To test St. John's words, Janey smiled at Jacob and said, "I'm going to explore the house."

"Yes, miss. Call if you need anything. When shall we serve lunch?"

She had been here for less than a day, and she already hated this life.

"Whenever," she shrugged.

He didn't seem to know what to do with that, so he tried again. "Would one be acceptable?"

"Fine," she stated. "In the summer house," she added.

"Yes, miss."

And then he was gone, and Janey was alone. She immediately stood and started looking for St. John's study. She found it quickly enough and spent a while going through his papers.

It didn't take her long to see that St. John wasn't in hiding like Admetos was. He was actively pursuing his own goals; she just wasn't sure what those goals were.

He was communicating regularly with a man named General Palmer and another man named Henry McAllister about the development of Colorado Springs; and although Janey didn't particularly understand their letters, she did understand that St. John was the guiding force.

There were other letters as well, lots of them; and by the time Janey had scanned through them she knew that St. John owned mines and companies throughout the States and in Europe. Whatever Janey had thought he was, she had been wrong. He was clearly successful; and in spite of the lack of plumbing in the house, she had a suspicion that St. John was far richer than Pecos was.

"Why the hell is he following Admetos around?" she muttered as she shifted through another stack of papers.

St. John's obedience to Admetos confused her more than anything else, especially now that she knew St. John didn't need Admetos to function.

Ana's memories of Admetos had shown Janey that once Admetos had shifted towards his own desires, he had never been kind. He had beaten anyone he could lay his hands on, even his sons. St. John on the other hand showed no inclination whatsoever to hurt anyone in his employ or otherwise unless he was planning on eating them.

She shuddered just thinking about it. She didn't understand how anyone could willingly consume human flesh.

Her own words came back to her though, and she knew the answer. To be strong. No one wanted to be weak. And although some people didn't bother to fight to be strong, St. John wasn't one of those people. And neither was she. They would use whatever was in front of them to be strong, even if that meant eating people.

And that was when Janey realized that if she had to eat St. John to defeat Admetos, she would do it in a second. And likewise, she was certain that if St. John believed he could defeat Admetos by eating her, he would have already done so.

Janey swallowed the bile that was trying to rise up her throat, disgusted at the direction of her thoughts. She would do whatever it took to kill Admetos; she knew that, but she hoped that didn't include eating anyone. If she ate St. John, she would be no better than they were. Eating others just to gain power. All the power in the world was useless if it wasn't tempered with compassion.

Unfortunately, that was another thing she and St. John had in common. He didn't seem to pity people, and neither did she. She knew it was the creep in her, but she could hardly change that about herself, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to.

Her eyes refocused, and she realized that she had made an absolute mess of St. John's desk. She hadn't tried to hide her riffling because she was certain he had known exactly what she would do as soon as he left; in fact, he had probably been planning on it.

It was difficult to know whether she was following her own plans at this point or following his.

"I hate him so much," she grumbled.

And it was true; she hated him more than she had ever hated anyone. But she also found herself commiserating with him because she had watched Eddie and Pa, and she knew what it was like to grow up with a monster. She knew what it was like to be weak.

In spite of her objections, if someone had told her that by eating Sol she would have been strong enough to defend herself against Pa, she would have done it. She would have never killed Ma, but if someone had told her that eating Ma after Ma had died would have given her the strength to defend herself against Pa, she wouldn't have thought twice.

They weren't so very different; the only difference was that St. John hadn't used his strength to defeat the monster; he had joined the monster instead. He was still weak. Ana's flesh hadn't had any strength of character to give him.

Ana hadn't been strong enough to save her sons. Her love had held her back. She hadn't wanted to kill, and she especially hadn't wanted to kill Admetos; but by not killing Admetos when the mother told her to, Ana had consigned her children to hell.

Ma and Ana weren't so different in the end because neither of them had done anything to protect their children.

A sharp pain of grief tore through Janey's chest, and she tried to ignore it, but she couldn't. Unlike Ma and Ana, Emonah was doing everything in her power to protect her son, including being willing to die with him so they could always be free.

Tears rose to Janey's eyes, but she blinked them away. She had chosen to leave Emonah behind; Emonah had chosen to stay behind; and Janey was here. This was where the spirits had told her to go. Right now, this was where she belonged, not out on the plains with Mohkave and his people. 

Janey brushed a hot tear from her cheek before moving away from St. John's desk. She had learned all she could from his papers. Anything else she wanted to know she would have to learn from him.

It didn't take her long to search the rest of the house. She refused to go into the library because she was afraid she would get sucked into reading a book and never leave, and none of the other rooms held anything of interest.

All of the rooms were airy and full of natural light, even the hallways; and it was completely disparate to the way she felt St. John's house should be. She wished it was dusty, smelled of mold, and was full of heavy furniture and dark draperies.

But even his room, which Janey observed from the doorway, was awash with light. The drapes there were a dark green, but they were offset by the light pine wood that had been used to panel the walls.

The room was open, not overburdened with furniture, and Janey got the impression that St. John didn't spend a lot of his time here.

There was a small writing desk against one wall, but there weren't any papers on it, and there was a delicate looking chair next to the fireplace with a small stand beside it. There was a book on the stand, and Janey glanced up and down the hallway to make sure she was alone before walking quickly across the room to look at it. It was titled Leaves of Grass.

Janey glanced over her shoulder. The door was open, and there was no one there, so she picked up the book and flipped to the bookmarked page.

She read a few lines, her eyes widening as she realized the implications; and then she quickly shut the book and spun around, gasping in surprise when she saw St. John standing just inside the doorway.

"I'm rather disappointed you didn't start with my bedroom," he drawled. "Did you not find 'Pent-up Aching Rivers' to your liking?"

"I'm not really much for poetry," she managed to say.

He was blocking the doorway, not that she cared. Even if they were on the second floor, there were plenty of windows.

She was just noting the nearest one when St. John shifted out of the doorway and said, "My business didn't take as long as I had anticipated. I'll join you for lunch in the summer house."

She realized he was dismissing her, but she didn't take offense. She walked as quickly from the room as possible without outright running. And once she had reached the stairs, she broke into a run and didn't stop until she had reached the low stone wall that surrounded the garden.

She leaned against the garden wall, gripping the rough rocks tightly, and forced herself to breathe.

"Stupid," she muttered when she finally had the breath to do so.

What had she been thinking? His study was one thing. But his bedroom? Was she out of her damn mind?

Her cheeks were burning, and she knew it was because she was thinking about what she had read. She hadn't understood it at all, but she had gotten the gist.

Ana had given her enough memories that she understood what happened between a man and a woman, but that didn't mean she wanted to read about it.

She shook her head to clear it and started walking. She was getting distracted, and that would hardly do. She had come here to learn about Admetos; she didn't care about St. John.

That wasn't really true though because she had to kill St. John. She had no choice in the matter; she had promised Roaring Waters she would. Whether or not he had been the one to eat her, St. John was ultimately responsible for Roaring Waters's wife's death, and Roaring Waters wouldn't be free to join his people until Janey fulfilled her oath.

So even though every conversation she had with St. John made it more difficult for her to conceive of killing him, she had to kill him because he belonged to Roaring Waters. She had to kill Admetos because the mother had charged her with the duty. And she had to kill the rest of the saints because they were evil.

All of the saints, including St. John and Admetos, were creeps because they took from others. And the creep label was the only label that made sense to her, and she didn't get to make exceptions. Creep equaled dead; it was as simple as that. 

Chapter 5

Janey had just reaffirmed her understanding of the creep label when she saw St. John strolling across the garden towards her. She had a sudden urge to leap over the wall and run, but she didn't. She held herself still and waited.

He paused once he reached her and studied her with that ever so slightly amused gaze before saying, "Are you ready for lunch?"

"Yes," she said.

"Did you find what you were looking for in my study?" he inquired as they walked towards the summer house.

"I wasn't looking for anything in particular."

"Then that is precisely what you found," he chuckled.

"I only found what you wanted me to find," she countered.

"I have no secrets from you. If you want to know something, ask."

"How many wives have you had?"

She could have bitten off her tongue; she had no idea at all where that question had come from.

St. John, however, answered without hesitation.

"Ten."

"Did you eat them all?" she demanded.

"No."

"How many did you eat?" she pressed.

"None."

He gestured for her to sit, then sat beside her before saying, "I've always found the idea of eating a woman who's borne children for me somewhat repulsive."

"But you said…" Janey sputtered.

She couldn't make herself say what he had said, so he did it for her.

"I did say that I would eat your heart," St. John admitted. "And I did say that I had yet to decide if I wanted a son from you first. But it's really always been one or the other for me. At this moment, I am satisfied with your company."

She didn't understand what that meant. Was he still planning to eat her someday? Not that she would ever give him the chance.

He uncovered the platter and fiddled with his napkin for a moment before saying, "I have never been a rapist; please forgive me for implying that I was."

A year ago, it wouldn't have mattered if he had said he wasn't a rapist; Janey wouldn't have believed him. She only believed him now because she had already surmised as much.

Still a creep, just not a rapist creep.

"Do you still want to eat me?" she blurted out.

He turned to look at her, his eyes dark, and said, "I admit that your power is tempting. I haven't eaten anyone in a long time now simply because there's no point. If I was going to eat someone, it would have to be you," he said somewhat apologetically.

The look in his eyes suddenly shifted, still hunger, but of a different type; and he leaned towards her slightly. She didn't move away. She wasn't scared of him, and she refused to move, even when his fingers brushed ever so lightly over her cheek.

St. John allowed his fingers to comb through the edge of her hair before he pulled away with a sigh and said, "I really have no interest in eating you. Don't mistake me; I am interested in you," he stated, eyes burning. "Just not in eating you."

Janey wanted to say something, anything, to shift the conversation, but she couldn't seem to remember how to speak, and she couldn't look away from his heavy gaze.

He returned her look for a moment before smiling pleasantly and saying, "I answered your questions. Would you answer one for me?"

"Maybe," she ground out, unaccountably relieved that he had carried on the conversation when she couldn't.

"I've always enjoyed your honesty," he drawled. "How do you plan to kill Father? I can't help you if I don't know."

That was true. He couldn't. She was going to have to decide if she trusted him, and she was afraid that she did.

"I'm going to poison him," she stated. "But to do that, I'll have to get close to him."

"Poison? Don't you think I've tried that?" St. John asked, tone weary.

"Yes, but did the mother tell you how to do it, or did you just attempt it on your own?" she retorted.

"Would you kindly clarify?" St. John asked softly.

For once he wasn't paying any attention to his food. His entire being was focused on Janey, and she found she didn't like it.

"Ana, your mother, remembered being born," Janey said. "She remembered the cave and the voice; she remembered the mother."

"She told us the story," St. John admitted. "But Father said she was lying; he told us men were born from the rays of the sun."

"Who birthed the sun?" Janey inquired.

"Who birthed the earth?" he shot back.

"I don't know," she admitted. "All I know is what Ana showed me."

"And how do you know she was telling the truth?" St. John demanded.

Janey grinned slightly, amused to see him ruffled. He was always in such perfect control. She could tell this was a point of contention for him, and although she didn't particularly care what he believed, if he didn't believe she could kill Admetos, he wouldn't help her get to him. And why not? Because St. John didn't want her to die.

She knew how to convince him of Ana's story, but she didn't want to touch him, and she certainly didn't want to share anything with him. It would taint the other times she had shared her memories, but she couldn't see a way around it, so she reached out her hand and laid it on top of his. She didn't watch his face, just closed her eyes and pulled up Ana's memory of the beginning.

Janey knew she would see everything through Ana's eyes, but she didn't know how St. John would see it. She didn't wonder about it long though because the memory had already begun.

It was dark, but warm; and the air moved like it was breathing. She was safe, content, and happy. But something lifted her to her feet and gave her a gentle shove.

"It begins," a wonderful voice said, filling the very air around her. "It is time. Arise, my children. Go forth. Live in peace and contentment."

The voice was like water bubbling happily in a brook, and she could have listened to it forever, but instead she obeyed it. There was a distant light, and somehow she knew that the voice wanted her to go towards it.

She walked slowly out of the darkness and into the light. Many others walked with her, and there was a man at her side, a tall handsome man with wavy brown hair and a beautiful smile. She smiled back at him, feeling as if she had known him forever, as if he had always been by her side.

Janey silently hurled a thousand curses at Admetos. She even tried to take control of Ana's hands and kill him, but as always, she couldn't affect anything of Ana's.

Ana looked behind her and saw the mouth of a cave, and she knew they had come from it, from the womb of the mother.

"Live in peace, my children," the bubbling voice said; then the cave sank into the earth, leaving behind a perfectly round circle where it had been.

Ana gazed at the world around her. She had never seen green before, but she knew what it was. She knew they were at the edge of a forest, and she recognized the bears, deer, foxes, and wolves that were disappearing into the undergrowth all around them. She recognized the birds that took to the air.

They were all children of the mother. The mother had birthed them all. 

There were other men and women, but no children. And everyone was dressed in simple clothes made of linen. She didn't know how she knew it was linen, she just did. She knew the plant it was made from and how to weave it into cloth. She knew how to fashion the cloth into clothes. There was so much she knew. It was all inside of her, and she knew it was the wisdom of the mother. 

"Come," the man beside her said. "Let us make a home together."

He smiled, and his brilliant white teeth sparkled in the sunlight. She smiled back, content. She knew what he meant by home. They would live together, have children, and care for their children and the earth together. Just as the mother had intended.  

"Mother named me Admetos," he said.

"I am Ana," she said as she took his hand.

Janey yanked her own hand away from St. John's and briskly rubbed it, hating that she had voluntarily touched him.

"What was that?" St. John ground out.

She cast him a quick glance. His face was pale, and he looked a little ill.

"Ana's memory of the beginning," Janey said.

"But how?"

"How do you gain power from eating people?" Janey replied. "How do you easily heal the most grievous of wounds? How do you force people to tell you what you want? I don't know, but not knowing the how doesn't change the truth."

"And the mother?"

"The voice," Janey explained.

"You have spoken directly to her?"

His tone was commanding, and Janey knew he was trying to compulse her. What she didn't know was if he even knew he was doing it.

She paused for a moment, just so they would both realize that it was her decision to answer, and then said, "Yes."

"And she told you how to kill Father?"

"Yes."

Mostly, Janey added silently. The mother had told Ana, and Ana had told Janey. Or the plants had told Janey. Or the mother from Mohkave's village. The point was that she knew how to kill Admetos.

"Just like Gaia and the scorpion," St. John said, looking as baffled as she sometimes felt.

"Exactly."

"So your plan is to walk up to Father and poison him?"

"Yes."

"It won't work," he stated.

"Why the hell not?"

St. John sighed heavily before saying, "Due to some previous attempts on his life, Father doesn't trust anyone. He doesn't drink or eat anything that someone else hasn't tested first."

That did complicate matters, but it wasn't completely unexpected, and Janey was certain she could find a way around it.

"He doesn't even let me within ten feet of him," St. John stated.

"What would he do if you did come closer?" she asked.

"You should ask my brother Jarek. Only you can't, because Father tore him limb from limb, then ate his heart, his liver, and most of his flesh."

Janey suddenly wasn't hungry, and she laid her fork on her plate, food still pierced on the tines.

"Is he really that much more powerful than you are?" she asked.

"Not really," St. John shrugged. "We simply don't have the ability to fight against him. I don't know if it's compulsion; I don't know if it's because we're from him, but I cannot directly attack Father. And I have tried."

"What happens?"

"My body denies me. It turns the other way; it trips; it steps backwards at just the wrong moment. It's mildly frustrating," St. John admitted.

"You said you'd tried poison," she pointed out.

He grinned, suddenly looking rather boyish, and said, "I did say 'directly' attack him. Poison is rather indirect. I poisoned the…" He paused as if searching for the right word and finally said, "Food source, then I went on about how powerful the food source was before handing it off to one of my brothers. Alex, of course, didn't realize the food source was poisoned, and he delivered it to Father. Very indirect, if you think about it," he said, still smiling.

She was remembering why she hated him.

"What happened?" she asked.

"A heart and liver later, Father developed a severe stomach ache, at which point he accused Alex of trying to kill him."

St. John looked a little regretful when he said, "Eating Alex cured his stomach ache, and Father's been very careful ever since. He'll usually eat his live prey without a tester, but he smells it first. So you see, poison is out."

"Maybe your poison," she argued. "Mine will work."

"I wish I had your confidence," he stated.

She could see he wasn't convinced, and she wasn't certain how to persuade him, so she asked him a question instead.

"How many brothers do you have left?"

"Eleven."

"Out of twenty?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"And Admetos killed them all?"

"Who else could have?"

"Can't you kill each other?" she asked.

"Why would we want to? That would only reduce our chances of survival," St. John pointed out. He frowned at his plate and said, "I fear I've lost my appetite. Would you care to walk through the garden?"

"Yes," she immediately said.

After they had walked a few steps, St. John said, "You really believe you can kill him?"

"Yes."

"I'll have to consider the matter. I'm not sure how to get you close enough to use poison. Does he have to drink it?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Unless someone else drinks it first, he won't touch it. It seems we both have much to think about. What will you do with your afternoon?" he asked abruptly.

"Pace," she growled.

"Pace?" he repeated somewhat incredulously.

"How do you stand it?" she demanded. "I've only been here a day, and I'm already losing my mind from the inactivity."

"What would you normally do?" he asked curiously.

"Ride, work, fight, make arrows, tan hides, find food."

She exhaled heavily, missing Two Stones and the others more than she could explain, missing her life. It was a strange life, but it was hers, and she loved it.

"I have no hides to tan or arrows to make," St. John chuckled. "But if you use my name, I will consider your other requests."

She cast him a confused sideways glance. After all, she hadn't made a request.

"You've seen the stables?" he asked.

"I know where they're at," she replied.

"Meet me by the stables in an hour."

She shrugged, but didn't bother telling him that riding for pleasure was different than riding for a purpose. Besides that, she didn't ride any horse but Helly. However, by the time another endless hour had passed, she might be willing to make an exception. If it was a short horse.

Janey went to her room, sat in her chair, and started reading. It annoyed her how easy it was to get pulled into fairy tales and forget that she wasn't doing anything worthwhile, but reading did help pass the time.

In fact, she was so caught up reading she didn't realize the hour had passed until someone knocked on her door and said softly, "Miss? Mr. St. John is requesting you."

Janey glanced at the clock, hissed in disgust, put down her book, and jumped to her feet. She threw open the door and, without even acknowledging George, dashed down the stairs to the front door.

It only took her a second to reach the stables, but when she did, St. John wasn't inside. But he hadn't said to meet him in the stables; he had said to meet him by the stables.

Janey left the building and walked slowly around it, pausing when she saw St. John standing inside of a large circle of sand. He was wearing a type of loose clothing that she had never seen, and when he saw her, he gestured for her to join him.

She walked towards him uncertainly, not entirely sure what he had in mind.

"I have considered your request," St. John said when she was near. "And although I have never sparred with a woman, I'm happy to make an exception for you. If, of course, you'll call me by name."

Janey just stared at him.

"Are you not pleased?" he asked.

"With what exactly?" Janey stuttered. "I don't understand."

"You said that you fight; I am offering to fight you," St. John explained.

"Me fight you?" she said.

She accidentally took a step backwards, but she stopped herself. She couldn't walk away from this. After all, he was offering her a chance to understand his weaknesses.

"No weapons," St. John said, smiling jadedly. "Although I can regrow my hair, I can't say it's my favorite experience. You do a type of grappling, yes?"

Janey had no idea what he was talking about, and she was possessed with a sudden urge to run. Before her feet could quite make up their mind though, St. John removed his loose shirt and tossed it onto the grass behind him.

Janey's eyes accidentally dropped to his chest, and, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't seem to look away. She hadn't seen very many white men without their shirts on, and none of them had looked anything like St. John. His suit coats hid a wide chest of rippling muscles, and the muscles were covered with a multitude of strange black markings.

Janey almost stepped towards him so she could look at the markings more closely, but she stopped herself when she realized what she was about to do. Then she realized that she was staring at his naked chest, and she jerked her eyes upward, only to find that St. John was watching her, that hungry look on his face.

"I… I… I…" she stuttered.

He smiled slightly, eyes suddenly more amused than hungry, and then he called out, "Smith! Come here!"

A moment later, a giant of a man came around the side of the stables and approached St. John.

"Yes, sir?" Smith said.

"Would you care to demonstrate for Ms. Falke what I mean by grappling?"

"Be happy to, sir."

Smith and St. John didn't exchange another word before they suddenly began to fight. Janey knew immediately that St. John was going to win. Smith was bigger than St. John, but St. John moved so fluidly that it was nearly impossible to keep track of him, and only a brief moment passed before St. John hurled Smith onto the ground.

St. John didn't take advantage of the moment though, not like Pa would have, instead he offered the man his hand and helped him to his feet.

"Thank you, Smith; I think she gets the idea."

"Anytime," Smith said before nodding slightly to Janey and heading back towards the stables.

"What do you say, Jane dear?" St. John said. "My name for a match."

Janey stared at him, a little unsure. The way he fought was similar to the way Brings the Rain had taught her to fight, and it was exactly the way she and Mohkave fought. St. John was so much larger than Mohkave though, that Janey wasn't convinced leverage would work on him. But if she was willing to touch him, she could find out. 

"Yes, Victor," she said.

He grinned widely, and she could tell he was pleased. Whether he was pleased because she had used his name or because she was going to fight him, she didn't know.

She turned away from him and quickly removed her gun belt and knives. She left her ankle knife in place, just in case; and then she walked out onto the sand to meet him.

Her heart was pounding, and she took a few deep breaths to still it. She didn't want to fight St. John, and she certainly didn't want to touch him. She didn't want to be anywhere near him, especially when he was half dressed, but she would do anything it took to be stronger. Anything at all. Even if that meant touching St. John.

The knowledge that he could touch her as well was making her stomach clench. She couldn't walk away though. She just couldn't. She had seen St. John move; she had seen his prowess, and she wanted to match it.

When she was an arm's length away, Janey came to a halt, suddenly unsure of what to do next. It was easy with Brings the Rain and Mohkave. She loved them. She had never fought anyone she hated, at least not for practice's sake.

Her heart was pounding so hard now that she was certain he could see it moving inside of her chest. She was scared to move forward. So she didn't; not just yet.

"What are the markings?" she asked.

He glanced down at his chest as if he hadn't seen it in years and said, "They're tattoos."

"What purpose do they serve?"

"Everything must serve a purpose to you," he stated. "Sometimes the experience is the purpose."

"Is that true in the case of those?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "I've forgotten what most of them are for, but these two are for strength. This one," he said, pointing at one on his shoulder, "is for speed. And these three are for protection."

"Protection?" she scoffed.

"Against Father."

Janey ducked her head, ashamed of her words. She had gained wisdom, ears if she chose to use them, and eyes; but she was still spouting off every word that came to her head.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what?"

"That your father is Admetos."

She held his gaze because she needed him to know that she was being sincere; and after a moment, he smiled slightly and said, "You never cease to surprise me. Shall we fight?"

"Yes."

She didn't wait for him to attack; she just pretended she was holding Saint Killer, and she rushed towards him. She knew she was going to lose, but she had to lose to learn.

Just before she reached him, St. John stepped to one side. His foot was extended towards her, but she saw it before she tripped over it, and she pushed off the ground and rolled her body over his leg. She gained her feet quickly, although not so quickly that he couldn't have attacked her, but he hadn't moved. He was waiting for her to attack him again, but she wouldn't learn anything if all he did was stand there.

"Fight me like you would Smith," she demanded.

St. John frowned and said, "I'd rather not hurt you."

"If that's the case, I may as well leave, because you'll never take me to Admetos."

Whatever thoughts went through his head, she didn't know. He kept his face perfectly contained. In fact, nothing changed about him at all. Not his face, not his posture, not his intent, but he was suddenly on top of her, and she was pinned to the ground beneath him.

Fear rolled through her, and for a second she couldn't think, but then Hawk's mark on her hand burned, and she remembered herself. St. John was bigger than she was, but so was Doyle. She knew exactly what to do.

She stared right into St. John's endless eyes, allowing him to see her fear; and meanwhile, she quickly trapped his leg with her own and used leverage to roll him.

St. John hit the ground with an exclamation of surprise; but before he could react, Janey jumped away from him. She knew she had lost her advantage, but she had despised being pressed against his bare flesh, and she needed a moment to regain her focus.

"That was impressive," St. John said as he stood.

Janey didn't respond.

"Father always said that superior strength is paramount, but that is clearly not the case. My world is bending around me."

His tone was sincere, but she didn't know what he meant, and she didn't have time to figure it out because he was moving towards her, stalking her like a panther.

Her heart was a little frantic, and the Janey who liked to hide screamed for her to run, but she didn't.

She was going to lose. She knew she was going to lose, but tomorrow or the next day or the next, she would win. Losing today was nothing compared to that.

Without warning, St. John leaped towards her, arms outstretched; but she quickly ducked beneath his arms and scrambled onto his back. She locked her arms around his neck, but then he grabbed her arm and she was suddenly flying through the air away from him.

She tucked her body and hit the ground with her shoulder, rolling until she found her feet. The impact jarred her, but not as much as looking up to see St. John right on top of her.

She dove to the side, but he caught her leg and yanked. She fell to the ground face first; and the next thing she knew, his knee was on her back, pinning her gently to the sand.

"Hell and damnation," Janey muttered.

With a chuckle, St. John released her.

She stood warily and turned to face him. She already knew where she had gone wrong. She hadn't wanted to touch him, so she had tried to get away from him instead of keeping close the way Mohkave had taught her.

"Again," she said.

St. John's eyes softened, and he stepped closer before reaching out his hand towards her face. She held herself completely still as he used his thumb to gently wipe something from the corner of her lips.

"You're bleeding," he whispered, hunger clear on his face.

She swallowed nervously; his nearness was making her dizzy, and the look on his face terrified her, but she wasn't done. She refused to be done.

"Would you prefer me to don my shirt?" St. John asked.

"No," she stated.

She would have preferred it, and that was exactly why it needed to stay off.

"Again," she told him.

"You really are a curious woman," he murmured.

For some reason, she bristled at his words. It wasn't that she minded being called curious, she was; and she knew she was a woman; she just didn't like being labeled one. And furthermore, no matter how hard St. John tried, he would never be able to get her to fit his label of woman.

"Again," she ground out.

He shrugged and shifted his stance.

Janey resolved not to retreat this time, and then she ran straight towards him.

He moved even faster than Charlie, and before she had quite realized what had happened, he was holding her from behind.

She quickly escaped his hold, but instead of running away, she scrambled behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck once more. And once more, he flung her away like she was nothing more than a kitten.

She rolled across the ground, but before she could find her footing, St. John had pinned her to the ground. This time, however, his body was off to one side so she couldn't roll him. She could struggle against him, but there was really no point. Besides, his face was right next to hers, and he was watching her with veiled eyes.

"You win," she said quickly.

She gasped in relief when St. John released her, and she rolled away from him before standing and studying him warily. 

St. John really was like bear. He was much too big, smart, and strong for her to fight against. She would find a way though; she had to, because one day she was going to kill him.

"If you had your knife, my eyes would already be gone," St. John said.

"Yes," she agreed. "Again."

"Once more," he said.

"And again tomorrow," she pressed.

Something shifted in his expression, and he smiled slightly before saying, "If you'll spend the evening with me in the parlor, I'll fight you again tomorrow." He continued speaking before she could agree. "Let me clarify my request," he said. "If you will spend the evening in the parlor conversing with me, I'll fight you again tomorrow."

"Deal," she said.

"Very well."

He didn't wait for her to move this time. One second she was standing, the next second she wasn't. It was exactly like fighting Charlie, only St. John was even faster, and when Janey hit the ground, she didn't feel it because he took the blow for her.

"I win," he said easily.

"Did you?" she snapped.

He had made the mistake of coming at her head on, and she quickly flipped him onto his back, but she didn't run from him this time. Instead, she slammed the blade of her arm across his throat.

He chuckled softly and said, "If you had a knife and I was a normal man, you would have certainly won that round."

That said, St. John stood; and much to her surprise, he lifted her as he did.

"But I am not a normal man," he said.

He was holding her against his chest, not so tightly that she couldn't have escaped, but she suddenly couldn't remember how to move.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said softly, "You'll have to do better if you want to kill me."

Then he released her and walked away.

Janey didn't move for a long time. She couldn't. She was warring against too many emotions to move. She was furious at herself for being so easy to defeat, but she was also struggling to contain her awe of St. John's inhuman strength.

He had lifted her as if she was nothing. He had thrown her as if she was less than nothing. And he was invincible; wounds meant nothing to him.

How was she ever going to kill him? How was she going to kill his eleven brothers?  

A sense of complete hopelessness filled her. Was it too late to run? Was it too late to die with Mohkave?

She shook her head angrily and snapped, "Enough! It was one fight. I'll do better tomorrow."

And she would. She would dream of nothing else until she understood St. John's weaknesses and how to use them against him. And she would start right now.

Chapter 6

Janey didn't usually sleep when it was daytime, but she had nothing else to do, so after she had climbed one of the nearby trees, she closed her eyes and relaxed against the trunk.

And then she fell asleep and dreamed.

She watched the fight twice without changing anything. And then she slowed it down and watched St. John move. She watched his face; she watched his body, and she quickly realized that he was unlike anyone she had ever known.

Neither his face nor his body indicated his movements which she didn't understand. Even Charlie's body shifted slightly before he moved. But not St. John's. He would be standing there, and then he would be in motion without even seeming to move.

The more she watched him, the more confused she became. After their first round, when her lip had bled, St. John had taken great care to protect her from injury. He had still moved every bit as quickly, he had still thrown her from him, but he had done it differently. And when he had taken her to the ground, he did it in such a way that he took the brunt of the impact.

He had easily maintained his position of power, but he hadn't done it by hurting her. What kind of man was he? He wasn't like Pa or Admetos, but he wasn't like Pecos or Two Stones either.

She sighed, frustrated with herself. When would she ever learn that people were unique? She might want St. John to fit her labels, but he wasn't going to any more than she was going to fit his.

Pushing away her confusing thoughts, Janey watched the fight over and over and over, finally concluding that if they were only fighting for the fun of it, she would never be able to beat him. He was so strong that leverage was almost a moot point. She could use it, but it wasn't going to help her long term.

Nonetheless, she was determined to do better tomorrow, so she kept watching and kept trying to figure out what she could do to improve.

And she finally found an opening.

St. John had pinned her, but from the side so she hadn't been able to roll him. Doyle had never taught her how to deal with that, but she understood the principle of leverage, and she could easily come up with a counter on her own.

She tried to roll St. John, but it didn't work from that position, so she wiggled until she could roll him; and although that did work, she had a suspicion it wouldn't play out quite the same in real life.

Out of sheer irritation, she shoved the arm pinning her to one side, which gave her a brief window in which to take his back. She did so, but how was she ever going to keep him from throwing her away from him as he had done?

That was when she realized she needed to utilize her legs. If she wrapped her legs around his torso just under his arms, maybe he wouldn't be able to dislodge her so easily. She practiced it several times and decided that it might work. It was something anyway.

She was just about to try it one more time when she woke. She wasn't immediately aware of what had roused her, but then St. John called out, "Are you coming down? Or do I have to come up?"

She frowned down at him through the branches. She hated that she couldn't hide from him. Not that she had been trying to hide, but she would have liked to have known that she could.

"Jane?"

"I'm coming," she snarled.

When she had joined him at the bottom of the tree, he said, "I can see why you prefer pants; you spend half your life in trees."

She rolled her eyes and stomped past him towards the garden.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"Dreaming," she replied, not caring if he knew.

"Of our fight?"

"Yes."

"I look forward to fighting you tomorrow then," he said.

The tone of his voice was saying something, and Janey glanced at him in an attempt to figure it out, but she immediately looked away. She hated it when he looked at her like that. She was pretty sure it was the same way she looked at a pot of Doyle's coffee.

Janey pulled open the backdoor and stomped inside the house. It was already familiar to her, and she muttered irritably under her breath as she walked towards the dining room.

"For my sake, perhaps you could run upstairs and tidy up first," St. John said just before she reached the dining room.

Janey immediately halted and glanced down at her dirt-stained hands. She was filthy.

Heat flooded her face, and she muttered "sorry" before changing directions and walking quickly up to her room.

Unless she was covered in blood, she never paid any attention to how dirty she was, but she also didn't eat inside a house at a table, and she didn't use silverware or napkins. She knew she wasn't filthy generally, but she wasn't pristine like St. John either.

St. John changed his clothing at least twice a day; his hands were always clean; his hair was always in place. Such habits struck her as ridiculous, but she could understand why he didn't want her sitting down at the table covered in dirt. 

When she stepped inside her room, she immediately saw the gifts arranged neatly on her bed. There were several pairs of pants and five different colored shirts, as well as, a short stack of books. The books had a note on top of them, and Janey opened it and read it, hissing in frustration as she did.

Jane,

I'm glad you like the clothing, and I hope you find these just as pleasing. These books seemed interesting. Please enjoy them.

Victor

She considered chucking everything out the window and going down in her old clothing, but after having worn fitted clothing, she could admit that the idea of returning to her shabby clothing was distasteful.

If St. John wanted to purchase clothes for her; she would let him. It didn't mean he owned her. She hadn't asked for them and had not agreed to anything in exchange.

Without looking at the books, she tossed the note into the fireplace, took off her dirty clothing, washed her face and hands, brushed her hair, and put on a fresh pair of pants and the light blue shirt.

The material of the shirt was very different than the material of her old shirts, but she didn't need anyone to tell her what it was. It was linen. She knew because Ana knew.

Janey glanced at herself in the mirror just long enough to make sure she had gotten all of the dirt off her face. When she was certain she was clean, she headed back downstairs.

St. John's eyes lit up when she entered the room, and he rose to pull out her chair for her. She allowed him, and after they had both sat, she waited impatiently for George and Jacob to lay the plates.

"You don't seem to find much pleasure in eating," St. John said after the boys had left, "so I reduced the menu to two courses. A main and a dessert."

She was getting a little annoyed by his thoughtfulness. It was almost repulsive. No one should be as nice as he was.

"Thank you," she said. "Victor," she added.

"It brings me pleasure to please you," he stated.

She hated that.

"I've spent some time considering your plan, and I've decided that it's not a plan," St. John said.

He could have saved his breath; she knew that.

"Only two types of women ever get near Father. Those he plans to eat, and those he plans to bed. Then eat," St. John added bluntly before saying, "And you are neither. If he's planning to eat you, that's exactly what he'll do; and you won't have time to poison him or anything else; he'll rip you to pieces before you even realize what's happening."

St. John paused briefly before saying, "And even if he was in the mood to bed a woman, I can't see…"

He trailed off, then rallied himself and said, "Father is not kind to his women. He is not kind to anyone. I cannot think…"

He trailed off again, and Janey said, "But he would allow me close to him if he intended to…"

Now she was the one trailing off, but St. John knew what she meant.

"Not with a wine glass," he said pointedly. "Father doesn't bother with… pleasantries. He would have his way with you until he was done, lock you in a room to see if it took, eat you if he was in the mood, or have his way with you again. There would be no opportunity for you to kill him. Not if he has to consume the poison."

"So I need a different delivery method," she mused.

"Something less obvious than a syringe," St. John said flatly.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at her plate. She wasn't hungry again. Listening to St. John talk about Admetos and his appetites had cured her of her own.

Ana had been kind in that she had never showed Janey anything other than the beatings. And there had been more than beatings. Janey had sat inside Ana's body as she had wept and treated her wounds; but, perhaps out of a mother's kindness, Ana had never allowed Janey to be touched that way.

"I know you've decided that you have to do this," St. John said. "But it does seem rather far-fetched, doesn't it? You killing Father?"

He laughed when he had said it, but Janey could tell it was forced. He was disappointed. For a moment there, he had honestly believed that she could kill Admetos; he had believed that he might finally be free.

She didn't know how to convince him yet, so she said, "What did you mean see if it took?"  

"If you became with child," St. John clarified.

"Oh," she said, feeling a wave of sickness at the very idea.

"Father has never been able to sire another child," St. John said frankly. "Not that he hasn't tried; it just doesn't work. We're not… It's not easy for us to produce children."

He frowned thoughtfully before saying, "Given how few wives I've had, I've actually sired more children than my brothers."

As if Hawk had shown her, Janey suddenly knew why Admetos couldn't father a child; the mother was stopping him. But if the mother had that much power, why didn't she just kill Admetos and be done with it? Instead, Ayita had allowed Admetos to live for thousands of years and do whatever horrible things he wanted.

Love was a curse. It had blinded Ana, and it had blinded the mother, making them both incapable of carrying out the task at hand.

The mother's actions infuriated Janey to no end, but she pushed thoughts of the mother from her mind and considered her own problem.

She needed to get close to Admetos, and she needed to do it in such a way that he didn't have the chance to touch her. There had to be a way; she just had to find the right leverage.

"What does Admetos want more than anything?" she asked.

"Anything he thinks he doesn't have."

She had known that. The mother had told her. She had simply forgotten.

"He is never in want for anything, but he acts as if he has nothing," Janey murmured softly, repeating what the mother had told her. "He grew jealous of the bear and his claws, and so he killed bear and wore his skin. He grew jealous of the trees' view, and so he cut them all down and used the timber to build his fences. He was jealous of the worms that could burrow through the earth, so he tore open the earth and exposed it to the light. He forces everything to his will, and what he can't force to his will, he destroys."

When Janey finished speaking, she found St. John staring at her, his expression unreadable; and she said quickly, "The mother told me that; I had just forgotten."

She finally understood why Admetos was never content to rule from the shadows. He was envious of the status and the title, and he tried to grasp it, over and over and over. It didn't matter that he had been a king before; he needed to be a king always.

She just had to find a way to turn his insatiable greed into leverage.

"What doesn't he have?" she mused.

"Quite a lot at the moment," St. John said. "He's been in a high dudgeon ever since Europe."

"How long ago was that?"

"Sixty, seventy years," he said with a careless shrug.

"And he wants to rule the U.S.?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What's he waiting for?"

"More power," he shrugged. "But we've been doing the wagon trains for nearly twenty years now."

"Are there any wagon trains or towns right now?" Janey asked, not sure if he would tell her or not.

He shook his head and said, "My brother, Drakon, delivered the last of them a few weeks ago."

"And that wasn't enough for Admetos? What would it take?" Janey demanded.

"It's never enough," St. John shrugged. "Not for Father. The world has changed since the last time we made a play for power, and our numbers are few. If Father possessed even a smidge of patience and restraint, I'm sure it would be an easy matter for us to infiltrate the ruling body. But he doesn't."

Janey didn't care about that. All she cared about was her leverage.

"What would it take for him to step from the shadows?" she pressed.

"He's afraid," St. John said. "And at this point, only someone with equal or greater power will soothe him. He wanted Pecos Bill, but that was a miserable failure."

"He wants Pecos?" Janey asked.

"Yes."

"Interesting."

Her mind was struggling to put all the pieces into the right places; she didn't normally have to puzzle things out quite like this. She usually took her time, and that was just what she would do. She would look at this again and again, and she would let Hawk guide her.

"Admetos is thousands of years old," Janey said flatly. "What exactly happened in Europe that caused him to be so frightened?"

"He lost a finger," St. John shrugged.

"What?"

"He lost a finger. It didn't grow back. It's just gone. So now every time he looks down at his hand, he sees that he's missing that one finger, and it worries him. It eats away at him," St. John said, lips curving into a grin.

"It's a finger," Janey stated.

"No, it's belief," St. John countered. "Losing that one finger shattered Father's belief that he was invincible, that no one could touch him, that he would live forever. He didn't lose his finger; he lost his belief."

Janey suddenly snorted with laughter, and once she started, she just couldn't stop.

"His finger," she giggled helplessly. "Damn that's funny."

St. John sat back in his chair and watched her curiously, but his lack of mirth did nothing to dissuade her laughter. In fact, she only laughed harder.

She finally stopped laughing simply because her side was beginning to ache, but the image of Admetos hiding away and cowering in dark corners because of his lost finger continued to amuse her.

"I fail to see the humor," St. John said.

"That's alright," Janey shrugged. "I saw it enough for both of us."

He didn't respond, simply sliced off a thin piece of meat and ate it.

She followed suit, finding that her appetite was fully restored.

They ate in silence; but when his plate was empty, St. John said softly, "Was that you laughing or my mother?"

"Both of us," Janey admitted. "Ana isn't exactly part of me. She's just… with me."

"You said the same thing twice and acted as if it meant two different things," St. John pointed out.

"I remember her," Janey tried to explain.

And in remembering Ana, she took on part of her. She took on part of them all. Ana, Two Stones's tribe, Roaring Waters's tribe, Mohkave's tribe, the woman in the woods. Janey carried them all inside of her; their souls were interlaced with hers.

Janey bowed her head for a moment, feeling the weight of her burden, but she looked up when St. John said, "I wonder what Mother would think of this brave new world with its books and its trains and its windowpanes?"

"Nothing," Janey stated, knowing it was true.

"Nothing?" St. John inquired.

"She cared about her plants, her family, and the mother. She was repulsed by Admetos's acquisitions. She hated the houses he built. She hated him."

"Why did she not kill him then?"

"Because she loved him, and her love made her weak. She failed you, Victor. It was her job to protect you from monsters, and she failed you."

His eyes widened slightly, but just then the serving boys entered the room. They took the empty dinner plates, replaced them with smaller dessert plates, and left.

Neither Janey nor St. John spoke for a moment, but then St. John said softly, "You seem to be very fond of chocolate. I hope it's to your liking."

It wasn't hard to believe that St. John had had ten wives. What was surprising, given the fact that he was over five thousand years old, was that he had only had ten wives.

Janey wondered how different it must be to be married to someone like St. John instead of someone like Pa. And how could a filthy people eater be so damn nice? It was confounding.

With a sigh, Janey focused her attention on the chocolate dessert. Because she knew it would please St. John, she cut off a small piece and ate it as slowly as possible, trying to truly taste it.

It brought back memories of the endless plains and Ahanu's chuckle. She missed Ahanu, and she tried to remember when she had last seen him. It hadn't been so very long ago because she had seen him just after she had left Mohkave's village, but she worried about him. She worried that someday she would just never see him again.

The panic she felt at the thought told her how much she had truly grown to like him, and she resolved to tell him the next time she saw him so he would always visit her.

"I can't tell if you like it or not. Your face was happy for a moment, then terrified, then resolved," St. John noted.

Irritated that her emotions were so easy to read, Janey just shrugged and took another bite, this time trying to focus only on the flavor and not the memories that came with it.

Just then she smelled the scent of coffee, and she opened her eyes to look at her cup. It smelled almost perfect.

"I had them brew it stronger," St. John remarked.

"I really do hate you," she declared.

St. John smiled and drawled, "I believe you do."

He didn't though, and neither did she. But she was trying very, very hard to maintain what little hatred she had left for him by reminding herself of his favorite pastime. Eating people.

"Are you going to try it?" he urged.

She didn't want to. She was already tired of trying to please him; but in this one instance, what he wanted and what she wanted were exactly the same so there was no reason to fight it.

Janey lifted the cup and took a small sip. It was nearly perfect, and it made the chocolate taste even better.

"Please say it," St. John said.

She didn't bother pretending to misunderstand. She looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Thank you for the coffee, Victor. It's nearly perfect."

The hunger in his eyes deepened, and Janey found it difficult to hold his gaze, so she returned her attention to her plate and ate her cake slowly, taking sips of coffee in between bites.

When Janey was done, she saw that St. John hadn't touched his own cake at all. Without a word, he pushed his plate towards her; and after a moment's consideration, she took it. She lived in the wild with three Indians. They ate roots and yucca and cactus fruit. She wasn't going to have very many chances to eat two slices of chocolate cake in one sitting.

She ate the cake slowly and leisurely, uncomfortably aware of his burning gaze. She still didn't understand why he wanted her, but she also didn't understand why she wanted coffee. She knew that was a childish comparison, but she was a child. She knew nothing about men and women, and she didn't want to. She was never going to let a man touch her. Not in that way. She had absolutely no interest whatsoever in being submissive to a man or in being a mother.

St. John had refilled her coffee cup at some point, and after she had eaten all of the cake, she took the final sip of coffee before sitting back in her chair with a contented sigh. It wasn't as good as chocolate with Ahanu; but for chocolate with St. John, it was pretty damn good.

She cast a glance at St. John, startling slightly when she saw the look on his face. 

"Parlor?" she asked hurriedly.

"Parlor," he agreed, his voice ragged.

She studied him carefully, but there was no evidence that he wasn't completely in control of himself. She had seen lack of control, and she had seen control. Pa had given into any impulse that had come his way, but St. John wasn't like that. He was more like Pecos. Able to take whatever he wanted, but only taking what was offered.

Unless, of course, Admetos told him to do otherwise. Then St. John was a slave.

She wouldn't fail St. John. Not like Ana had. Janey would free him from the monster.

Chapter 7

Other than a quick circuit around the room, Janey hadn't spent any time in the parlor earlier, but when she reached it now, it was completely dark inside.

She stood just outside of the doorway, unwilling to go any further. When she had only been four years old, she had made it a rule not to ever enter a darkened room because she couldn't see what was lurking inside.

The devil was behind her though. She could feel his presence, and she moved to the side when he touched her elbow.

"I see I'll have to have another chat with George," St. John murmured.

And then the lamps flamed to life, and Janey gazed at them in confusion. St. John was still standing beside her, so how had he lit the lamps?

She had just opened her mouth to ask him when a fire flared within the grate.

"What the hell?" she whispered.

St. John held out his hand, and a small floating ball of fire suddenly materialized above it. She could feel the burst of heat, and she should have stepped away, but instead, she reached out her hand towards it.

"How?" she asked.

"The same way you dream, I suppose," St. John replied.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

"Is it?"

She reached out a finger to touch it, but he pulled away from her at the last second, and the fire vanished.

"Touch it, and you'll be burned," he said.

There was a warning to his tone, and she caught his eyes in an effort to understand what he was really saying, but his eyes were veiled once more, and he gestured for her to sit.

With a shrug, she picked one of the chairs near the fire, pulled off her moccasins, tucked her feet beneath her, and stared at the flames while he settled himself across from her.

"What else can you do?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You once asked me what my powers were; what are yours? You're stronger than normal, faster than normal, you clearly can't die or age, you can compulse, and you can make fire in the palm of your hand. What else?"

"I hunt."

She had known that; she had just forgotten to list it.

"If I went to Europe, would you still be able to find me?" she asked.

"Unless something interferes, such as your spirits, there is nowhere on earth I can't find you," he stated.

She did not like that, not one little bit.

"How?" she demanded.

"Once I've seen someone, I know them. I know their… scent? And when I think of them, I know which way to go."

"Can you find Pecos?" she asked curiously.

"There is something or someone protecting him, much as there is often someone protecting you."

"So you don't know where Pecos is?"

He shook his head.

"And neither does Admetos?"

He shook his head again.

"Interesting," she murmured.

She stared at the fire, wondering if this was the leverage she needed, but before she could think much on it, St. John said, "Tell me about your companions. Please."

"Two Stones?" she asked. "Why?"

"Because your face lights up when you speak of them. It's the only time you truly look happy," he said, voice strangely forlorn.

She suddenly felt as if she was sitting at the poker table with Charlie, and he had just asked her to play for money.

She glanced at the parlor door, but she knew she would uphold her end of the bargain. St. John would fight her again tomorrow if she could just sit through tonight.

"A question for a question," she countered.

"Clarify," he stated.

"I answer one of your questions; you answer one of mine."

"Deal," he shrugged.

"Ask me something specific then," she stated.

She was hardly going to pour out everything she knew about them, not to a filthy people eater.

"Which one is Two Stones?"

She couldn't help the grin that came to her face.

"He is the middle one, yes?" St. John continued.

Her grin turned into a glare. She hated that St. John had watched them, but since she could hardly change the past, she just nodded.

"Tell me something about him," St. John requested.

"He called me Lost Bird," Janey said softly. "When he first met me. I was almost dead, but I saw the trees up ahead, and I knew there would be water, and I thought if I could just make it there I would live. And then they rode out towards me, these three Indians, and I thought they were going to kill me. I pulled Pa's gun, but Two Stones dismounted, and he said, 'If you have to kill me, Lost Bird, you will need to pull back the hammer.'"

"But you didn't," St. John stated.

"I'd only known him for two seconds, but I already knew he was kinder than Pa," Janey shrugged.

She smiled slightly, remembering how scared she had been. She had watched the memory a thousand times now, and she laughed at herself whenever she did. Two Stones had the gentlest manner; she should have known from the start that he was kind, and in some ways, she had.

She felt as if she had told St. John more than enough to fulfill his request so she pushed thoughts of Two Stones to the side and tried to think of a question for St. John.

She knew she should ask him about Admetos, but she didn't want to spoil the taste of chocolate that was still on her tongue, so instead she said, "What's your favorite place?"

He blinked at her question before saying, "What?"

"Your favorite place. The place you most often visit in your mind. The place you go to breathe."

"I don't," he said flatly.

"How can you not have a favorite place?" she asked.

"Everything changes so much," St. John shrugged. "Love a place and watch it be destroyed by axes and boots and coal. It is easier not to care."

Janey felt the shift, and she knew she had just lost all of her money on a bet she couldn't afford to lose. She tried to remind herself that he was a filthy people-eating creep, but all she could really see was a lost bird, looking for a quiet place to rest his wings.

It didn't matter how she saw him though. He was still a creep; and no matter what, she was going to kill him. She had to. She realized now though that she would take absolutely no pleasure in it.

"That wasn't a very good answer on my part," St. John said apologetically. "Ask me something else."

She didn't want to. She would rather tell him everything about herself. Let him have all the cards. She couldn't afford to know anything more about him.

"Jane?"

"Hum?"

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said. "Why Colorado Springs?"

"Because it amuses me to watch people flock to the hot springs in hopes of a cure," he drawled.

"That amuses you?" she demanded.

He shrugged and said, "They're willing to put all their belief into a hot pool of water, but it never occurs to them to ever put any faith into themselves. Some of them are cured, of course, the ones who truly believed, heart and soul. But others doubted, and walk away unhealed. It's practically Biblical. Why, I could move a mountain with as little faith as a mustard seed," he added with a chuckle.

"What exactly are you saying?" Janey asked.

"I'm counting this as two questions," he replied.

"Fine," she agreed.

"I'm saying that belief is the key. Father believes he is vulnerable, so he is. They believe they will be healed, so they are. My third wife, Isabella, loved me so completely that she believed in immortality. She lived two hundred and fifty years before she finally grew weary of life and left me."

There was a lot contained in that one little statement, but Janey focused on the part that seemed most relevant.

"Are you suggesting that your belief keeps you alive?" she demanded.

"Not in my particular case," he said, his tone strangely weary. "I'm merely suggesting that for most people, belief can completely change the outcome of their lives. Believe you will be healed, and you are. Believe you will become the most remembered statesman, and suddenly you die in the most horrific accident ever recorded by man," St. John said, tone amused.

When he noticed Janey's incredulous look, he laughed softly and said, "I'm very old. I take my amusement where I find it. Tell me about the younger one."

"Wolf Heart?"

"The wolf," St. John agreed. "He's very powerful." Janey glared at him, and he held up his hands and said, "I give you my word that I will never harm them. Not even to defend myself against them."

She had not expected that, and she stared at him leerily.

"Would you prefer a blood oath?" St. John asked.

She didn't know what that meant, and before she could ask, St. John had sliced open the palm of his hand and held it out to her.

"I swear to you on my life's blood that I will never raise a hand against your three native companions." He paused, then added irritably, "Unless Father specifically orders me to, I will never attempt to hurt them; in fact, I will protect them should they ever be in danger. Jane Falke, I swear this to you."

Janey stared at him, completely speechless.

Even though the cut had already healed, there was one drop of blood on the palm of his hand, and he drew his finger over it before rubbing the blood onto the back of Janey's hand.

"For you," he said, his eyes fiercely intent. 

She had never wanted to run more than she did right now. She did not understand him. He seemed so different than he had a year ago, and part of her wished he wasn't trying so hard to please her. It was disconcerting, and she was having trouble deciding which was the real him.

"Thank you, Victor," she whispered as she wrapped her fingers over the smear of dried blood.

He nodded and said, "Tell me about Wolf Heart."

"He's so much braver than I am," she said, remembering the moment when he had told her about his enemy. "He's easily frustrated with me, but always there no matter what I do to irritate him. There isn't a single moment when he's not teaching me, but I like it best when he teases me," she said softly. "He's always teasing me in their language, and I can barely understand him, but I like it when he laughs."

She trailed off. Talking about them was hard because it made them seem so far away.

"And the oldest one?" St. John asked.

"Brings the Rain," she said. "He's quiet, patient, and wise. His voice… When he sings…"

She couldn't explain it, but apparently she didn't have to because St. John said, "I've heard him sing."

Instead of snarling at him, she just said, "So you understand."

"I do. It is the sound of the earth in harmony."

He shook his head as if he was annoyed at his own sentiment and said, "Enough questions for tonight. Will you read to me?"

"What?"

"Read to me."

"I don't… I've never… I've never read aloud," Janey stuttered.

"In that case, I will read to you. Choose a book," he added with a gesture towards a small shelf full of leather-bound books. "I'm fond of Charles Dickens, but there's also Plato, I believe."

Janey didn't want to talk any more than he did, so she stood and studied the books before choosing a large tome by Dickens titled The Pickwick Papers and handing it to St. John.

Except for the lying preacher man, Janey had never listened to anyone read aloud, and she wasn't sure why anyone would bother, but then St. John started reading, and somehow his voice shifted reality around her until she was seeing it instead of just listening.

She was so lost to the story that she didn't notice right away when he stopped reading and closed the book.

"It's quite late," he said. "I'll read more to you tomorrow night if you like."

It was impossible to describe her conflicting feelings. She loathed him utterly; and yet, she was finding it easier and easier to be in his presence, and she found she was rather looking forward to hearing him read again tomorrow.

She nodded stiffly and left the room as quickly as possible. Her entire being was in turmoil. She wasn't supposed to be having fun. She wasn't supposed to be enjoying St. John's company.

Why had the spirits sent her here? Why? No good was going to come from quiet chats over dinner and evenings spent reading in the parlor. This wasn't her life; this was St. John's life. Her life was on the plains and in the woods. Her life was with Two Stones and the others.

"Hell and damnation," she spat as she threw open the backdoor and stalked out into the night.

She was so confused. It had only been a day, but she was already making friendly with the enemy and completely forgetting why she was here in the first place.

Was she really that weak? Was she really that pathetic?

She stomped into the woods and began to pace restlessly. She didn't understand herself, and that frightened her.

She had thought that she had made peace with herself. She had accepted that she was white, and she had accepted that she was woman. She had also accepted that those labels meant nothing to her. She was a white woman who traveled with Indians and wore men's clothing. But really, who was Janey? What did Janey like? What did Janey enjoy?

Did she like sitting in a parlor or did she like sitting by a fire in the woods? Did she like reading and taking baths or did she like sitting in trees and bathing in cold streams? She honestly didn't know; all she really knew about herself was that she was good at killing people.

She kicked angrily at the ground, frustration eating at her. Two Stones was always doing this to her. He had forced her to live with the villagers, he had forced her to live with Pecos, and now he was forcing her to live with St. John. Why? Why couldn't he just let her be? She blamed the damn spirits.

She took a deep breath and stared up at the tree in front of her. It was already chillier than it had been last night, but she didn't want to sleep inside. Just one more night under the stars.

Decision made, she quickly scaled the tree and lodged herself into the branches at the top.

Why was nothing ever simple? Why couldn't everything be like it had been at Mohkave's village?

A pang of grief shot through her, and she tried to force that thought from her mind. Mohkave's life wasn't simple; it was lost.

A sob escaped her lips, and she turned her thoughts to St. John instead. She watched him watch her and fell asleep wondering what it felt like to have someone leave you because they had wearied of life.

When Janey opened her eyes, the sky was absolutely littered with stars. They were so brilliant that she couldn't help staring at them, but then she felt someone's gaze, and she dropped her own, searching for them.

A shadowed figure was watching her, and although his posture was changed, she recognized him instantly.

"Mohkave?" she gasped.

She leapt to her feet, and a moment later she was hugging him tightly, weeping as she did.

"Janey," Mohkave said softly when he finally pulled away from her. "How?"

"I don't know," Janey admitted. "Two Stones said I pulled him to me last night. But tonight I was thinking of you."

She didn't need to ask if this was real. She knew it was. This was truly Mohkave. He was here with her in her dreams just like Two Stones had been with her last night.

She could hardly ask the question, but she had to.

"Is it… How is…"

"We have fought bravely, and we have fought well," Mohkave said. He was smiling, but his shoulders were weary. "We prepare for the end."

Janey swallowed the sob that rose in her throat. She wouldn't cry anymore; she wouldn't. This was the path his people had chosen; who was she to mourn it?

Mohkave lowered his head and said, "Heskovizenako is…"

"Don't tell me," Janey begged. "I remember him," she added fiercely, tears sliding unbidden down her cheeks. 

She would always remember Hes just as he was. Cheerful, teasing, and friendly. She would remember him.

"And my father," Mohkave whispered.

"I remember him," Janey promised.

Chief Nayati. Kind, welcoming, accepting. She didn't mourn him. She refused. She honored him.

Mohkave lifted a hand to Janey's face and said, "It makes me happy to see you."

Janey nodded. She couldn't say anything just yet. Not past the lump of sorrow in her throat.

"Stay with me?" he asked.

She wanted to promise him that she would never leave him, but she already had. She had left him to fight his own war while she had gone to fight hers.

Mohkave held out his hand, and Janey grasped it tightly. Then they sat on the ground, knees touching, hands clasped, not saying a word.

It was Mohkave who finally broke the silence.

"I am weary," he confessed. "The ancestors are calling, and I am ready to answer them, but there is yet one more battle ahead of me. It seems pointless, but I cannot let them steal what is ours without a fight. This is our land. We do not own it, but it is ours. The mother offered it to us when we were born. She gave us the knowledge of the plants and the animals. She gave us knowledge of the winds. I will not budge; my people will not budge. We will protect it to the end."

"I know," Janey told him.

"Will you tell me a story to pass the time?" he asked.

"Do you know the star scorpion?" Janey replied. "Two Stones's people call it Medicine Claw. It hangs on the horizon in the summer."

"I know the one," Mohkave said. "My father calls it Breath of the Returning Sun."

Another tear slid from Janey's eye, but she ignored it and said, "The Greeks called it Scorpius."

She told him the tale of Gaia and the scorpion. And then she told him about the other Greek stories she had read. She told him about Samuel Pickwick. She told him about the mountain of glass and the princess sitting on top with the golden apples. And all the while she held his hands tightly, wishing that she never had to let him go.

When she had told him all the stories she could think of, they lay side by side on the cool grass and stared up at the sky together.

A flash of light streaked across the darkness, and Janey said softly, "I once heard someone say that you could wish on a falling star."

"What do you wish?" Mohkave asked.

"That I had never left you."

"Never wish that," he told her. "I am glad you left. How useless it would be for you to die with us. And if you died with me, who would be left to remember us?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side before saying, "I cannot say that I do not wish things were different. I wish that my people didn't have to die, but I know better than to think that any other choice than death is life. I am glad you left," he said once more.

She could feel her watch approaching, and she silently begged Wolf Heart not to wake her.

"I am Chief Mohkave," Mohkave said softly. "Come morning, I will lead my people to war; I will lead them to death. They know this, and still they follow me. The women will come with us this time. The old and the young will come with us. We'll leave none behind to be broken. Our ancestors are calling for us; it is time we answer them."

Janey closed her eyes and held on to him. It was all she could do.

"I remember you," she whispered. "Mohkave, my friend. You only ever saw me as me. You fight like the snake. You swim like the otter. You ride like the wind. You are wise. Where you lead, your people follow. You dance to celebrate life. You listen to the words of the ancestors. And you will have your victory. You will carry your people to victory."

It just so happened that their victory was achieved in death, not life.

"I remember the bison," she went on. "I remember the pounding of their hooves. I remember the dust they bring into the air. I remember the feel of their hides. I remember the taste of their meat, roasted over the fire of your people.

"I remember the mother. I remember her kindness. I remember the woman's hut. I remember Emonah and her strength. I remember Asohave's birth and his beautiful smile."

She choked on a sob and faltered to a halt. She couldn't go on. She couldn't. She loved them too much not to mourn them. They were her family. They had welcomed her without question no matter how she had come to them, and she would be desolate without them.

"I am always with you," Mohkave said. "I carry your strength with me into war."

And then Janey was lying on the grass all alone.

She forced herself to wake up, and she immediately saw that dawn was beginning to tint the sky.

"No," she whispered.

She scrambled down the tree and ran towards the stables; but halfway there, she stumbled and fell to the ground, grief ripping her in two. She would never make it in time; she didn't even know the way.

Sobs tore from her, and she couldn't stop them. Any moment now, Mohkave was going to die. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't. She didn't want to live in a world without him, without the mother, without Hes, without the bison.

She pounded the earth with her fists. She should have never left them. Living without them was pointless.

"No, no, no!" she screamed.

She felt as if her heart was being torn from her body, and it hurt so horribly that she didn't immediately realize that the mark on her hand was burning.

And then her eyes and her body were no longer her own. She was Hawk, and she was soaring in the air above Mohkave's people, watching them ready themselves for war. There were so few of them now. So many had already died.  

And beyond the villagers, beyond Janey's people, Hawk's sharp eyes spied the lines of cavalry, the bright morning sun reflecting off their shiny buckles and guns.

Janey screamed in rage and frustration, and Hawk screamed with her, but she couldn't move Hawk; she couldn't force Hawk to change his course. He was holding her steady so she could witness Mohkave's victory, so she could remember it, so she could add it to the story of their people.

Time seemed suspended, but then the two groups were suddenly clashing. The smell of gunpowder was so strong that Hawk flew even higher, but then he swooped, carrying Janey with him.

Mohkave and his warriors were fighting fiercely, felling soldier after soldier, and they were pushing ever forward. Side by side with the warriors were the women. Many of them fought with a weapon in one hand and a child in the other. Behind them were the old. They were just as capable of fighting, and their arrows pierced many chests.

Hawk could see the lines of soldiers behind the soldiers though, and it seemed as if there was no end of them.

Hawk flew lower and lower, and Janey could see the trail of bodies across the bloody field. There were twice as many fallen soldiers, but there had been ten times as many soldiers to begin with. They could lose a thousand, and they would still have more than enough.

Blood suddenly burst across Mohkave's chest, and Janey screamed in pain and terror. Hawk screamed with her, but Mohkave continued to fight.

Another soldier took aim at Mohkave, but this time Janey forced Hawk forward; she forced Hawk to intervene. She took over Hawk's talons and tore out the soldier's eyes.

She refused to stand by and watch her people die. She refused. They would die, but she would carry them forward just as they had carried her.

Following Janey's intent, Hawk attacked soldier after solider, clawing out eyes and ripping at hands and faces. Hawk deftly avoided the bullets shot in his direction, soaring with ease in and out among the cavalry horses, startling them with shrieks and cries of rage.

Something was changing though, the sounds of battle were shifting; and Hawk soared into the air and circled around, showing Janey the absolute destruction of her people.

She shrieked in agony and circled the bloody field, searching for Mohkave. Pain suddenly tore through her chest, and she dropped from the sky, plummeting to the ground like a stone. She thrust out her wings at the last minute, landing with a flutter instead of a crash inside of a ring of bodies.

Her sharp eyes found him, and she clawed her way over the dead and dying to Mohkave's side. She couldn't weep; Hawk didn't weep. But she spread her wings and laid them over Mohkave's face just before another bullet tore through her back.

Janey gasped in pain, then began to cough as blood spewed from her mouth. She was lying on the ground, and St. John was kneeling beside her. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him. The sounds of battle had deafened her.

She tried to pull herself upright, but she couldn't. She was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow and hatred. Mohkave was dead. Her people were gone. She had watched them die.

Sobbing coughs racked her frame, adding to the pain. She wanted to die; she should have died. She should have died with them.

St. John was trying to attend her wounds, but she pushed him away. She didn't want him touching her. She didn't want anyone touching her.

The pain was building, and she couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear it. Mohkave was dead. He was dead. She had lost him, and all she had now was the memory. She would never hear his voice or feel his hands or see his smile. He was gone. They were all gone.

"AHANU!!!" she screamed.

A wave of pain tore through her, and she cried out in agony. The pain was too much. She needed to end it.

"Ahanu," she sobbed. "Please."

Her hand was grasping for her gun, and she felt St. John restrain her, but she pushed fiercely against him. She couldn't live like this. She couldn't.

She fought to gain control of her hands, but she couldn't break free of the iron grasp holding her down.

"Be still," St. John ordered.

She couldn't be still. Whenever she was still, she saw Mohkave's face. She saw the mother's face. But the life was gone. They were dead; she had allowed them to die.

A fresh round of sobs tore through her, and she fought against St. John's arms and screamed in rage.

Her eyes were blind with blood and tears, but she felt someone else take a hold of her, and she knew it was Ahanu. He was holding her and whispering words in her ear. She didn't understand him, but she clung to him, and then she felt Two Stones's arms around her instead, and she grabbed a hold of him and wept.

She had never been in so much pain in her life, and it had nothing to do with the bullet Brings the Rain was digging from her chest.

"They're gone," she sobbed. "They're gone."

"I know," Two Stones replied, his voice full of sorrow.

"I can't!" she cried.

"You must."

"I can't."

"You must," Two Stones said firmly. "I lived, and so shall you."

His words cut through her pain because he knew. He knew her pain. He understood what it was like to lose everyone he loved to violence and greed. And he was right. She had to. She had promised she would. She had promised she would remember them.

"The pain," she whispered.

"Rest," he told her. "We will guard you."

She didn't want to leave them. She needed them. They were all she had left. But the darkness yanked her from Two Stones's arms, and she tumbled into oblivion.

Chapter 8

There was still pain in the darkness though, and Janey knew there always would be. She couldn't escape it. She couldn't escape the sorrow and the terrible ache. Her heart had been ripped from her, and now there was just a ragged hole.

The white man had eaten her soul.

Anger filled her at the thought. She wasn't done. Not yet. She wouldn't let them win. Mohkave had died to defeat them; she would live to defeat them. She would stuff the hole so full of hatred and vengeance that she wouldn't even notice the loss.

"My child."

Janey hissed as the mother's voice surrounded her.

She didn't want the mother. This was the mother's fault. The mother had birthed humanity. She should have been content with animals and trees.

"Why did you birth them?" Janey demanded.

"You might as well ask why you breathe," Ayita replied.

"Go away," Janey spat. "I don't want you."

"You are in pain."

"Because your children are worthless!" Janey screamed.

"Not all of them," Ayita said softly.

Her voice was sad, and Janey regretted her words, but she couldn't take them back, and she wouldn't have even if she could.

"Look at my son Two Stones," Ayita said. "Is he not both kind and wise? Does he not protect and heal?"

Janey refused to respond.

"And my daughter Janey. Is she not—"

"No!" Janey spat. "You will not tell me what I am. No one tells me what I am."

"I mourn with you," Ayita said. "I mourn my children."

"Leave me the hell alone," Janey retorted.

She felt the mother's absence instantly, and she breathed easier once Ayita was gone. She was too furious, too bathed in anger and grief to be comforted, especially by the very entity who had bothered to birth humanity in the first place.

All alone, Janey curled into herself and wept. She wanted to be free of the pain, but there was no place to escape it. It was all-consuming, and it filled her to the point of drowning her. It was all she was.

There had to be a way to break free of it. There had to be a way to escape.

She struggled against the darkness, against her grief, trying to push everything away from her. The more she fought, the tighter it held her though, pulling her down to such depths that all she could do was gasp from the pain.

Just when she thought she could take it no more, just when she thought that the only way to escape it was to allow it to break her, a sound infiltrated her cocoon of heartbreak and wrapped itself around her.

The ache inside of her eased slightly, and she allowed the sound to pull at her.

She knew this song. It was the song of a people. It was the song of Mohkave's people.

And what a beautiful song it was. What a beautiful people. They surrounded her and picked her up. They carried her to their woman's hut and shared their wisdom. They made her one of their own. They danced with her. They honored her. They honored each other. They honored the earth.

Sparks rose into the night sky, painting it golden, and she danced with them. She danced, and she danced, because this was the song of a people who danced.

And when the sun began to rise, when they began to fade away, she saw their ancestors standing behind them, beckoning them to come.

She didn't try to hold onto them. She didn't try to call them back. They only had eyes for the ancestors now.

"I remember," she whispered.

And then the song shifted; it became the song of the morning, and Janey woke up.

She wasn't alone. She was never alone. Two Stones was sitting at her head; Wolf Heart was sitting at her feet; and Brings the Rain was standing just behind her, greeting the morning with his song.

For a long time, Janey just stared at the flames in front of her. Her throat was raw, and her entire body ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her soul.

Brings the Rain's voice washed over her, but it did little to dull the ache. Tears poured from her eyes, blurring the flames; and out of desperation, she pressed a fist to her chest, hoping it would ease the pain, but all it did was sharpen it.

"I'm never going to love again," she whispered.

Two Stones placed a gentle hand on her head and said, "If we had made that vow, you would not be with us."

And she would be dead. But also pain-free, and maybe that was better. She had never imagined it was possible to hurt so much.

"You are strong," Two Stones said. "You will survive. We have survived, and you will survive with us."

Couldn't he see that there was a big difference between surviving and living?

"Does the pain ever ease?" Janey gasped.

"Yes."

"Do you swear?"

"Yes."

She closed her eyes and tried to believe him, but when her eyes were closed all she could see was Mohkave's empty, dead face; and she would rather stare at the fire until her eyes bled than keep seeing Mohkave like that. That wasn't how she wanted to remember him. She wanted to remember him happy and alive.

"I can't do this," she whispered.

"You can," Two Stones told her.

"How?"

"You accept that they are with their people now, and you remember them the way they were. You carry their stories with you. You carry them with you. And you keep walking. The horizon is far off for you."

Janey grasped her wrist and ran her fingers over the bracelet Mohkave had given her.

"Will you change it?" she asked softly. "Will you add the rest of their story? Will you add how bravely they fought and how valiantly they died?"

"Yes," Two Stones said.

She removed the bracelet without looking at it and handed it to him. Mohkave and his people were branded on her soul, and she would carry them forever. She would remember them forever, but she couldn't think of them right this minute. She couldn't. It hurt too much. She had to think of something else, anything else.

She tried to sit up and gasped in pain, but Wolf Heart wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her move into a sitting position.

"I should look at your wounds," Brings the Rain said.

"Leave them," she murmured.

Her wounds could rot for all she cared.

Wolf Heart tucked her against his side, and she leaned into him, breath coming in short little gasps.

"Why are you wounded?" he demanded. "St. John?"

Janey shook her head.

"Then who?"

She couldn't speak of it, not yet.

"I can't," she whispered. "Just… Just hold me, please."

She drifted in and out of consciousness, but every time she fell asleep, she dreamed of them and the smell of gunpowder swept up her nose.

She woke sobbing time and time again; and time and time again, Wolf Heart soothed her with words she barely understood.

Then she fell into a place so hot that she could no longer think, but she didn't care because the pain was gone, replaced with fire.

She could still see Mohkave's eyes though. And she spread her wings over him and laid her head against his. And then she died. Over and over again. Hawk died, and she died with him, for just a moment.

It was St. John who pulled her back. He ordered her to return, and she had obeyed him, unable to resist his compulsion in her weakened state. And how she hated him for forcing her to live.

She should have died with Mohkave. Only that hadn't been what Mohkave wanted. He had wanted her to live. If she died, who would remember them?

She began to rage, the fire fueling her anger. Why was it her burden? Why should she struggle to remember them when they had chosen to die?

They had left her. They could have walked away. They could have hidden on Pecos's ranch.

She hated them for leaving her, for choosing death over her, but she also knew better than anyone that hiding wasn't always the answer.

The pain and heat increased, and she handed herself over to it, pushing away the gentle touch that tried to cool her and fighting against the hands that tried to soothe her. She wanted none of it. She wanted to burn. The pain was almost bearable when she was burning.

But coolness eventually pervaded, and with it came a sense of desolate calmness. Mohkave and his people were gone. The cavalry had wiped all traces of them from the face of the earth. Their voices had been silenced, and their footprints had been erased.

But the cavalry hadn't killed her. They had tried, but she had the devil on her side.

And she would remember. She would remember Mohkave and his people. She would remember their brave deeds. She would carry them forward, carry their story and their memory ever forward; but she would also remember the cavalry. She would remember their deeds. And if she ever had the chance, she would punish them for their greed and their hatred.

The fire strengthened her resolve, and the pain sharpened it. She was the arrow; she was the scorpion's stinger; she was the knife. She would kill them all, but to do that, she had to wake up. 

It was hard to let go of the darkness, but it was time, so Janey forced her eyes to open and stared at the bright blue sky above her.

She didn't understand how the sky could be so beautiful. It should be grey and drenched with sorrow, like her soul.

"You're awake," Wolf Heart said with relief.

"Yes."

"You need to eat."

Janey allowed him to help her sit, and she took the cup of hot liquid he handed her. She would eat because she had to be strong. And she had to be strong because she was going to kill every single man, woman, or child who had ever looked at someone else, wanted what they had, and taken it by force. And she was going to start with Admetos.

Chapter 9

Janey could tell that Two Stones and the others wanted to ask her questions, but they didn't. They just carefully tended her, feeding her small amounts of tea and meat as the day went on.

She was too weak to put up a fight. She ate whatever they gave her but refused to speak. 

It was dark and a chill had fallen over their camp when Janey finally forced herself to tell them what had happened.

"I went to sleep thinking of Mohkave," she said softly. "And I dreamed of him, like I did with you, Two Stones."

"You met him in your dreams," Two Stones stated.

"Yes."

For a moment she couldn't go on. The pain was still too sharp, but it had already dulled slightly; and after a few deep breaths, Janey was able to continue.

"His father had already…" She didn't finish, just said, "And Mohkave, he said that tomorrow he would lead his people to war, to death. We stayed together until the dawn, and then he woke," she whispered.

"I wanted to be with them," she said, voice breaking. "And Hawk must have heard me. I don't know. But suddenly I was there, flying above them, watching them fight with Hawk's eyes. I killed Hawk," she confessed, heart breaking all over again. "I forced him to fight, and he died. I died; we died; we died with Mohkave."

The words were broken now. Almost too broken to hear, but she knew they heard her. She knew that they understood now what had happened.

"St. John made me come back," she said bitterly. "He ordered me to come back. And I was too weak to resist him."

A log in the fire broke, and sparks shot up into the darkness. When the shadows had settled in once more, Two Stones said softly, "I am glad you were weak."

"As am I," Brings the Rain said.

"And I," Wolf Heart whispered.

Janey nodded stiffly and said, "I'm sorry I tried to leave you. I didn't mean to."

"Grief is a powerful force," Brings the Rain said solemnly.

"It still hurts," she whispered.

"It will."

She accepted that statement with a nod.

"How long has it been?" she asked.

"A week," Two Stones said. "St. John has been watching from the shadows."

"Is he there now?"

"No."

"Good. I hate him," she stated.

They didn't reply, and she didn't say anything further about St. John. Instead she leaned wearily against Wolf Heart and said, "Please don't let me fall asleep."

She couldn't bear to dream of them again. Not yet, and she wasn't certain if she was strong enough to shift the tides of memory and watch something else.

"It's growing colder," she murmured. "What will you do?"

"We will build a shelter on the edge of St. John's land where no one will bother us."

That was exactly why Mohkave's people had chosen to die. It was much easier to hide a tribe of three than a tribe of three hundred.

"I hate them so much," she said.

And even though she had let go of labels, she meant the white chief and white men and white soldiers and every single other person who just blindly moved forward, cutting down the Indians as they did.

"Hate will only hurt you. It does not hurt the one you hate," Two Stones replied.

"So you always say," Janey grumbled. "But I feel like putting it to the test."

"If you must."

"I must," she replied.

Hate took the edge off the grief; it dulled the pain. If she was busy hating all those creeps, she almost felt normal. Like she could walk without gasping for air.

"I'm going to kill Admetos," she said flatly. "And then I'm going to kill every other creep who crosses my path."

"Do you know where Admetos is?" Two Stones asked.

Janey shrugged and said, "Sort of. But St. John seems to think I need more of a plan than just walking up to Admetos and poisoning him."

"I agree with St. John," Wolf Heart said firmly.

"You would," she grumbled. "Can't fall asleep."

"You must rest."

"Can't. See them dying. Can't fall asleep."

She heard them talking to each other, but she was too tired to try to understand what they were saying.

Then Wolf Heart shook her gently and said, "Where is your dream snatcher?"

"Saddlebag. In St. John's stupid house," she mumbled.

"I'll go get it," Two Stones said.

"No!" Janey gasped. "Don't leave me."

"You need rest," Two Stones replied.

"Make Ahanu get it," she said as she tried to keep her eyes open. "He's always hanging around," she added. "Ahanu!" she called out. "Forgot to tell you that I like you. Don't ever leave me," she whispered.

"I like you as well," Ahanu whispered in her ear. "Rest, Janey. Rest."

She felt him press the dream snatcher into her hands, and she clasped it tightly, finally allowing the darkness to tow her under.

When Janey woke, it was midday; and the pain in her body had almost entirely faded, leaving her with just the pain in her mind and soul.

She sat upright and carefully stood. Her head spun a little, but Wolf Heart was holding her elbow to steady her.

When she could see straight again, Janey shook off his hand and walked into the forest a ways. The first thing she did was vomit. She could still smell the gunpowder and the blood, and it was making her sick. After she had voided her stomach, she handled her other pressing needs, and then she walked slowly back to their camp.

Brings the Rain had kept her clean, but her clothing was caked with blood and sweat, and she yearned to yank everything from her and scrub herself until she bled.

Mohkave's face rose unbidden to her mind, and she forced herself to think of Admetos instead. She was alive; she was awake; she was healed. It was time to focus on her task. Anything to keep from thinking of them.

Without a word, Janey sat beside Wolf Heart and took the chunk of meat he handed her. She ate it slowly, choking it down past the lump in her throat.

"I'm going back," she said when she was done eating.

"Without a plan?" Wolf Heart demanded.

"I'll make one."

"Don't do anything without us," Two Stones cautioned.

"You do realize that I have to do this on my own," she said.

"Nonetheless, do not go anywhere without us," Two Stones ordered.

"I'm not going to," Janey assured him.

She didn't point out that they wouldn't be able to follow her inside once she reached Admetos. She really did have to do this on her own. And if she failed, she would fail on her own.

"What do the spirits say?" she asked.

"They are silent," Two Stones replied.

That was never a good thing. On the other hand, what did she care? Her feet were set on the path, and there was nothing in the world that could stop her now. She merely had to find her point of leverage; that was all.

A spontaneous sob tried to break free, and she swallowed it. She couldn't sit here. She couldn't rest. She had to keep moving. It was the only way to keep from drowning.

"Thank you," she said. "I needed you."

"We were on our way when the Old One brought you to us."

There was still one thing she needed to know, still one thing she had to ask.

"What about Hawk?" she asked, voice breaking.

"A hawk died with Mohkave," Two Stones said. "You will mourn him. The spirit of Hawk did not die. Hawk cannot die. He is with you, always."

Janey nodded stiffly, blinking rapidly to keep more pointless tears from pouring down her cheeks. She was sick of crying; it was such a useless thing to do.

"I'll see you soon," she said as she stood.

She didn't look at them. She didn't touch them. She was afraid that if she did, she would start sobbing, and she wasn't doing that anymore; she was moving forward.

"Take this," Two Stones said, handing her the dream snatcher. "You will need it."

She nodded, took the dream snatcher, and started walking. After several feet, it occurred to her that she didn't actually know where she was or how to get to St. John's house; but she needn't have worried because Two Stones was already in front of her, showing her the way.

She followed him silently; and in very little time, she could see the low garden wall.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She started to walk past him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She paused, but didn't turn.

"The pain will ease, Lost Bird, but it will always be there. You will always miss them. You will always think of them. And then you will forget to think of them, and you'll mourn that you didn't think of them. You'll mourn your own happiness without them. I am sorry. I would gladly take your burden for you, but I cannot."

A tear slid from beneath her furiously closed eyelids, and for a second she gave into her weakness by turning to Two Stones and letting him hold her tightly.

"You are strong," he told her. "You are the arrow, and this was your fire. It does not burn you; it strengthens you."

She couldn't quite believe that yet.

He kissed the top of her head, then held her away from him and said, "I finished their story."

Janey held out her hand, and he carefully bound the bracelet around her wrist.

"I remember them," he said softly.

"As do I," Janey said.

Then she turned from him, jumped the wall, and strode towards St. John's house. She knew he was inside the moment she opened the door. She could feel his presence, and she went towards it, finding him in his study.

When she stepped through the open doorway, St. John looked up from his papers. His expression showed no surprise, and he looked her over perceptively before saying, "You've returned."

"Yes. Take me to Admetos."

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she snarled.

"I'm not taking you anywhere."

"Why the hell not?"

"You don't have a plan," St. John said. "If you want to kill yourself, fine; just don't expect me to help you."

With that statement, St. John returned his attention to his work.

Janey glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice, and she eventually dropped into the chair opposite him and glared at him from there.

"I hate you," she spat.

"Good," he replied. "It will make it that much easier for you to kill me."

The pain in her chest increased at his words, and she didn't understand why. She truly did hate him. He was St. John, the cause of all her woes. If he hadn't come for Pa… Pa would have sold her off to Old Man Finnegan by now.

Janey suppressed a shudder at the thought. But the thought of Old Man Finnegan wasn't nearly as horrible as the realization that if St. John hadn't come for Pa, she wouldn't know Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain. She also wouldn't have ever known Mohkave and his people so her chest wouldn't feel hollowed out.

She could hardly blame St. John for that though; he hadn't been the one to kill them.

Now that she was looking at it, she could admit that, if anything, St. John had actually made her life better.

She glowered at him, annoyed that she was making excuses for his behavior. He was a filthy people eater; she hated him, and that was that.

Furthermore, he wasn't cooperating with her at all. She had really been planning on action to keep her mind occupied, but this was not action. She couldn't just sit here. Every time she stopped moving, it was all she could do not to weep.

After a long moment, St. John looked up from his desk and said, "You're still here."

"Where do you expect me to go?" she snarled.

"I somewhat expected you to run back to your native companions and hide in the mountains somewhere."

She bristled at his words, but only because she had done exactly that so many times before.

"I am killing Admetos," she said.

Admetos was the symbol of everything she hated. He was full of greed and want. He took what he wanted without any care or concern for those he hurt when he did; and in fact, he took every opportunity to hurt people if he could. He was a rapist. He was a murderer. She would kill him, and when she was done with him, she would cut a swath through the rest of them.

"Perhaps a bath then," St. John said casually.

He rung the bell beside him; and when George arrived, St. John said, "Take a bath up to Ms. Falke's room, and be sure to light the fire this time."

"Yes, Mr. St. John," George stuttered.

After George had scurried from the room, St. John returned his attention to his papers.

Whatever Janey had expected from him, this was not it; and she glared at him even more fiercely than before.

For a long time, she tried to bore holes through his head with her eyes, but she could only sit still for so long without the pain terrorizing her, so she eventually stood and headed towards the doorway.

She paused just before leaving the room and whispered, "Thank you for bringing me back."

"You'll not escape me that easily," he replied.

There was humor to his tone; and although a week ago, it would have rankled her, today it only helped bring everything back into balance.

She left without another word and walked upstairs. Her bath wasn't ready yet; and she paced the room, irritated at the wait. How she wished she had thought to bathe in the woods. She hadn't had any clean clothes though, so it would have hardly mattered.

She tried to keep her thoughts on St. John and how much she hated him simply because she needed to keep her mind occupied. Every time she blinked though, she saw Mohkave.

Tears were leaking from her eyes when she heard the boys coming with the tub, and she turned to look out the window so they wouldn't see her crying.

She didn't acknowledge them; she wasn't in the mood to speak. Words seemed pointless. Life seemed pointless. She was too weary and full of grief to pretend to care about anything outside of herself.

It was another minute or two before George said, "Bath's ready, miss."

She made a noise of dismissal, and she only turned from the window when she heard the door close softly behind them. She crossed the room, locked the door, and then she wrested the bloody clothes from her body. 

She wanted to burn them, but she also could hardly bear the thought of parting with them. She had been wearing these clothes when she had sat with Mohkave.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks once more, and she knew she wouldn't be able to stop them. With a cry of distress, Janey bundled up the ruined clothing and tossed them out into the hallway, not caring one bit if someone saw her. Then she slammed and locked her door before lowering herself into the warm water.

She tried to think of St. John and how nonchalant he had been, but even that didn't distract her. She was angry and in pain, but she wasn't so blind that she didn't realize he was trying to help her. If he had given her the slightest bit of sympathy, she would have collapsed into tears.

At this point, her hate for him was so confused that she was frightened to look at it.

Janey lowered herself under the water and stayed there for a moment, floating in the nothingness, then she rose up and began to wash her hair.

She was still crying. She couldn't seem to stop, but she would clean herself. She had to clean herself. Two Stones, Brings the Rain, and Wolf Heart had worked so diligently to keep her alive, and she had to honor them by staying that way.

When her hair was clean, Janey turned her attention to cleaning her skin, and she scrubbed the cloth harshly over her entire body. As she was cleaning, her fingers brushed over something rough on her chest, and she looked down to see an ugly red scar just below her collarbone.

She knew there would be a matching scar on her back because Hawk's wounds were hers. She was so angry at herself for getting Hawk killed. She should have been content to watch from above, but even now, she knew that she would have never been able to do such a thing.

In her mind's eye, she was there again, shielding Mohkave with her wings. And then she died.

She swallowed sob after sob as she rinsed herself in the bloody water; and then she dried herself and dressed, weeping as she did. When she was done dressing, she sat on the floor, Mohkave's knife on her lap and just rocked back and forth, trying to ease the pain that was lodged inside of her.

She was aware of nothing until St. John sat on the floor beside her. He didn't touch her; she couldn't have borne it if he had; he just sat silently, like a bulwark.

She hated him for caring enough to come, and she wished she had the strength to tell him to go, but she was afraid that if he left her, she would shatter.

It wasn't long before she had exhausted her store of energy; and she just sat there, staring listlessly at the knife in her hands.

She heard St. John speaking, but he wasn't speaking to her, so she ignored him. She wished he wasn't here because she couldn't quite hold back her gasps of pain. Everything hurt. Her soul hurt, and she didn't understand that. How could a soul hurt?

"You need to eat," St. John said as he took one of her hands and put a bowl into it. "It's porridge," he added. "The Scottish swear by it."

She didn't care.

"You'll never be able to kill Father if you can't even stand," St. John said.

Janey released Mohkave's knife and began to eat. Every bite was an effort. She wanted to scream, not eat, but she ate anyway. Mohkave had wanted her to live, and she could only remember him if she was alive.

When the bowl was empty, St. John took it from her. More words were spoken, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She knew she needed to live; she just didn't know how to go about it.

"You should rest now," St. John said. "Can you stand?"

Janey lurched to her feet and flung herself onto the bed, hoping he would leave her to her misery, but he didn't. Instead he sat beside the bed and said, "Shall I read to you?"

She shook her head violently. That would only make her think of Mohkave and their last moments together.

"Then I will tell you about the century I spent with the druids."

She didn't care, but she was immensely glad he wasn't leaving her. His voice was soothing, and she allowed it to wash over her although she wasn't listening to a word he said.

The fingers of sleep started to pull at her, and she sat up with a gasp.

"What's wrong?" St. John asked.

"My dream snatcher," she said frantically as she looked about the room. "I need it."

She couldn't remember what she had done with it, but she suddenly spotted it on the floor next to her guns, and she started to move from the bed.

"I'll get it," St. John offered.

She pointed, and he quickly retrieved it for her.

"What does it do?" he asked.

"Keeps me from dreaming," she whispered.

"What would you dream of?"

Bleakness filled her.

"I would dream of them," she said. "And I would watch them die. Over and over again."

"Nothing to be learned from that," St. John said, tone even. "Would you like me to leave you?"

How she hated him. He was forcing her to say that she wanted him. It was beyond cruel, and she almost told him to go, but she couldn't face it alone, not just yet.

So she shook her head and turned onto her side away from him, dream snatcher clutched against her chest.

She startled when he laid a blanket over her, but when he started talking once more, she gave herself over to the rhythm of his voice and let it carry her to sleep.

Chapter 10

St. John was still talking softly when Janey woke the next morning. The room was bright, and for a few moments, Janey just lay there and listened to him speak.

"I think the year was 1521 or so. We were spending some time in Germany, and I had befriended Martin Luther and offered him protection from the church. I've always found it interesting when people question authority, although I do think that in the end, he entirely missed the point."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she listened anyway.

St. John spoke for a while longer, then he paused and said, "I'll go see to breakfast. Come down whenever you're ready."

Once he had left the room, Janey crawled out of bed and shuffled over to the window. Her body was healed, but her spirit was so damaged that she was finding it difficult to function.  

She opened the window and laid her head against the window frame.

"I don't know how to go on," she whispered.

When Eddie had died, she had thought that she had lost everything, but she hadn't even known what grief was. She thought of Brings the Rain and his children, and the pain twisted within her. Her pain was surely nothing compared to his. How had he survived?

With a sigh of despair, Janey turned from the window and made her way down to the breakfast room. She ate the porridge put in front of her, and then she went out into the garden and lay in the summer house.

She didn't move until St. John came to collect her for dinner. She ate without noticing what was on her plate, and then she went up to her room and lay on the bed.

St. John didn't come to talk her through the night, but she was so lost to her despair that she hardly cared.

Days and days passed in this manner.

Janey moved from one place to another without regard for where she was or why. Everything was grey and coated in sorrow, and she didn't care about any of it. Every time she tried to rouse herself, she remembered Mohkave's face and she lost herself to weeping.

She wished that every day was her last, and then she wept for being so weak. She had to live; she just couldn't remember how.

She was eating another grey bowl of porridge when St. John hissed in disgust and said sharply, "How long are you going to brood?"

She didn't answer him.

"I've watched more people die than you can imagine. I have lost my mother, ten wives, twelve sisters, eight brothers, seven daughters, and fifteen sons. I have spent the majority of my five thousand years alone, and you don't see me brooding."

Janey put down her spoon and stared at her empty bowl. His words were meaningless. He was a filthy people eater. It was impossible for him to love as she did.

St. John pushed back his chair and said, "Come. I owe you a fight."

"No."

"You either come on your own two feet, or I'll carry you."

Janey stood with a snarl and spat, "You don't own me! You can't tell me what to do."

"You're absolutely right," St. John said smoothly. "Fight me now or get out of my house."

His eyes were fathomless, and she found it hard to hold his gaze. She didn't want to fight him, but she had to move forward; she had to. She was drowning.

She shrugged, and he turned and headed for the door. She followed him, anger making her move faster than she had in days.

When they reached the sand pit beside the stable, St. John removed his jacket, vest, and shirt. Then he gestured for her to attack him.

It was difficult to move. Her body felt wrong, like it didn't know what to do anymore; and for a moment, Janey just stood there. She hadn't been wearing her guns and knives, so there was nothing for her to do but move forward.

With steps that felt heavy and unsure, Janey headed St. John's way. A few feet from him, she managed to put on a burst of speed and leap towards him.

He pinned her to the ground instantly.

"Again," he said as he stood.

She gained her feet and rushed toward him once more. She moved a little quicker this time, but she didn't even touch him before he had pinned her against the sand.

"Again," he ordered.

She sighed heavily, but she stood and ran towards him. He caught her by her shoulders and simply held her away from him.

"You disappoint me," he said.

Then he dropped his hands and turned away.

What the hell did she care? He was a filthy people eater. She wasn't trying to impress him; she was trying to kill him.

Anger tore through her, burning out the lethargy and replacing it with rage. She could beat him, and she would.

She dashed forward and leapt onto his back, quickly hooking her legs around his chest. His chest was broad enough that she couldn't lock her feet together, but she tucked them tightly against him, and wrapped her arm around his neck before grabbing her own wrist and holding it tightly.

St. John tried to throw her, but her legs kept her in place, and she secured her hold on his neck and did her best to choke him.  

He wrapped his iron fingers around her arm and pulled, but she only tightened her grip. She was holding him as tightly as possible now, but the choke didn't seem to be working; anyone else would have already conceded defeat.

St. John didn't seem bothered though; and after trying one more time to dislodge her, he chuckled softly and sat on the ground. Janey was so startled that she didn't immediately realize what he was doing, but then he fell backwards, and she gasped as his weight dropped onto her.

"We'll just see which one of us can hold out longer," he rasped.

She could already barely breathe, but she tucked her arm more tightly around his neck and pulled him towards her. It didn't seem to affect him at all.

She felt him shifting his feet, and then the weight on her chest increased until she could no longer breathe at all. She released him; he immediately rolled off of her; and she turned onto her side and gasped for breath.

His face was cheerful when he stood and offered her his hand. "That was really clever," he said with a broad smile.

She stared at his happy face and felt her last thread of control snap.  

She jumped to her feet and yelled, "Stop being nice to me! I hate it! I hate you! I hate your stupid house! I hate your stupid name! I hate your damn forks and your stupid tubs and your ridiculous books! I hate it all! Just take me to Admetos so I never have to look at you again!"

St. John lowered his hand and shook his head, eyes suddenly sad.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because you won't win, and I don't want you to die."

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop it! Don't you understand?! I have to kill you! I have to. I don't have a choice. I have to kill you!"

He said nothing, and Janey dropped to the ground, that horrible wave of grief rolling over her once more. She wasn't strong enough; she just wasn't strong enough.

"I don't want to kill you," she whispered, heart aching and pain filling her. She had already lost Mohkave and Hes and Emonah; and for some stupid reason, she didn't want to lose St. John as well.

"Please, just please, act like a filthy people eater," she pleaded.

St. John knelt beside her, and she didn't pull away when he cupped her cheek with his hand, but she also didn't lift her eyes to meet his. She couldn't. She was drowning again, and she didn't want him to see that part of it was because of him.

"I am a filthy people eater," he said solemnly. "And someday you're going to kill me, Jane. I promise not to fight you when it's time."

She was crying again, and she wanted to run and hide. How weak must she be that she would cry for him? She hated him.

"It pains me to see you so sad," he said. "And I know that your companions are growing restless. They watch over you in the garden every day, but you're so lost to your grief you don't even notice them. You are young, and you feel your grief with a passion only someone who is young can," St. John said softly.

"I envy you. But there must come a time when you take your grief and store it away, like an old winter coat that is no longer needed. You still have it. You can even take it out and look at it. You can wear it if you want to, but it is not always on you.

"I cannot tell you that time is now, Jane; but I, for one, miss your sharp and angry words. I miss the spark in your eyes. And I don't think that whomever you are weeping for would want you to wear your grief forever. It seems a waste."

His hand shifted to the nape of her neck, and he laid his forehead gently against hers.

"I look forward to watching you kill Father. Please don't disappoint me."

Then he was gone, and she knew why she was so angry and why she was so resistant to return to her path. She wanted the grief to go away. She wanted the pain to leave her. But if she returned to her path, she was going to have to kill St. John. And when she did that, she would have to feel this pain all over again.

She didn't know why she didn't hate him anymore, but she didn't. He had protected her. He had comforted her. He had never once hurt her. Not once.

He was a creep, but he had never been a creep to her.

She had no choice but to kill him. She knew without a doubt that Roaring Waters would never be free if she didn't kill all of the saints, every single one of them, including Victor St. John.

Janey sat on the sand for a long time. She was exhausted and empty, but there was a sense of acceptance that hadn't been there before.

Mohkave was gone. Her people were gone. She was going to kill St. John, and it was going to pain her.

St. John's words had reached her though, and she knew it was time to fold up her grief and put it away. But it would always be there, just inside the wardrobe.

Mohkave wouldn't want her to waste away like this. If she wasn't going to live, she may as well have stayed with him and died.

She had made an oath, and she was going to fulfill it. And then… Then she would see.

Janey stood slowly and headed for the house. When she reached it, she walked to St. John's study and knocked softly on the door.

"Enter," St. John called out.

Janey pushed open the door and stepped inside the room, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"Thank you," she said, trying to hold his fathomless gaze. "I'm sorry I was—"

"Please don't apologize," he interrupted.

She nodded and said, "Can we fight again tomorrow?"

"If you spend the evening with me in the parlor," he replied.

"I will," she agreed.

She turned to go, but then she thought of something, and she turned back and said, "Can I have two pieces of cake for dinner? I'd like to eat them alone, and then I'll join you in the parlor."

His eyebrow shot up, but he shrugged his acceptance of her request.

"Thank you," she said.

After she had left his study, she went upstairs to get her guns and knives. It wasn't that she needed them, but she always wore them, and she preferred it that way.

She was beginning to understand herself and who she was. She didn't need her weapons, but she rather missed them when they were apart from her. Just like she missed her brothers.

She was fiercely loyal, almost to the point of stupidity. She loved deeply, past the point of stupidity; and she grieved just as deeply. She could spot a creep from a mile away, but if there was even a shred of decency in someone, she could see that too. It was like a stupid candle burning in the dark of night, and she hated being the one to put it out.

She had just enough creep in her that she could though. She wasn't like Ana; love would never hold her back. St. John was no different than those soldiers who had killed Mohkave. How many times over the years had Admetos given St. John an order to hurt someone? And how many times had St. John obeyed him? Every single time.

If she was willing to kill those stupid worthless soldiers, she had to be willing to kill St. John as well. And she would. She would kill Admetos, and she would kill St. John. It didn't matter that she liked St. John; it didn't matter that she no longer hated him. A creep was a creep, and she was a creep killer.  

Chapter 11

Janey still hadn't reached the point where she could speak easily, so dinner was a silent affair. She didn't brood though. She didn't allow herself to. She was living; and living meant being in the moment, not in the past, and not in the moment she wished it was, but the moment she was actually in.

After Janey had eaten everything on her plate, George took it away and Jacob put down two slices of chocolate cake in front of her.

"Thank you," Janey said to Jacob, although her eyes were on St. John.

St. John inclined his head slightly; and without another word, Janey grabbed two forks, picked up the plates, and left.

She went through the backdoor out into the garden and straight to the summer house. After she had placed the plates neatly on the table, she said softly, "Ahanu? Would you please come see me? Bring coffee."

And then she sat back to wait.

She didn't know how Ahanu could hear her when she called for him. She didn't know if he just sat somewhere and watched her; she didn't know if saying his name was like ringing a bell. She didn't know, but she had no doubt at all that he would come, and she was right.

She had turned to look out the window, and when she looked back towards the doorway, he was there.

"Ahanu," she said softly.

"Janey. The girl who flew."

He placed the coffee pot and the cup he was holding onto the table and sat beside her before saying, "It seems as if I am surrounded by fliers."

She cast him a curious glance, but he didn't go on so she said, "Thank you for coming. All three times. I… I needed you."

"I am happy to see that you are healing. Although I would not have suspected that this would be the place to soothe your soul."

His tone was strangely irritated, and he cast an annoyed glance at the house. She could tell he wasn't happy with what he saw, but she didn't know why.

"St. John's a…" She sighed and said, "Victor is very kind to me."

"He was not very inclined to give you to me," Ahanu stated. "Even now he watches you."

"I know," she said.

She could feel him watching her. It seemed as if she was always aware of him now, always.

Janey passed Ahanu one of the plates and said, "I wanted to share some chocolate with you. As a thank you, and because…"

She hated that she couldn't just shut down her heart and keep it from loving. Life would be so much kinder if she could.

"I like you," she whispered. "A lot. And I worry that one day you'll stop showing up, and I won't know what happened to you."

Ahanu's feelings were almost always hidden behind sly smiles, but when he looked at her, Janey could see that he was capable of loving just as much as she was.

"You honor me," he said.

"You started it," she retorted. "Now eat your cake. It's attracting flies."

Ahanu laughed softly and took a small bite. His eyes widened, and he said, "This is… delicious."

"Isn't it? I think of you every time I eat it. And I think it's not as good as chocolate with you. Now I have both," she said with a smile.

"That is truly Janey," he said gently.

She ducked her head so he wouldn't see the moisture in her eyes, and while her head was down, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

She took a sip and sighed happily.

"Doyle's?" she asked.

"Of course."

"No one makes coffee like that man does," she stated.

"Indeed."

"Tell him thank you," she added. "How are they?"

"I am here to enjoy my cake," Ahanu replied.

Worry filled her at his words, but she couldn't think of them, not right now; so she pushed thoughts of the cowboys to the side.

Janey and Ahanu ate in silence, each of them giving their full attention to the cake; and when they were done, Ahanu leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"I have never enjoyed eating anything as much as I enjoyed eating that with you," he said.

She grinned widely and replied, "The only thing that would have made it better was more coffee."

"You drank the entire pot."

She shrugged and said, "Still."

Ahanu chuckled lightly, and then he said, "I cannot promise you that I will always come when you call. I cannot promise that I will always make my presence known, but I can promise you that I don't die first."

He meant it as a comfort, and she took it as such.

"I'm glad," she said.

He made a sound of amusement as he pulled out his pipe and lit it.

"Of all the people I've ever meddled with, I have never once regretted meddling with you."

And then he was gone, leaving behind a thin swirl of smoke.

She hated the idea of being meddled with, but since it had brought her Ahanu, she wasn't going to complain. She liked him altogether too much to complain.

She owed St. John an evening in the parlor, but there was one last thing she needed to do; so, leaving the empty plates where they were, Janey headed for the border of the garden.

It felt good to be moving with purpose once more. She wasn't sure why St. John had been able to snap her out of her grief like he had, but she knew that if it had been up to her, she would still be drowning.

She hopped the wall and strode into the forest. She hadn't gone far before Two Stones moved out from behind a tree.

"St. John said you've been lurking," Janey stated.

"I am sorry I did not come to you. The spirits—"

"I don't care what the spirits said," Janey interrupted.

Two Stones frowned, but she went on before he could chastise her.

"You watched over me. Thank you." She sighed heavily and added, "I think you probably would have been too kind. St. John's patience was severely tested. He actually snapped at me," she admitted. "I wonder how long it's been since he's done that."

"You do have a way with people," Two Stones agreed.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Anyway, he said that grief is like a worn out coat. You can't keep wearing it. You don't have to throw it away if you don't want to, but you put in the wardrobe and you leave it there. I never had a winter coat before you, so you wouldn't have thought I would have understood what he meant, but it makes sense."

"St. John is a very wise man."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Don't go giving him attributes. We're still killing him."

"Are we?"

"I am," Janey stated. "I don't want to," she admitted. "But it's time. It's time for him to return to the mother. I'm not going to think about it though, not until it's right in front of me. Admetos first."

"Spirits say you have grown."

"The spirits have poor eyesight," Janey laughed.

"I missed your laugh."

"I missed you. I am missing you."

"This is part of Janey's journey," Two Stones shrugged. "We would only get in the way."

"You're never in the way," she told him firmly.

She didn't want to leave Two Stones, and she was possessed with a sudden urge to run into the woods and camp by the fire with them. They would talk about the stars; she would sleep; she would take her watch; and in the morning, Brings the Rain would sing.

She was done running away though.

"I owe St. John conversation in the parlor," she said. "I'll see you soon," she promised, and then she returned to the house.

St. John was waiting for her in the parlor, and as soon as she had sat, he said, "Did you enjoy your cake?"

"It was the best piece of cake I ever had," she declared. "Thank you, Victor."

He nodded, and they lapsed into silence, but Janey wasn't a coward, not anymore.

"I'm sorry I killed Gideon," she said.

It was hard to say such a thing. After all, Gideon had kidnapped her, but he hadn't hurt her, and he was the last of St. John's sons. St. John must have grieved him, and she didn't like that she had caused anyone else grief. Not when she knew what it felt like.

St. John was watching her, his expression somewhat bemused; and he said softly, "You really are a most singular woman. I stole you from your companions, threatened to eat them, and planned to mold you into a woman who would do my bidding. I sent my son to detain you; you killed him, rightfully so, and you are apologizing?"

"I never would have not killed him," Janey said. "But I am sorry I took your son from you. I'm sorry I caused you pain."

"I am sorry I took you from your family."

She accepted his words with a nod and stared at the fire, trying to think of something more to say. Things had shifted between them, but she wasn't entirely sure what that meant. She no longer thought of him as one of the saints or a villain in the shadows; she thought of him as Victor.

She didn't know why the spirits had brought her here. There was surely another way to find Admetos. The spirits were playing games; they were always playing games. She only wished she understood the objective of the game and why the hell they cared.

"A penny for your thoughts," St. John said.

"I was just thinking about meddling spirits," Janey replied, casting him a grin.

"I see," he murmured.

"Where's my penny?" she demanded.

He startled slightly, then he began to laugh.

"I really do enjoy you," he said when his mirth had faded. "Tell me about your eyes."

"My eyes?" she asked in surprise.

"They're different than they were a year ago."

It wasn't exactly a secret, but she wouldn't have just told anyone that Hawk was with her. It felt too much like revealing your hand before the final bet. She didn't have to answer St. John. He couldn't compulse her, and he wasn't even trying to. He was simply asking her a question. Because he wanted to know; he wanted to know her.

This wasn't like before. She knew without a doubt that he didn't have any intentions of hurting her. If he had wanted to kill her or eat her, he could have easily done so when she had been lying in his arms, dying. Or while she had been sleeping five feet away from him.

He was old; he was lonely; and he was lost. There was no harm in telling him about Hawk.

"These are Hawk's eyes," Janey said. "Hawk chose me."

"I don't know what that means," he replied.

"I don't either," she shrugged. "All I know is that I needed a guide, and Hawk volunteered."

"The ancient Scythians believed it was a great honor to be chosen by hawk," St. John said. "They never caught their hunting birds; they asked them to come. I once had a hunting falcon myself. She was a beautiful bird and an impressive hunter." 

He was staring at the fire, and for a long moment, he seemed lost to his thoughts. He suddenly looked up at her, his eyes dark and tormented, and said, "Father killed her because none of the falcons would come to him; and even when he managed to catch one, it refused to submit to his will."

She knew St. John wasn't thinking of his hunting falcon; he was thinking of her. And he was afraid. He was afraid Admetos would kill her.

"I'm not going to die," she said firmly.

St. John evaluated her for a long time before saying, "I don't know how I could have been so wrong about you. You were of absolutely no notice to me."

Janey shrugged and said, "I wasn't anything to notice. I didn't want anyone to notice me. I went out of my way not to be noticed, and not being noticed kept me alive. But I'm not hiding anymore."

"You certainly aren't," St. John said.

The admiration in his eyes was too much for her, and she cast about in her mind for a way to shift the conversation to something else.

"Why doesn't the choke work on you?" she asked.

"How does it usually work?" he replied.

"It cuts off the blood flow, and you pass out. Then I kill you," she said frankly.

He shrugged and said, "As I said before, I am not a normal man. I was born to two of the firsts. My body already was perfection, but then Father realized that eating humans could increase our strength even further. There really isn't any compelling reason why we shouldn't be ruling the entire world."

"Do you want to?" she asked.

"Do I want to rule the world?" he mused. "It would be preferable to leading wagon trains through the dusty wilderness. The truth is, if someone had come along four thousand years ago and killed Father, we would be ruling the world. It is his greed and appetite that have always held us back."

"But what would you do if you ruled the world?" she pressed.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "That's the joke."

She wasn't certain she believed him because there was always a thread of discontentment in his voice when he talked about their failures. But it hardly mattered, so she didn't try to press the issue.

"What's it like to fear death?" St. John asked.

"I don't," she said.

"You don't fear death?"

"No," she replied.

"Why not?"

"It can't possibly be worse than life," she shrugged.

He laughed softly before saying, "Would you like me to read to you?"

"Please."

"The Pickwick Papers?" he asked.

She almost said no. She didn't want to hear about Mr. Pickwick, but she knew that was a foolish sentiment. She would listen to the story, and someday when she was dead, when she met Mohkave once more, she could tell him how the story ended.

She retrieved the book and handed it to St. John, and then she curled up in her chair and closed her eyes so she could listen properly.

His words washed over her, painting the scene so perfectly that she felt as if she was inside the courtroom with Mr. Pickwick.

After a time, however, St. John stopped reading and said gently, "You're crying."

"I'm not," Janey replied, resisting the urge to wipe away the tears she hadn't realized were there.

"Is Mr. Pickwick's story distressing you?" he asked.

"Not particularly."

St. John didn't seem to know how to continue, so Janey stood and said, "I look forward to breakfast with you in the morning. Can we eat something other than porridge?"

"I'll see to it," he replied.

"Thank you. Good night, Victor."

She left the room feeling vaguely dissatisfied. St. John had infected her with his overly polite manners, and she wasn't certain how she felt about it. She knew she was generally rather brusque, but she had taken to politeness so easily that she was no longer certain which one of her was the real her.

When she reached her room, she stared at the dream snatcher on her bed, indecision and fear suddenly filling her. Hawk had taught her that she couldn't hide from her past; she had to face it if she wanted to move forward. She could put the grief away, but not until she had faced it in the first place.

She placed her dream snatcher carefully inside of her saddlebag, she put her moccasins by the chair, and then she lay down on the bed.

"I can't do this on my own, Hawk," she whispered. "I need you."

The mark on her hand flared to life, and she pressed her fingers against it before consciously letting go of the day.

As soon as she fell asleep, she was with Mohkave once more. They spoke of what was to come, and she held his hands and told him all about the stories she had read. They spent their last moments together, and then Janey was dashing across the yard only to collapse and weep.

Then Hawk took her with him, and she soared.

She saw the cavalry. She saw Mohkave's tribe gather together. She saw them fight. She and Hawk joined them. They fought to the death, and they all died together. She died with Mohkave, but then St. John pulled her back.

Janey woke, gasping for air. She couldn't breathe, and the pain was so intense that she wanted to scream.

"I remember you," she whispered, and then she forced herself to sleep and dreamed it all over again. She watched Mohkave die a hundred times. She watched the mother die a hundred times. She watched until there were no more tears to be shed. She watched until she had memorized the soldier's faces. She watched until she knew that she could face anything in life and survive. She watched until her resolve was like an iron rod.

She was alive, and she would stay that way. Her path hadn't been the same as Mohkave's and his people. Her path wasn't to return to the ancestors. It was to protect the mother and give her back her dead.

Janey spread her wings over Mohkave one last time. She gazed upon his face one last time. She allowed herself one last shriek of pain and rage, and then the dream suddenly shifted, and she was standing in the darkness.

"My child," Ayita said.

"Mother."

She wouldn't apologize, but she was done fighting. If the mother wanted Janey to kill, Janey would kill.

The mother had given Mohkave's people part of the earth and asked them to protect it, to guard it, and be its caretakers. They had fulfilled her request unto death. But Janey had no land. She had no ancestors. Her task was very different.

"I am sorry for the burden I have placed on you," Ayita said.

"Don't be," Janey replied.

She was unique in so many ways. And all of those things combined made her the perfect weapon. The mother had shaped her into the perfect weapon.

If it had been anyone else, Janey would have fought against it, but she wasn't doing it to please the mother. Not really.

She was doing it to free Victor, the little brown-haired boy with the wide smile and the cheerful laugh. She was doing it to free Ana, the gentle woman who spoke to plants. She was doing it to free Roaring Waters, the man who loved his wife with all his heart. And she was doing it to protect her brothers.

Admetos and his kind were a plague upon the earth. They destroyed everything in their path; they murdered; they pillaged; they raped.

No one was barring their way, and that simply wasn't acceptable. If there was a villain, there had to be a knight. And as unlikely as it seemed, Janey was that knight.

Chapter 12

It was late in the morning when Janey rolled out of bed. She was exhausted, and she hurt everywhere, but she had done what she needed to do.

She had lived her life. She had faced her pain. And she had come out stronger on the other end. Not physically, but mentally. She was the arrow. She had passed over the fire, and she was better for it.

She walked a little slowly down to the breakfast room because she felt as if she had died a hundred times, which was exactly what she had done.

To her surprise, St. John was waiting for her, silently sipping his tea while he read his newspaper.

"Good morning," he said without looking up.

"Morning," she grunted as she sat.

The boys suddenly appeared, trays of food in hand, and they laid the trays on the table and withdrew.

"Not a bit of porridge between them," St. John announced.

Janey managed a grateful thanks, and then she uncovered a tray and started loading up her plate. She hadn't eaten decently in days, and she was ravenous.

She ate quickly and without much regard for her manners. She was simply too hungry to care.

When she was finally satisfied, she found St. John watching her with an amused expression.

"I think we should wait a while to fight," he said.

"It doesn't matter when we fight," she shrugged. "I didn't dream it, so I won't do any better."

"I know," St. John said.

She could hear the sympathy in his voice, and she stared at her plate, trying not to let it affect her. She was strong. She had faced her grief; and this time, she had chosen life for herself, not because St. John had ordered her to live.

"I can't move forward if I'm afraid to look back," she said. "We can fight whenever you're ready. That was hardly enough food to slow me down."

"As you wish," St. John said.

He rose, and they walked out to the sand pit together.

"I do hope you are not planning to fight Father hand to hand," St. John said as he removed his shirt.

Janey couldn't help snorting with laughter, and she said easily, "Hardly. He would crush me. I can't even defeat you."

"Not yet, you can't," St. John allowed. "Although, if I'm recalling correctly, you once gouged out my eyes and scalped me."

"And yet you're perfectly fine," Janey shrugged. "How did Admetos lose his finger?" she asked, suddenly very curious to know.

After all, St. John's eyes and scalp had completely regrown. How could it be that Admetos couldn't regrow something as insignificant as a finger?

"If I'm being completely honest, someone cut it off, and in the ensuing confusion, I ate it." St. John smiled rather boyishly before saying, "I had hoped it would give me an edge. It didn't, but it has been amusing watching Father rant and rave.

"You ate it?" Janey demanded.

He nodded.

"Disgusting," she shuddered. "He's so… vile. I'd rather eat anyone but him."

"Would you eat me?" St. John drawled.

"If I had to," she admitted.

He grinned widely and said, "How far you've come. I'm happy to know you would shun Father's flesh but enjoy mine."

"That's not what I said," Janey protested.

"It was implied."

"It wasn't!" she shot back.

"Are we fighting or arguing?"

"Both!" Janey spat. "I can't believe you ate Admetos's finger. It probably made you sick."

"You would like that, I'm sure," St. John replied. "However, just that one finger heightened my eyesight quite a bit. And my sense of smell."  

Janey shook her head once more, a little disgusted that she was discussing eating people so casually.

She turned from St. John, removed her weapons, and dropped them carefully onto the grass. Her body wasn't as sore as it had been when she had first awakened, but she was still a little stiff. She wasn't looking forward to fighting him, especially when she knew she would lose.

"How about we make things a little more interesting?" St. John said. "You may use your knife."

"What?"

"Try to kill me."

"But… But…"

"What if you succeed? Trust me," he said with a grin. "You won't. Although I do fear such antics will completely ruin my pants."

When she didn't speak, St. John said, "I promise you that you won't hurt me."

"But… Won't it hurt?" she pressed.

He shrugged and said, "Only for a second."

She was reconsidering hating him.

"Knife," he prodded.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she was also certain he would be fine. Besides, there was always an element of pain and injury involved in a fighting match, no matter how friendly; and if she had a knife, it would bring them closer to even footing. 

She removed Saint Killer from its sheath and started towards St. John. It was strange how confident she felt when she had a knife in her hand. Now all she had to do was keep it there.

She tried not to let her body speak as she shifted into a run, and when she had nearly reached him, she changed directions and stabbed towards his ribs.

She gasped as Saint Killer pierced his side and blood burst onto the blade. She hadn't thought she would actually be fast enough to cut him.

St. John grabbed her hand, holding her in place, and she glanced up at him. His face was blank, but his eyes were fierce.

"Never hesitate," he said. "Always carry the motion through."

Then he released her, and she yanked Saint Killer free and whirled around behind St. John, stabbing frantically as she did.

She flinched every time the blade touched him, but she kept moving, only stopping when he captured her wrists and pulled her against his chest.

"I win that round," he said roughly.

His cuts were already healed, and there was very little blood on him. He didn't bleed easily, and his body healed as it was being cut, making it impossible to inflict any lasting damage.

"You're very quick," he added. "I've always found that impressive."

He released her, but before she could attack, he had moved around her, his hand making all the slices and stabs she had just done with her knife. Only he was so gentle that she just felt the brush of it enough to know that it had happened.

"I win that round too," he said when he was standing in front of her once more.

How had she ever thought she liked him? He was annoying as hell.

She exhaled deeply and tried again. This time she bolted past him, turned, and leapt onto his back. Once she was there, she tucked her legs around him, wrapped her arm around his neck, and stabbed Saint Killer into his chest. She didn't pull it back out because she reasoned that he couldn't heal if it was inside of him.

She didn't get the chance to find out if her guess was correct because St. John flicked her feet loose and tossed her easily away from him.

The next thing she knew, he was looking down at her from above, offering her his hand.

"I would definitely eat you," she snapped as she rolled to her feet.

"That's the spirit," he laughed.

She snatched Saint Killer from his hand and tried again. She got in one stab before she was on the ground, his hand pinning both of hers against the sand.

She tried again and again, only quitting when St. John threw up his hands and said, "You're too lively for me."

Janey snarled softly, and he chuckled before saying, "Put away your hackles, Jane dear. Spend the evening in the parlor with me, and we'll fight again tomorrow."

"Deal," she snapped.

She knew it was stupid, but she had to keep trying.

"Perhaps you should spend some time thinking about Father," he said, tone full of regret. "After all, I am happy to help you if you devise a feasible plan."

She had briefly forgotten about Admetos, and she blamed St. John. She thought about telling him just how damn irritating he was, but he was already gone.

"I really do hate him," she hissed.

And not because he was a filthy people eater, but just because.

She cleaned off Saint Killer, grabbed the rest of her weapons, put them in place, and stalked over to the stock tank to wash off her face.

She was frustrated, but she also felt alive, and she supposed that was worth the frustration.

Janey spent the rest of the day in the garden, lying in the sun, and thinking about how to get close to Admetos. After reviewing her previous talk with St. John, she knew she had at least two problems she was going to have to overcome. She needed to get close enough to Admetos to poison him, and she needed to do it without dying.

She also needed to do it in such a way that Admetos didn't order St. John to hurt her because St. John would be forced to obey. And she was afraid… She was afraid it might actually break him to hurt her, and she found she didn't want that.

She didn't know when she had started considering what would hurt St. John, but now that she was aware of him, she could hardly stop. Just like she couldn't stop thinking about Ahanu and what he was doing. Or the cowboys and why Ahanu hadn't wanted to talk about them.

She took a deep breath to clear her head and looked at the problem from a different angle. If she couldn't poison Admetos's drink, why couldn't she just coat her knives in the poison and stab him repeatedly?

That seemed like a reasonable option because even if Admetos healed just as quickly as St. John did, the poison would still be inside of him. Perhaps she could ask Ayita if such a plan would work.

It worried her that St. John didn't seem convinced poison would be effective, but the mother had given Ana this poison specifically. It had to work. The only other option was to rip out Admetos's heart, run as fast as she could, and eat it; but that was not an option she even wanted to consider.

However, if St. John had been able to eat Admetos's finger, perhaps he could eat his heart.

"Just that one finger heightened my eyesight quite a bit. And my sense of smell," she heard St. John say.

She could hardly imagine what would happen if St. John ate Admetos's heart. Five thousand years of frustration and impotence suddenly gone and ultimate power in its place? She trusted him, but not that much.

She had a strange imagining of St. John laughing wildly as he devoured Admetos's heart, and she realized that it was vitally important she kill Admetos by poison because in doing it that way, she would ruin his flesh.

And she suddenly knew how to kill them all. It was so simple that she was afraid it wouldn't work, but she had witnessed greed, and she knew that it could drive a man to insane lengths. She would kill the saints, and she would do it in one fell swoop.

Assuming she could figure out how to poison Admetos in the first place.

And bring all the saints together.

And trust that they would all be so greedy that they would fall upon Admetos's corpse like rabid dogs.

There were a lot of ifs, but she had managed worse situations.

Probably.

She rolled onto her stomach and started plucking blades of grass. She wished Two Stones was here to talk to, but she had a strong suspicion that Two Stones wouldn't like her plan anymore than St. John did.

She needed an outsider's opinion. Someone who didn't have any chips on the table.

Which meant that she was going to have to figure it out all on her own.

"Hell and damnation," she sighed.

She rolled over once more and stared at the clouds overhead. The sky was that dark blue that always made her think of water, and she watched the clouds scuttle like boats across the surface of it, and for a moment she wondered where they were going.

Was the ocean like the prairie? Open and endless? Maybe when Admetos and the saints were dead, Janey, Two Stones, and the others could buy a boat and ride the waves forever. After all, no one could fence the ocean.

Two bright copper pennies fell onto the ground beside her, and she sighed heavily.

"Why do you always sigh when I approach?" St. John asked.

"It's not because of you," she admitted irritably. "I get lost in my thoughts, and I have a hard time hearing. Two Stones would have noticed you before you even left the house."

"I see," St. John said as he sat on the bench near her.

Janey didn't understand why she couldn't seem to hear here; she was afraid that the white people house was plugging up her ears. It was a very good thing she wasn't staying. 

"Two pennies?" Janey asked.

"For your thought yesterday, and for your thought now," he said.

She grinned brightly at him, amused that he had actually paid her.

St. John's eyes darkened, and Janey quickly turned her attention to the coins.

"The sky's blue today," Janey stuttered as she shoved the pennies into her pocket.

"I was under the impression that it was always blue," St. John stated.

"Unless it's cloudy," she ventured.

"I imagine that the sky is still blue behind the clouds," he replied. "Is it really that horrible?"

"What?"

"Being the subject of my regard?"

Janey's mind blanked, and her tongue turned thick in her mouth. She tried to think of a response, but she suddenly felt stupid.

"I was wondering if the ocean is like the prairie," she finally sputtered, risking a glance at his face when she spoke.

She saw the disappointment that briefly crossed it, but St. John didn't press his question, simply said, "In what way?"

"Open, free," she whispered. "Someday there won't be anyplace for us to ride. Someday all of the land will be claimed and fenced, and no one will be free."

Even she could hear the thread of fear in her voice, but she could hardly take back the words once she had spoken them.

"Modernity is rather riddled with fences," St. John said softly. "I remember the first fence Father built. It was made of stone, and its purpose was to keep the deer in. Or the foxes out," he murmured. "I don't precisely remember. It's been such a long time ago."

His voice was so full of melancholy that it only fed Janey's fear, and she quickly said, "I was actually thinking about Admetos."

"And what do you think?"

"Do all of your brothers ever gather together?"

"So you don't have to hunt them down?" he replied, tone amused.

"Something like that," she admitted.

"Rarely."

"Could we get them to?"

"Do you have a plan?"

"I have some thoughts," she said.

"Not good enough."

"Will you fight me when I kill your brothers and their sons?" Janey asked.

"I understand why you want to kill Father, but tell me why you feel the rest of us must die."

"Because people aren't meant to live so long," Janey said. "And because you've hurt so many people throughout the years. You can't just keep going," she added with a shrug. "You've done too much damage."

"And if I swore to never hurt another living soul?" St. John offered.

"You really don't understand," she sighed.

She hadn't wanted to spell it out for him, but she saw she was going to have to. She could only hope that knowing the truth would be enough to convince him to help her. 

"Something happens when you consume a human being," she said. "They become part of you, and maybe in the normal course of things that wouldn't be a problem. You eat a man, he becomes a part of you for fifty years or so; and then you die, taking him with you. But you and your brothers are immortal. You're keeping her dead from her, and it's making her sad."

"Her?"

"The mother."

"You seem to take on a lot of responsibility for this entity you call mother," St. John pointed out.

"So you are going to fight me?" Janey sighed.

"I never said that. I'm just not sure I understand why it is so imperative we die."

She would just have to find a way to show him.

"You never answered my other question," he said softly.

Blood rushed to Janey's cheeks, and she ducked her head once more. She could always meet him head on unless he was looking at her like he was just now.

"I… I… I'm a child," she said a little desperately.

"Hardly."

She took a deep breath and tried to steel her nerves. Then she looked him in the eyes and said, "In that way, I'm yet a child. And furthermore, I have no interest. I will sit with you and converse. I will fight with you. I will eat with you, but I'm afraid you'll have to be content with that."

Once more, his disappointment was evident, but he smiled, although a little sadly, and said, "I understand."

The look of disappointment didn't last, and she was certain she had only seen it because he had wanted her to. He was too much in control of himself to allow emotions to be visible without his consent.

He stood and smiled down at her before saying softly, "Dinner?"

She could hardly believe enough day had passed that it could already be dinner time, but when she glanced at the horizon, she saw that the sun was setting.

"Dinner," she sighed.

She stood and cast a longing glance at the woods, then she turned and followed St. John into the house.

They ate together and passed a quiet evening. They traded questions back and forth, but things seemed a little guarded between them. And then St. John read.

There was something mesmerizing about his voice, and Janey could have listened to it all night, so she was rather put out when he closed the book and said, "That's enough for tonight."

And before she knew it, she was up in her room pacing, irritated that another day had passed without her having accomplished anything at all.

Chapter 13

After pacing her room for a while, Janey dropped onto her bed, fell asleep, and dreamed. For some reason, she was in the garden with St. John, watching his face as he watched her, watching his eyes shift.

Just like a year ago, his eyes were full of hunger, but it was different. Something was different, and she didn't know what it was. She didn't know why her stomach clenched when she caught him looking at her that way. She didn't know why she didn't just stab him and run away.

She listened to him ask her if it was really so horrible; and then, unable to fully understand her response, Janey shifted the dream and watched them fight instead.

She watched St. John move, and she adjusted her own movements to counter his. She knew she couldn't beat him, but she would at least learn to hold her own.

She fought St. John over and over and over, then she shifted the dream and rode into the herd of bison with Mohkave, feeling both the joy and sorrow she had felt in that moment.

She had just closed her eyes so she could feel the pounding of the hooves when she felt the dream shift around her.

She wasn't controlling it now, and she opened her eyes warily, not sure what she would see.

Ana was standing in front of her, innocent eyes shining brightly.

"Welcome," she said.

Although Ana had spoken to Janey a few times before, for the most part, she only ever communicated to Janey through memories. This was different though because not only was Ana speaking directly to her, but Ana also wasn't afraid which meant that this was Ana before Admetos had started beating her.

"Come," Ana said as she held out her hand to Janey.

"Come where?" Janey demanded.

"Join our council," Ana said. "The women's council."

Janey sighed heavily. She didn't want to join a women's council. Especially not one Ana was on. She had no respect for Ana at all. She was weak. She hadn't protected herself; she hadn't protected her children; and she hadn't raised a hand in defense when Admetos had beaten her to death.

"I'm fine," Janey said.

"Come," Ana urged. "The mother asked us to speak with you."

"About what?"

"About woman."

Janey shook her head, but Ana continued gazing hopefully at her with innocent and happy eyes. Telling Ana no would be like kicking a puppy against the wall, and Janey just couldn't do it. Furthermore, the sooner Janey gave Ana what she wanted, the sooner she could wake up.

"Whatever," Janey murmured.

"Come, One Who Sees," Ana said happily.

"Why are you calling me that?" Janey asked.

"The mother said that is your name. She said that no matter what else is standing in front of it, you see the truth."

Janey considered that a gross exaggeration, but she wasn't in the mood to argue.

"Come," Ana urged once more, offering Janey her hand.

Janey ignored Ana's offered hand, but she did step forward. She didn't want to go anywhere with Ana. She hated Ana. Ana was weak, and she hadn't done anything to protect Victor.

St. John, Janey quickly corrected.

But it was too late. She already knew that her perception of St. John had completely shifted. She knew he had been under orders to do the things he had done, and she considered him weak for failing to refuse. The deaths of many people were on his head. She knew that, and she was willing to kill him because of it. She was willing to kill him to free the souls of anyone he had ever eaten. But she wasn't happy about it, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

"My sisters wait for us," Ana said happily, interrupting Janey's turbulent thoughts.

Janey could see the women up ahead, waiting for them; and she knew their names because Ana had showed her them over and over again. She knew that Cyra could read the winds. She knew that Beleka had the gift of midwifery. She knew them, and, although she didn't understand it, there was a small part of her soul that leapt with joy to see them.

"Sisters," Ana called out. "Meet One Who Sees."

"Greetings, Aletheia!" the sisters sang in reply.

"Greetings," Janey muttered.

"Sit beside me," Ana urged.

Janey sat. She had been to a woman's hut before, and she knew that she was unlikely to get out of it. The women from Mohkave's village had been strong though. They had fought beside their husbands and died with them. Ana had done nothing.

Why were these women so different? Janey knew now that it wasn't because of their skin color. After all, Emonah wasn't…

Janey closed her eyes and swallowed a cry of distress. Emonah wasn't anything. Not anymore. She was dead, but regardless, Janey knew that she hadn't been inherently stronger just because she was an Indian. And Ana wasn't inherently weaker just because she was white. So what then was the difference between them?

"You are crying," Cyra said softly.

"I'm not," Janey insisted.

"Are you afraid to cry?"

"No. Crying is simply useless."

"I have not yet cried," Somana said. "Is it truly useless?"

"Yes," Janey said emphatically. "It gives me a headache, swells my eyes, and doesn't change a damn thing."

"Then why do you cry?" Ana asked.

Janey turned her gaze to Ana and said softly, "You'll learn soon enough."

"Tell us about woman," Cyra said.

"What?" Janey demanded.

"Tell us about woman, you who sees the truth."

"I know nothing about woman," Janey protested. "You are the first women. You should know everything."

"We know what the mother told us," Ana said.

"Exactly," Janey stated. "I was never told anything except that women are weak, stupid, and useless."

Somana laughed merrily and said, "Without me the men would have no clothing to wear."

"And without me, their wounds would fester," Ana said.

"I tell them when it is good to hunt," Cyra said.

"I show their children the way," Beleka stated.

"The animals show me many things," Niobe said softly. "And I share that wisdom. I know if the winter will be harsh or gentle. I know if the acorns will be many or few."

"The men share their talents with us as well," Ana said. "They hunt and share the meat. They build and share the shelter. No one is useless. We are all part of a whole."

"Couldn't you hunt?" Janey pointed out. "Couldn't you build a hut?"

"The mother shared the wisdom among us," Ana said patiently. "We are meant to depend on each other. We are meant to weave together, like cloth."

"We share the wisdom of the mother," Niobe repeated. "We are all equal."

"What about strength?" Janey asked irritably. "Do you share the strength?"

The other women laughed, and Janey knew they had no idea of what she spoke.

She sighed, deeply aggravated. She had gone through this all before. Ana knew everything there was to know about plants, but Admetos was still going to rise up and declare himself her master. He was going to rule over her. He was going to crush her into the earth with his brutal heel.

And there were flaws to their logic anyway, flaws to the mother's logic, because there was no such thing as equality. Even if it wasn't rational, people valued different skills and talents differently. Janey valued kindness, but Admetos only valued strength. There was no equality; there couldn't be. 

Janey simply couldn't understand why the mother had bothered to birth humanity. Humans were so much different than everything else. Hawk fulfilled his needs, but he had no wants. He ate the prey, but he did no harm. And as Two Stones had once said, there were far more prey than predators. There was a balance. So why on earth were there so many damn humans? The humans needed a predator.

And perhaps that was what Admetos had thought, that he should rise up and be a predator. Janey considered the idea before promptly dismissing it. A predator ate to live; they did not live to eat. Cougar only ate when he needed to, and he did not do it out of jealousy or cruelty. 

"Aletheia," Ana said, tugging on Janey's arm.

"My name is Janey," Janey said.

"Janey," the sisters chorused.

Janey fought the urge to run. She had grown used to Enrica and the mother of Mohkave's village, but she really wasn't very comfortable being surrounded by women. Something about women just bothered her.

She thought she had moved past all of her labels; and maybe she had, but on the whole, she did not understand women, and she had difficulty understanding their purpose. It seemed to her that their entire purpose was to serve. Enrica served Pecos. Ana had served Admetos. Ma had served Pa.

Perhaps Janey should have spent more time with the women of Mohkave's village. Perhaps she should have taken the time to learn from them.

"Janey," Ana said.

"What?" Janey snapped.

"Will you be with us?"

"I am here!"

"Are you?"

Janey met Ana's inquiring gaze and sighed heavily. Ana was innocent, but she wasn't stupid.

"I'm sorry," Janey said stiffly. "I will focus."

And she would. Because these women were the firsts. If anyone could tell her the purpose of women, it was these sisters here.

But she thought perhaps to understand women, she needed to understand humanity. Because humanity confounded her. 

"Why did the mother birth humans?" Janey asked. "And why are they so different than the animals?"

She couldn't tell these women how destructive humanity was. She couldn't tell them how humans destroyed because they hadn't destroyed yet. These women wouldn't even understand the words murder or creep. They wouldn't understand the idea of someone stealing from someone else. These concepts were beyond them; and for just a second, Janey envied them.

"Animals don't build houses," Janey pressed. "Animals don't need clothing or tools. Animals are completely self-functioning. Man is the only creature who needs those things. Man is the only creature who doesn't simply follow a predictable pattern day after day after day. Why? Why bother to birth such a weak and changeable creature?" Janey demanded.

After all, it wasn't as if it had ever occurred to a cougar to rise up and kill his brothers. It had never occurred to a cougar to cut down all the trees or burn the forest. It had never occurred to a cougar to slaughter all of its prey or to capture the other animals and breed them just to eat or use.

"The mother took life and spirit and wove it into all things," Somana said. "Without life and spirit, a rock is nothing. A tree is nothing. Without life and spirit, there is no deer or fox. Without life and spirit, everything is just an empty shell. Yes?"

"I guess," Janey said.

"Spirit is necessary to give the physical form life. All living beings, all life, has spirit."

"Even stars up above," Cyra said. "And winds and moon and sun. Spirit is woven into them all."

Janey saw no reason to argue with that. It made sense to her that everything contained a spark of life, and if that was called spirit, so be it. But that still didn't explain humanity, the plague of the earth.

She knew she was labeling again because Mohkave's people hadn't been a plague; they had been a blessing. But they had also been few, and those of the plague were many, and they spread their sickness far and wide.

"The spirit inside of all living things is the same," Ana said. "Pine and I are no different. We carry the same spirit within us."

"I share the same spirit as wind," Cyra said. "That is why I hear his voice when he speaks."

"And I hear pine," Ana said.

"And I hear the animals," Niobe said.

"But you don't all hear the same things," Janey pointed out. "Ana doesn't talk to the animals. Shouldn't she be able to?"

"I hear them speaking," Ana said. "But the plants speak more loudly. We speak with the same voice."

"Is that not spirit?" Janey asked.

She wasn't trying to contradict them; she was simply trying to understand.

"Same spirit," Cyra said. "Different notes."

"What?"

Cyra whistled a beautiful tune, and the sound wrapped around Janey much as Brings the Rain's voice did.

Then she whistled one part of it and said, "That is Ana." She whistled another part and said, "That is Niobe." She did this many times before saying, "All one song, but each one is a different note. Same spirit; different aspects."

Janey could accept that as well, but it hardly answered her question.

"I feel like you're avoiding the issue," she stated.

"Hardly," Ana said, smiling with amusement. "We are merely taking a scenic pathway to the answer."

Janey cast Ana a curious glance. When Ana was with Admetos, she was always subservient; but here, she had a voice and she used it, and Janey much preferred this version of her.

"The father is spirit," Ana said softly, her voice full of awe. "And the mother holds him within her. They belong together; they are melded together. The mother gave us our form, and she imbues us with the spirit. There will come a time when our bodies become part of the earth again. And our spirits return to the mother, to her bosom, to her care, and become part of the spirit again. Because the mother holds all life within her. She holds the spirit within her. She holds the father within her."

No one had ever spoken to Janey of a father before, and she tried to find fault with Ana's reasoning, but she really had no objections. In a strange fairy tale sort of way, it was romantic, and it gave a different shape to the mother's wish to have her dead returned to her. It wasn't just her children she wanted; it was the pieces of her lover that she had spread throughout the earth.

"So not a sky father," Janey said, thinking of Admetos's lies.

"There is spirit in the sky; there is spirit in the sun. But there is body too. It isn't right to have one without the other," Cyra replied.

"Still avoiding the question," Janey sighed.

"Scenic pathway," Ana chastised. "Are you in a hurry?"

"No," Janey grumbled.

"Good. I will make us a drink. Our bodies enjoy being cleansed."

Ana kissed Janey gently on the cheek before standing and moving among the plants. Ana gathered from them with gentleness, a song, and specific intent. From some she only took a flower or two, from others, she took entire sprigs.

While Ana gathered her herbs, Cyra built a small fire. It was only then that Janey realized where they were. They were inside the circle, the cave mouth, the mother's womb.

An involuntary shiver rushed through Janey. As Ana, she remembered being born in this very spot. And she remembered returning in tears and begging for help. She remembered disobeying the mother, and she remembered the horrors that had followed.

Janey wanted to take Ana aside and beg her to promise to always obey the mother no matter what. But she somehow knew that to interfere here would be a crime greater than any Admetos had committed.

"Your clothes are very curious," Somana said as she plucked at the seam of Janey's shirt. "And you wear a closed skirt."

Janey shrugged and said, "I wear what works for me."

Somana smiled widely and said, "I like that. You have command of what you wear. You are very strong."

Before Janey could respond, Ana was passing out small clay cups full of steaming liquid.

"To your health, sisters," she said.

"To your health," the women responded.

"To your health," Janey said rather belatedly.

She took a cautious sip. The liquid rushed down her throat, but she also felt it infiltrate her blood and sail up to her mind. Suddenly, the world seemed a little brighter, and her thoughts were coming faster and clearer than ever.

"Why humans?" Janey asked once more.

"She is very good at gnawing," Cyra laughed.

"She had to fight her way free," Beleka said. "She has to be good at gnawing."

Janey didn't fully understand that, and she was getting annoyed with them for not answering her question. It wasn't difficult. Even Two Stones was easier to work with than they were.

"The earth and all that is in it work perfectly," Niobe said. "The trees receive guidance from sun and moon, and they respond accordingly, seeding and sleeping in their time. The animals receive the guidance; and some hoard their food, others put on heavier coats, others go to sleep. It is true that man seems to exist outside of this, and it seems as if we have no place.

"However, the mother loves her children, all of them, and she installed a guardian over them. A watcher. A hand that might intervene if needed. If I find a bird that has fallen from its nest, I can climb the tree and return it," Niobe went on. "If I find a fish that has gotten stuck between two rocks, I can release it. If Cyra finds a tree that has fallen from the wind, she can call the men to harvest it, making sure to leave some behind for the creatures who will make a home of it.

"We are the guardians, the caretakers. There is little enough asked of us, only that we are ready in times of need, that we will help if called upon, that we will protect and preserve the mother's children. That is all. When we are not called upon, we amuse ourselves with sewing or cooking or playing games. We dance. We sing. We live. It is our payment for what small services we render."

Niobe paused and looked at Janey expectantly, but Janey hadn't fully processed everything Niobe had said yet. Or she had processed it, and she was trying to figure out where humanity had gone so very wrong.

"But that was not why the mother sent you," Ana said softly. "The mother sent you to learn about woman."

"Scenic pathway," Janey reminded her.

The sisters laughed, and it was the most glorious music Janey had ever heard.

"Indeed," Ana chuckled. "What is it about woman that you do not understand?"

"I don't know," Janey admitted.

She had come to the conclusion that being a woman meant nothing to her. It didn't define her, and she didn't have to answer to the white man's label of what a woman was. She didn't have to be frilly or simpering. She didn't have to be weak or submissive. She could be whatever type of woman she wanted to be.

But still, there was an innate difference between man and woman, and that was what she didn't understand. Why did such a difference exist?

Enrica and these women had both mentioned balance. But was there an innate difference between male and female animals? Did deer have balance? Did rabbits? Did cougars?

It seemed to Janey that a female horse was every bit as strong and fast as a male horse, and she could hardly tell the difference between a male and female rabbit. Why was the difference so obvious with humanity?

"The mother has granted us much wisdom, but it is difficult to know the mind of the mother," Ana said. "I cannot say why my body is so different from Admetos's, except that my body is made to craft and nurture a child and Admetos's is not."

"Couldn't you craft and nurture a child and be just as strong?" Janey pressed.

"Yes, but then wouldn't the men feel rather useless?" Ana replied. "They cannot craft and nurture a child. The mother gave them strength so they could bring us meat to eat and build shelter over our heads. Would there truly be a balance if women were the only ones with special value?"

Janey was starting to get sick of that word. Who got to decide what was balanced anyway?

She thought of St. John and how she was never going to be able to defeat him. That was hardly balanced by the knowledge that she could craft and nurture a child inside of her body. And wouldn't such an action only make her weaker and less able to defend herself?

Janey was still carrying the memories of that poor pregnant woman inside her, and she could still feel her helplessness and her terror.

"Doesn't being a mother make you even weaker?" Janey asked.

"I do not know why you are so fixated on physical strength," Somana stated. "It is only part of who we are; and truly, it is one of the least important parts of us."

Janey didn't agree with that; without strength, there was no survival. She was small, and she would never be as strong as most men, so she had to be three times as mean, three times as fast, and three times as savage.

"If you don't consider strength important, what do you consider important?" Janey asked.

"Wisdom," Cyra said.

"Kindness," Ana added.

"Clarity," Beleka stated.

"Nurturing," Somana said.

"Humor," Niobe put in.

Janey was getting frustrated with their innocence. Those were hardly characteristics that would do them any good in the world Janey lived in.

And to be honest, those characteristics hadn't done them much good in their own world either. Each of these women had eventually been ground to dust under Admetos's heel. His greed and want had eventually surpassed their wisdom, kindness, clarity, nurturing, and humor. The things they valued had crumbled in the face of his strength and brutality.

They seemed strong right now, in their circle of womanhood. They seemed empowered, as if they could honestly face anything, and their values would carry them through. But Janey knew better. She knew they were doomed.

It wasn't because they were women though. Their men were doomed too. And it wasn't because they were white. After all, Mohave's people hadn't prevailed either. They had also lost the battle to greed, want, and brutality.

Janey had come full circle in her mind. Why humanity? Why introduce such a creature to the world, one with the potential for so much destruction?

In the end, woman or man; it didn't make any difference. None of these people had been strong enough, brave enough, or savage enough to defeat Admetos. Most of them hadn't even tried; they had just bowed their head to his rule.

Janey wasn't like that. She wasn't going to bow her head to anyone's rule. No one had the right to rule her. The white chief didn't own her. Her pa hadn't owned her. Two Stones didn't own her. The sheriff and all his men didn't own her.

She belonged to herself, and no one had the right to tell her that she couldn't wear pants or that she couldn't kill creeps. They had no right to tell her that she couldn't cross over open land. It was open, and it belonged to everyone, regardless of the rules they had made up to say otherwise.

Janey wouldn't abide by their made-up rules. She would wear pants, she would cross over open land, and she would kill who she needed to kill because she knew the truth. Creeps needed to die. And they needed to die because all the little non-creeps were too kind, nurturing, and wise to defend themselves. They needed someone with creep blood to do it. Someone like Janey.

"I am afraid we have given you very little guidance," Ana said, interrupting Janey's thoughts. "Let me say this in the only way I know how. It is not just our bodies that are different. It is our minds and the way we think. Men have their strength, and because of that, when a rock is lodged in place, they attempt to move it with their bodies and with their muscles. But if their strength fails them, perhaps I suggest offhandedly that they use a lever; and, having exhausted their strength, they do so and achieve success.

"On the other hand, perhaps there is a landslide crashing towards my child. I have no time to think of something clever. And yet, this does not hinder Admetos. He steps in front of me and uses strength to protect my child.

That is not to say men are not clever. They are very, very clever; but their cleverness tends to be hard and sharp. They think with their strength; women think with their heart.

"Two different minds, two different views, two different approaches, these make for one very strong front," Ana said emphatically.

"If we were all exactly the same, if we all thought the same, if we all had the same level of strength and wisdom and talent, there would only need to be one of us. Do you understand?"

Maybe. Maybe Ana had finally made sense of things. But Ana's words also brought to the surface more questions. Man was the only creature who constantly changed.

The rabbit of Ana's day and the rabbit of Janey's was almost exactly the same. All of the wild animals were. Perhaps they had adapted to human interference, but fundamentally, they hadn't changed. Hawk was hawk. He was the same as he had been when he emerged from the mother. And in another hundred years, he would still be the same.

Why hadn't the mother birthed only one consistent caretaker? Or even just one for each area. Wouldn't that have solved the problem nicely?

"Here," Ana said, offering Janey another cup. "Drink this."

Janey drank without considering, and then she silently cursed Ana as the darkness swallowed her.

She had already been dreaming, and she couldn't understand how she could pass out in a dream, but that was exactly what had happened.

She floated across the plain of unconsciousness, only vaguely aware of her irritation.

And then she was standing in the mouth of the mother once more, only now, she was standing there alone.

"You ask why I birthed humanity," Ayita said softly, her melodious voice swirling around Janey like a breeze. "My daughters are right in one regard. I did birth them to guard, but that was not their sole purpose. It is difficult to explain, and I am not sure you have yet arrived at the place where you can understand. The trees and the animals and the sky are all reflections of me. They are all parts of me, and they behave exactly as they should. The sun never thinks to himself that he will not rise today. And the moon never thinks that she will cease to phase. They are dependable, and they will ever be so. And everyday, they astound me with their beauty.

"But they are only a reflection of myself. They are only a reflection of my continuity, of my kindness, of my love. They are not independent. There is no room for growth. They cannot surprise me with their ingenuity or grieve me with their hate.

"I gave humanity my wisdom, and I gave them a bit of my mind. I gave them their father's cleverness. I gave them their father's humor. And I watched them grow. Some of them have grown to be beautiful, and some of them have turned to hatred and greed. I do not regret my choice, but I do regret how many of them have turned from the truth to chase after false gold. My heart aches, and I yearn for them to return to me."

The scenery around Janey shifted, but the mother's voice went with her.

"You see the truth in so many things. You see the heart of the matter. And you know that the color of your skin does not change the core of you. However, you are making a mistake in thinking that being white has not changed you. Not because you are white, but because of the culture that surrounds you. Your ancestors built religions that vilified women, and as such, you have lost everything; you have lost the woman's hut."

Ana and the women were in the circle, but Janey was outside of it now. Admetos was striding towards them, iron sword dragging across the ground behind him. Ana rose to meet him, but Admetos flung her to the side. The words he spoke were angry; and before Janey's eyes, Cyra and Somana died. Their blood stained the circle red, and the other women fled from it, taking the bodies of their sisters with them.

Janey sobbed silently as she watched, hands aching to intercede. Ana had never shown her this. She hadn't known.

"Admetos was the first man to burn down the woman's hut," Ayita said. "But as with everything Admetos did, his hatred somehow spread; and across the land, wherever greed and jealously prevailed, other men followed suit. They could not abide woman's wisdom, her point of view, her intuition. They had been given so much, yet they were jealous of her ability to create life. They were jealous of her connection to the earth. Admetos was jealous, and so he used his own gifts to destroy what he could not have. He destroyed the soul of woman.

"That affects you, my child," Ayita said softly, voice laced with sorrow. "You cannot even see your own worth. You struggle futilely to match the men, and what you do not see is that you are so much more. Why match them when they can never dream to match you?"

Janey was still crying, but now she was crying for herself. For the loss of her woman's hut, for the loss of the knowledge, for the loss of her confidence.

"Man and woman are different. They are meant to be different," Ayita said. "The differences are what make them so beautiful. They are not blades of grass, although under inspection, even blades of grass vary slightly. You are beautiful, Janey. You are beautiful; you are unique. And yes, you are woman, and that is part of what shapes you, part of what shapes your mind and soul. If you had been born with the strength of your brothers, you would not be near the woman you are today."

The mother's words rang through Janey and all around her. They infiltrated to the deepest parts of Janey's mind and heart, and when the tolling of them faded away, it didn't fade completely, it left behind a lasting impression.

The darkness shifted, and Janey sat upright with a gasp, understanding coursing through her. Her lack of physical strength was what made her strong. She wasn't like St. John. She couldn't simply depend on her ability to toss away her opponents. She had to be smart, and she was.

She would never be as strong as St. John. She would never outweigh him or be able to defeat him in hand to hand combat. But she didn't need to. She was scorpion. Her power didn't lie in her strength. It was in her ability to seem weak. It was in her ability to sneak and to hide. It was in her ability to apply the right leverage at the right time. 

Janey's mind spun as she stared out her window at the daylight beyond. She was completely overwhelmed by the new understanding she had been granted regarding herself, humanity, and humanity's place in the world. 

"I was beginning to worry," St. John said from just beside her.

Janey startled and quickly turned, but in spite of her surprise, she didn't move towards her weapons. She wasn't scared of him, not anymore.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"Three days," St. John told her. "Four nights."

"Ana," Janey grumbled irritably.

"Mother? Were you with her?"

Janey nodded, but she wasn't paying much attention to him; she was thinking about the mother and what she had said.

"And what did Mother say?" St. John asked.

"She took the long way around," Janey replied absently.

"To what?"

"Explaining humanity and women."

If St. John asked another question, Janey didn't hear him. She was still too lost in thought.

Mohkave and his people had been tasked with the care of their land, and they had done so. But Janey had been tasked with killing creeps. The world had changed, and the caretaker needed to change with it.

"A good caretaker is the predator," she said thoughtfully. "Because humanity is the disease. Not anything as useful as the fire or the wind. But a wasting disease."

"What are you talking about?" St. John demanded.

"What?"

"You're mumbling about humanity being a disease," St. John said.

"Oh. Well, we are," she shrugged.

"Interesting," St. John murmured. "Would you care to discuss it over breakfast? I'm sure you're hungry, after all."

Janey stared at him in confusion, trying to pull herself out of her mind and focus on the moment she was actually in; and once she had done that, she realized she was absolutely ravenous.

"Yes, food," she said emphatically.

St. John smiled slightly before saying, "I'll let the chef know you're awake. Anything in particular you would like to eat?"

"Anything but porridge," she replied.

He made a softly amused sound as he stood to leave, and he had just reached the door when Janey called out, "Victor?"

He paused, but didn't turn. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Sitting with me."

"It was my pleasure," he said.

And then he was gone.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Janey left her bed and handled all of the things she hadn't handled in the last three days.

After she had relieved herself and washed her face, she even brushed her hair. She tossed a passing glance at herself in the mirror, and she saw that although she was a little pale, nothing else had changed.

She was always mildly surprised to see herself in the mirror. She looked nothing like Ma, and she didn't resemble Pa in any way that she could tell. It was almost as if she had borrowed her features from Hawk. Not that she minded.

She ran her fingers through her hair and left the room, walking quickly down the stairs. She hated it when Ana took up her time like that. She had learned things, but she had lost three days.

She told herself it didn't matter, and when she reached the breakfast room, she sat down in her usual chair and uncovered one of the platters of food.

"It is difficult to believe that you are the same woman who once sat at this table with me," St. John observed.

"Do you want me to be scared of you?" Janey asked as she filled her plate.

"Not at all."

"Then you should be happy."

"I never said I wasn't, but you must admit that your transformation is relatively incredible."

"I'm a fast learner," Janey shrugged.

"That you are. What did Mother say?"

Janey ate several quick bites before looking at St. John and saying, "She said that the mother birthed humanity to watch over the earth and the creatures within. To care for them, to protect them, to tend them."

St. John's eyebrow rose, and he said derisively, "If that's the case, it didn't work out very well, did it?"

"Not even a little," Janey agreed. "I guess it would be like having a child who wasn't anything like you," she mused. "Or who didn't want any of the same things you wanted. I've only ever seen that with white people though. The Indians always seem content."

What were left of them, she thought bitterly.

"Yes, but the white people," St. John said, "left behind their tribes a millennium ago, even more. Although, if we're really going to analyze it, it has nothing to do with skin color."

Janey paused her eating to look at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the egg on his plate and poking at it a little aimlessly with his fork.

"What does it have to do with then?" Janey asked.

"Just what I said. They left behind their tribes. Other cultures that aren't white have done it. The Chinese and the Egyptians, for instance. As soon as a people begin to farm, the structure changes. I've seen it many times," he went on. "A tribe that hunts and follows the seasons is much more likely to be a part of nature than a tribe that settles down and begins to farm. Farming creates divisions and stations."

St. John looked up from his plate before continuing to speak. "Mother always said we should follow the seasons; it was Father who stood against her. His voice was loudest, and the tribe listened to him because he was so respected. But once a tribe settles in one place, they have to start changing things in order to accommodate their presence. Not enough grain here; we'll grow it. Not enough meat during the winter; we'll domesticate it and breed as much as we want. No longer a cog in the wheel; now the hand pushing the wheel, which I'm guessing we were never meant to be."

"I see," Janey murmured.

And she did. She could see how Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain didn't hurt anything with their wandering. And she could see how Pa had scarred the earth with his stillness. Even Pecos had permanently altered the landscape, but she understood that if Pecos hadn't, someone else would have. That was half the problem. Choosing not to scar the earth wasn't going to keep anyone else from scarring it.

Janey sighed heavily and said, "There's no way to win, is there?"

"Against Admetos?" St. John asked.

"No, against the creeps, against the rush of disease."

"No," St. John said frankly. "As one who has lived through the entirety of humanity, I feel as if I can safely say there is no turning the tide."

"Then what's the point?" Janey asked desperately.

His eyes were full of sympathy, and she hated that. She didn't want him to pity her. She wanted him to tell her how to change it. He, of all people, should be able to see a way.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I don't know; I have never known."

That was disappointing. Victor St. John, at five thousand plus years old, didn't know the point, and he didn't know how to change a thing.

"When I am not bound to Father's will, I simply try to enjoy living," he added.

Janey didn't mind such purpose. After all, hadn't that been Mohkave's people's purpose? Hadn't that been Ana's? But there was more, right? Not just enjoying life, but preserving it? Caring for it?

She felt as if she was getting off track, so she finished devouring the available food; and when she was done, she put her fork and knife carefully in place because she knew it pleased him and she didn't mind performing such a simple task to please him.

She exhaled deeply and tried to steady herself. It was time. She didn't need the spirits to tell her so; she knew.

"I'm going to poison Admetos," Janey said. "And no, I still don't know how I'm going to do it, but I need his sons to be there. And their sons."

"Why?"

She watched his eyes carefully as she said, "I think we can both agree that if they clamor to eat Admetos's body, then they deserve to die."

"Interesting theory," he mused. "Do you really think they're as foolish as that?"

"Not as foolish, as greedy."

"And if they don't clamor to eat his body?"

"I'm still going to kill them."

"I think you'll find it a harder task if they are all gathered together," St. John pointed out.

She shrugged and said, "Saves me the trouble of hunting them down."

She could see that he still wasn't convinced, so she held out her hand and said, "Let me show you."

Without lowering his gaze, St. John wrapped his large hand around hers. Janey held his eyes for a few seconds, before dropping her eyes to the table and swallowing uncomfortably.

She didn't want to touch him, but not for any of the reasons she had had before. She didn't want to touch him because she didn't mind touching him.

"Focus," she murmured as she closed her eyes.

The mother had once shown her a vision, but it had been so painful that Janey had never looked at it again. When she had awakened after seeing it, she had vomited and wept at the same time. It wasn't a vision she wanted to share. Especially with St. John. But it was needed because if she couldn't get St. John to understand, he wouldn't help her kill his brothers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

The vision began to play across her mind, and even though it hurt her to do it, Janey grasped St. John's hand tightly and shared the vision with him.

Admetos was laughing, and his face was stained with blood. He licked the blood from his fingers, absolute pleasure showing on his face.

"My sons," he crooned. "Come to me."

And they came. All twenty of them heeded his will. And they ate because Admetos told them to. They consumed their own mother at the order of their father.

That was just the surface of things though. Behind Admetos, Ana was weeping. She was pulling at him, begging him to stop, begging him to remember the mother, begging him to spare her beautiful sons.

Admetos couldn't hear Ana though, and even if he could have, he wouldn't have listened.

When Ana's body was entirely consumed, Admetos stood, looking like a lion that had rolled in the blood of his prey.

"Do you feel the power, my sons?" he asked. "This is what we've been missing. This is how we shall rule."

It was hard to hear him though, over the sound of Ana's weeping.

In the real world, Janey felt St. John try to pull his hand free, but even though her hand was smaller and weaker, she didn't let him go. He needed to see what she could show him, what Hawk could show him.

The vision shifted, and Janey followed Admetos out into the valley beyond his city. His people had gathered to listen to him speak; only he hadn't come to speak, but to eat.

They were too kind and too innocent to understand his actions. They didn't even run. And when Admetos and his sons were finished, the bodies of his people were half-consumed and their blood was staining the grass of the meadow a rusty red.

Their souls, however, had joined Ana, and she was weeping with them. None of them could understand betrayal; none of them could understand greed.

The vision went on and on. Admetos grew ever more powerful, and his greed and dissatisfaction increased with each passing day. Perhaps it had something to do with the thousands of souls that had gathered around him. Everywhere he went, they followed. There was no rest for them, no respite. The mother couldn't reach them. Not until Admetos was dead.

The vision kept shifting, changing scenes, and now Admetos was standing in an ordered flower garden. Janey could see the mountains in the distance, something she hadn't noticed the first time; and she knew she was seeing him now or not very long ago. Ana was lying at his feet, too weary to even cry; and the other spirits filled the space around him to overflowing. It was a garden of spirits.

It was hell. Admetos was hell.

Only those people didn't deserve to suffer. They had done nothing wrong, and even if they had done something wrong, it wasn't right to keep them bound.

Now came the hard part. The part Janey hadn't wanted to do. Using Hawk's eyes, she turned from Admetos and looked at St. John.

And there they were. Only a handful of them, far, far less than the souls that surrounded Admetos, but there nonetheless, waiting to be set free.

"Enough!" St. John exclaimed as he ripped his hand from Janey's. Without another word, he pushed back from the table and left the room.

Janey watched him go, sorrow filling her. She hadn't wanted to show him that, hadn't wanted him to know. And perhaps he wouldn't change his mind even knowing what he knew now, but she had a suspicion he would.

St. John wasn't cruel. And keeping spirits tied to him for all eternity would be very, very cruel indeed.

Chapter 14

For a long time, Janey just sat at the table, staring after St. John. She had hurt him, and that hurt her, which annoyed the hell out of her because she shouldn't feel anything at all for him, but she did.

When she couldn't stand the silence anymore, she stood and walked through the house and out into the garden. She went straight to the wall and jumped it; then she strode out into the forest beyond.

"Two Stones," she said. "Wolf Heart. Brings the Rain."

She needed to be with them. She needed their presence. And she hadn't walked long before they came riding through the woods towards her.

Two Stones offered Janey his hand, and she took it without a word. He pulled her up onto his horse and wrapped his arm around her, and she relaxed against him and closed her eyes.

She woke when Two Stones lowered her to the ground. Janey found her feet and just stood there for a moment, looking at them. She had completely lost track of time, but given the light dusting of snow on the ground, some time had passed since she had last seen them.

"How are things?" she asked.

"We are making arrows," Two Stones said.

She felt a pang near her heart. She hated that she was missing the arrow-making ritual. They didn't even need arrows. They were always just making them. Like how the trees went to sleep; it was part of their cycle.

"I messed up," she blurted.

"You messed up?" Wolf Heart replied. "How?"

She honestly didn't know; she just knew that she had.

"If I can't kill St. John, will you do it for me?" Janey asked, desperation filling her. "Am I breaking my vow to Roaring Waters if I don't do it?"

"Spirits say St. John many things," Two Stones said. "And many of those things are not bad."

"It doesn't matter," Janey said wearily. "He still has to die."

"I know; you know; spirits know. And probably St. John knows."

Janey wanted to cry, but she was too tired, and she had cried too much lately.

"Can we fight?" she asked hopefully. "And can I eat with you? Can I stay until the fire grows low?"

"Why are you asking?" Wolf Heart demanded. "You belong with us."

She smiled at him, relief coursing through her. She hadn't worried that they would change, that they would ever be different. She had worried that she had changed so much maybe they wouldn't want her.

"We love all of you," Two Stones told her. "We love Lost Bird and Limps When Walks. We love Scalps Many Bad Men; we love Speaks Wisdom; we love Withholds Much; and we love Janey, all forms of you, all layers. We always will."

Janey's eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away before grinning widely and saying, "But will you still love me if I beat you?"

"It hasn't happened yet," Two Stones shrugged. "So we will simply have to see."

She laughed and ducked before Wolf Heart could grab her from behind. Brings the Rain clasped her arm, but she quickly twisted free of him and blocked Wolf Heart's kick at the same time.

She felt Two Stones approaching from the side; and she spun around Brings the Rain and pretended to stab him in the ribs before scrambling up his back and jumping onto Wolf Heart's chest. She quickly stabbed Wolf Heart in the neck with her hand, then pushed him away from her as she spun to face Two Stones.

"You removed the distractions," he said, eyes twinkling.

"They were getting in the way," Janey said.

"Well done."

"Thanks."

She had never actually seen Two Stones fight. He always got her when she was busy with one of the other two, but not this time. They were face to face, and she wasn't going to lose.

Only he wasn't moving to attack her, he was just watching her. She waited for another second or two, but she couldn't stand not moving, so she rushed towards him. He didn't move at all, but just before she reached him, he seemed to blur, and he was suddenly standing behind her with his hand against her back.

"I win," he said.

Snarling irritably, Janey turned to face him.

"Little faster than normal, I see," she grumbled.

Two Stones made Charlie and St. John look as if they were standing still.

"Just a little," Two Stones replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

"At least now I know," she said. "Withholds Much."

He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'd rather fight St. John," she huffed. "At least I can hit him."

"Grow faster," Two Stones said.

"That's not a thing," she argued.

"Perhaps not," he agreed.

Janey was just considering how she might sneak up on Two Stones when Wolf Heart said, "Hunt with me."

She hadn't hunted with Wolf Heart in a long time, and she had not enjoyed it when she had. But being with Pecos had shifted her understanding of things, and she could take the life of an animal now without feeling sorrow and guilt. She was a predator just like hawk and cougar; and just like them, she would never take more than she needed.

Wolf Heart faded silently into the trees, and Janey followed him, watching the ground with Hawk's eyes. She knew they might find rabbit, squirrel, or deer; and she was looking for signs of them.

Wolf Heart tapped her shoulder, and she followed his gesture, smiling when she saw the flock of turkeys grazing beneath the acorn trees.

Wolf Heart indicated the turkey he was going to kill, and a moment later his arrow tore through the turkey's neck, killing it instantly.

The other turkeys scattered, and Janey and Wolf Heart headed towards the downed turkey, both of them murmuring thanks under their breath.

Wolf Heart lifted the turkey with care, and he carried it back to their camp so they could pluck it and prepare it for dinner.

While they worked, Janey told the others about her time with Ana and what the mother had said. She also mentioned what St. John had said about tribes.

She didn't tell them about her conflicted feelings regarding St. John, but only because she didn't understand herself enough to explain what she felt.

When they were done cleaning the bird, Janey tucked the turkey feathers into a leather bag and said, "These will make good fletchings." Then she sat back and watched as Two Stones built up the fire and put some of the meat over it. Brings the Rain was cutting strips of meat and laying them over a rack made of sticks to dry, and Wolf Heart had put the bones into a small pan made of birch bark to boil off the meat.

Janey missed them, and she missed the simplicity of their life. They left nothing behind; and even if they did, it was a piece of nature when they picked it up, if they left it behind, it would simply return to the earth.

Not like St. John's porcelain teacups. They would never return to the earth. And neither would his silver forks or his shiny mirrors. If he left his house behind, it would rot, but it would never return.

"St. John says there's no turning the tide of humanity. Do you think that's true?" she asked.

"Do you?" Two Stones replied.

"I don't know. I've only seen seventeen years; he's seen over five thousand."

"What we do makes a difference," Brings the Rain said firmly. "But it may only make a difference in a very small portion of the pond."

Sadly, that made sense to Janey.

"Hawk left a feather for you," Brings the Rain said when he had finished laying out the leftover meat. "May I braid it into your hair?"

"Please," Janey said softly.

His words brought a rush of memories, and she closed her eyes and tried to remember the mother and Mohkave without mourning them.

Mohkave's voice pulled at her as he said, "The mother gave you hawk wings. They fit you."

"They are always with you," Brings the Rain assured her. "Always."

"Is your wife with you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I sometimes hear her voice on the breeze. When I sleep, I sometimes feel her body next to mine. I sometimes feel her hand in mine. She is with me."

Brings the Rain had pulled part of Janey's hair to the side, and now he was running his fingers gently through it.

"I braided my daughter's hair a time or two," he said. "It is an honor to braid yours."

Janey sat up a little straighter and held herself still as Brings the Rain worked away. When he was finished, she turned and smiled at him.

"I am honored to have you as a brother," she said.

Brings the Rain returned her smile.

"Now," she said conspiratorially, "tell me how Two Stones is so fast."

Brings the Rain laughed and said, "He must tell you that himself."

Janey turned to look at Two Stones, but he merely smiled.

"That'll never happen," Janey muttered. "Tell me what you've been doing."

So they sat around the fire until it had died down to glowing ash, eating together, laughing, and speaking of nothing and everything all at once.

The moon was high in the sky above them when Janey said, "It's time for me to go."

She didn't know why she had to go. She didn't owe St. John anything, but she had this strange sense that he would worry about her if she didn't return, and she found she didn't want to cause him worry. Her family knew she was fine.

"I'll ride with you," Wolf Heart offered.

"Thank you," Janey said.

She didn't tell the others goodbye; she never liked to tell them goodbye. Instead, she walked over to the horses and urged Helly to come to her.

Helly moved, but haughtily and angrily.

"I'm sorry," Janey said. "I should have come over right away."

Helly tossed her head.

"I've been distracted," Janey tried to explain. "I love you; you know that, and I haven't touched any other horse."

Helly snorted.

"I said I was sorry," Janey ground out, starting to feel frustrated. 

Helly nuzzled her head against Janey's, and Janey whispered, "I really am sorry. I never meant to ignore you."

Helly snorted but didn't move away.

"I'm not going to saddle you," Janey said.

Helly nickered softly, and Janey rolled her eyes before saying, "You're not going to buck me."

Helly nodded her head, and Janey laughed outright before saying, "What a liar! You like me too much to buck me."

And then she took a hold of Helly's mane and pulled herself up onto Helly's back.

Another wave of grief pulled at Janey, and she forced herself to smile.

"I remember you, Mohkave," she whispered. "And tonight, I ride with you."

She led Helly over beside Wolf Heart's horse, and together they rode silently into the forest.

"Do you know how to kill Admetos yet?" Wolf Heart asked.

"Not even a little," she admitted.

"How long are you going to stay with St. John?"

"Until I figure it out."

"Why not stay with us?"

"I'm going to kill him," Janey said. "Or you're going to kill him. One of us is going to kill him. The least I can do is…"

She didn't know how to explain it. St. John enjoyed her company, and she was giving it to him. Because he enjoyed it. And for once in his miserable life, she wanted him to be happy.  

"You really do like him," Wolf Heart said, tone laced with disbelief.

"Admetos believes he owns his sons, and so he does. There's nothing they can do to rebel against him. I pity them. I pity St. John, but yes, I also… like him. But if I didn't have to kill him, I would never choose to stay with him over you."

There was a subtle change in Wolf Heart's posture, and she knew she had reassured him. She hadn't meant to worry him, and she told him so.

"It is a very nice house by white people measurements," Wolf Heart said. "And you do not have to hunt or gather food."

"It is a nice house," Janey agreed. "The nicest I've ever been inside, but it's not home. Home is with you, wherever that is. I don't care if it's the desert; I don't care if it's the mountains; I don't care if we live on a damn boat."

"I am glad."

"You should be. You make fun of me for everything," Janey teased. "You're lucky I like you as much as I do."

"Everything?" Wolf Heart retorted.

"Everything. Janey, can't you say the word for clouds?" she said, trying to mimic Wolf Heart's voice.

"I do not sound like that."

"You do," she pressed. "Janey, can't you say the word for river? Janey, can't you kill someone without scalping them? Janey, you snore when you sleep."

"Well, you can't, you can't, and you do."

Janey laughed loudly and said, "I don't believe you; I think it's you or one of the horses snoring."

Helly bucked beneath her, and Janey hastened to say, "Not you, Helly. You're the paragon of horses; you would never snore."

Wolf Heart chuckled loudly, and Janey was glad to hear it. They were all a little more serious than usual, and she was afraid it was because of her.

"Are you really going to be alright out here?" Janey asked worriedly.

"Two Stones only built the hut on the mountain to keep you warm. We never used one before," Wolf Heart replied.

"Ah," Janey said. "Because I'm a short skinny white girl."

"You're Hawk," Wolf Heart said. "And Hawk needs no shelter."

That was certainly true, she thought as she ran a hand over the feather dangling from her braid.

They had just reached the garden wall, and Janey slid off of Helly and looked up at Wolf Heart.

"I'll see you soon," she promised.

He replied in their language, and she understood what he said enough to say "my brother" in reply.

His teeth glinted in the moonlight, and then he and the horses headed back into the woods, and Janey was on her own once more. Only she wasn't. She could feel them with her; she could feel their hands on her shoulders, and she could feel Mohkave's hand in hers. She could feel the mother's fingers braiding her hair, and she could feel Hawk watching over her.

She could also feel St. John. Waiting. Waiting for her.

She hopped the fence and walked swiftly towards the house. She knew he would be in the parlor, and he was, just sitting in his chair and staring broodingly at the cheerful fire.

"Shall I read to you?" she asked when he didn't look up.

"Please," he replied.

"The Pickwick Papers?" she asked.

"If you like."

She had been enjoying listening to him, but she didn't want to start another story, so she retrieved the book from beside his chair, curled up in her own chair, and began to read.

She had never read aloud, but she found it wasn't so very difficult. She stumbled over a few of the words, but she managed to keep the characters alive.

After reading for quite some time, she closed the book and looked over to find him watching her with an inscrutable expression in his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said softly. "Thank you for reading."

And this time, he was the one to leave the room. Almost as if he was fleeing from her instead of the other way around.

That night, Janey dreamed of fighting Two Stones. She watched him move over and over and over; and in the end, she just laughed. He was much too fast for her. If they were fighting for real, her only chance would be to kill him before he noticed her presence. But this was Two Stones; he would always notice her presence.

Janey watched him once more, laughing merrily. It was so much easier to enjoy life when she wasn't struggling to be stronger and more powerful than everyone else.

It had taken Janey a long time, but she had finally learned from Admetos's folly. She had watched his greed and envy destroy him, and she had learned. She had learned that she was unique. She was the perfect Janey. No one else could be her, and she could never be anyone else.

Admetos hadn't been able to appreciate individual strength or talent or skill in anyone else. He had always wanted it for himself. That was why he had destroyed the woman's hut; that was why he had eaten Ana; that was why he had hewn down the forest and slaughtered thousands of people.

He wanted to be supreme, and he had never realized that all of his efforts and struggles were for naught. Those people he had destroyed would always be better than he was, would always be his superior. He didn't know plants, not like Ana did. He didn't know fabric, not like Somana did. He would never be able to guide a child into the world, not like Beleka could.

It was sad really. All he had done was extinguish their flames. He hadn't added to his own, and he hadn't improved himself in any way whatsoever.

He was still desperate though, desperate to be supreme. And that was what Janey would use to get close to him.

She watched him pace his garden, and she watched him with the eyes of Hawk. Admetos rubbed his hand against his thigh, over and over and over, worrying his stub of a finger. Desperate indeed, she thought with a smile.

She didn't want to watch Admetos though, so she allowed the dream to shift until she was on Helly, racing across the ranch after Pecos. She could feel the power rolling off of Pecos; she could practically taste it. The only man she had ever met who had more power than Pecos was St. John. But Admetos didn't want to eat St. John because it would be like eating himself. He would gain little from it, if only because he believed he would gain little from it.

Pecos was different though. He was a power source unlike any other. And Janey was certain that Admetos would go to any lengths to consume him. Even if that meant letting a skinny white girl show him the way.

Chapter 15

St. John wasn't at the breakfast table in the morning, and it took Janey over an hour to find him. He was apparently just as good at hiding as she was, but it was very difficult to hide from another hider.

He hadn't chosen a tree, like she would have, but it was the next best thing. He had tucked himself into a corner of the hayloft, only he was pretending to be sleeping, not hiding.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she sat beside him.

"Napping," he replied curtly.

"I think that might be the first time you've ever lied to me," she observed.

He sat upright with an irritated huff and said, "What do you want?"

"To fight with you."

"So you can try to beat me once more?" he snarled.

He truly was in a foul mood.

"No," she replied. "Because I like to fight, and you are an extremely good fighter. I'm not going to win against you, but I find I don't mind."

St. John stared at her, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Since when?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "At some point I realized that if I keep fighting to be the strongest person, I won't be any different than Admetos."

"You could never be like Father," St. John countered.

"Couldn't I? I once thought to myself that if I had to eat you to be strong enough to kill him, I would. That's completely unlike me," Janey admitted. "Even if I hated you, I would never eat you."

St. John dropped back onto the hay and closed his eyes, and he looked so much like a little boy that Janey had to fight the urge to brush the hair off of his forehead.

"You really want to fight me?" he eventually asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I like it when you fight with the knife."

"I'll use the knife then," she agreed. "Hell, I'll use both knives."

Since he could heal in less than a second, it was hardly causing him any real pain.

St. John stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but as he was drawing it away, she reached out and grabbed it. He pulled her to her feet, but he didn't release her immediately, just stared at her with those fathomless eyes of his.

A brief smile crossed his face, but it contained an edge of sadness that made Janey want to cry. Before she could say anything though, he released her and headed towards the ladder.

She followed him, ignoring the confusion that was trying to overwhelm her.

Even though there was a crisp note to the air, St. John removed his jacket and shirt when they reached the sandpit. Janey watched the markings on his chest move in the pale sunlight, and then she said, "You're invincible. You're faster and have more strength than most other men. I understand the protection spells, but why the others?"

"I am not faster or stronger than Father," St. John replied. "And when I was quite young, only several hundred or so, I still dreamed of being free, and I experimented with any available method. My entire core is covered in tattoos. It did me no good. Shall we fight?"

There were other questions she wanted to ask him, but instead she nodded. She knew she was going to lose, but she didn't mind, not anymore. She was looking forward to the fight; she was looking forward to seeing what amazing thing he would do this time.

She pulled Saint Killer free and rushed towards St. John as quickly as she could. He shifted slightly to the side, but she adjusted to match him, and a second later she had driven her knife into his gut.

She wasn't fast enough to rip Saint Killer free and retreat before St. John caught her wrist though. Her eyes flickered up to his face, and she nearly lost her momentum when she saw the look of hunger in his eyes.

She left Saint Killer behind, twisted her hand free, and scrambled behind St. John, but he had already turned to face her before she could attack. She scrambled backwards, drawing Cuts Deep as she did, and paced back and forth in front of St. John as she tried to think what to do next.

Before she had made up her mind, he was moving towards her. She leaped sideways, and when she felt his hand brush across her back, she twisted and fell, slashing at his wrist as she did.

When she hit the ground, she immediately rolled backwards, quickly gaining her feet, but she hadn't rolled far enough, and he was right in front of her. She didn't back away though; instead she drove Cuts Deep towards his chest.

His hand blocked hers, easily deflecting her attack, and Janey dashed away from him once more, mind trying to find a point of leverage, but St. John was already moving towards her much faster than she could think.

The moment he was within range, Janey twisted her body and dove forwards, sliding under his arms. She stabbed sideways, shoving Cuts Deep between his ribs, but immediately released the knife so she wouldn't get caught.

Once she was past St. John, she turned and kicked off the ground, hoping to get a choke hold on his neck, but he turned just as she jumped and the next thing she knew, he had caught her against his chest.

He was holding her tightly enough that she would have had to fight to get away, but not tightly enough to hurt her.

"I win again," he whispered against her ear. "Mostly."

He held her for a moment longer, and she could feel the heat of his breath feather across her neck and the heat of his body against hers.

Then he released her, pulled her knives from his body, retrieved his shirt, and walked away.

Janey didn't stare after him. She stared at the ground instead. Her skin felt strange, and she didn't know why.

A whisper of fear twisted its way through her, and her feet itched to run. She wasn't completely stupid. St. John wanted her, and he wanted her badly. He wanted her so badly that he could barely stand to be near her.

She even had a vague idea of what that meant, and if she was smart, she would run and never look back. She wasn't like Ana or Ma. She would never give herself over to a man in that way; she would never let a man have that type of physical control over her. She would never let a man touch her that way. She had seen how quickly it could turn to abuse, and she had seen how quickly it could turn to subjugation and pain.

She suddenly realized that she wasn't breathing, and she forced herself to take a breath. She knew she was safe with St. John; she just had to make sure she was safe with herself.

St. John avoided Janey all day; and she didn't go looking for him. It was better if she didn't.

She ate dinner alone, but without St. John's company, the food tasted like ash. She didn't touch the cake or the coffee just left them sitting on the table when she went up to the rooftop.

She stood at the edge of the roof for a long time, the wind buffeting her as she gazed up at the stars. Scorpius was gone now, dipped down below the horizon, and she found that she missed it.

She refused to think about what else she missed because it didn't make sense to her. She barely knew him, and she hated him. He was a creep; she had sworn to kill him; it would be stupid to miss his presence.

The cold air began to work its way into her, and with a sigh, she went back inside. She wasn't looking forward to an evening on her own. She tried to pretend that it was no different than climbing up a tree and spending the night there, but deep down she knew it wasn't true. 

When she reached the parlor, the fire was lit, but St. John wasn't there. She had known he wouldn't be. Nonetheless, she picked out a book and curled up in her chair to read it.

She was so caught up in the story that she didn't realize he had entered the room until he grumbled, "I'm beginning to think you're a witch."

Janey looked up at his disgruntled face and said, "Why?"

"I can't escape you," St. John ground out. "I can smell you everywhere. In the garden, on the roof, in the woods. I feel as if I could leave you a thousand miles behind me and I still wouldn't be rid of you."

There was a shadow on his face, and he was watching her, hunger etched into his features; and for just a second, she was frightened of him. But only for a second.

Because Victor St. John was nothing like Admetos. St. John had more control in his pinky finger than Admetos had in his entire body.

Janey opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Do you have a plan yet?" St. John suddenly asked.

"What?" Janey stuttered.

His eyes had shifted so abruptly that she was reeling a little.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked again.

"Yes."

A shadow of disappointment fell over his face, and he said, "What is it?"

"Take me to Admetos, and I'll lead him to Pecos."

"That's not a plan," St. John stated. "It's suicide."

"It's not. He wants power. He wants Pecos. So I'll lead him to Pecos."

"Will you really?"

"Of course not," she snorted.

"Do you know where Pecos Bill is?"

He wasn't compulsing her, but there was no point in lying. Not to him.

"Yes," she said. "Well, not really," she admitted. "But I could get there if I wanted to."

St. John's eyes narrowed, and then he demanded, "Could you detail your plan a little further so I understand exactly what you're saying?"

Janey grinned and said, "I just need Admetos to let me near him, right? And he wants Pecos. I'll promise to take him there, but once he's exposed, I'll kill him."

"No," St. John said, shaking his head. "It'll never work. Father wants me to bring him Pecos Bill. He won't leave his home until he's amassed enough power to feel safe, and he would have to eat Pecos Bill to feel safe."

"Then we bring him Pecos," Janey insisted.

St. John made a frustrated noise and said, "Could you try to make sense?"

"Just take me to Admetos," Janey stated. "And trust me to do the rest."

"I won't," St. John replied firmly. "You're not strong enough to face Father."

"I am," Janey said. "You just can't see it because you're looking at visible strength, and that's not where my strength comes from. Take me to Admetos."

"Jane… I don't want…"

His voice was broken, and she hurried to say, "I promise you I won't die. This isn't where I die."

She didn't know why she was so assured; she didn't have a plan, not really; she only knew that if she was face to face with Admetos, she would find a way to win. But if she sat here trying to think of a way to win, she never would do anything at all. And that wasn't going to work because she had promised Wolf Heart she was coming home.

"What about my brothers?" St. John asked.

"Send them all telegrams," Janey advised.

"And tell them what?"

"Tell them…"

Janey closed her eyes and tried to imagine how they felt inside. She tried to imagine what would move them.  

"Tell them 'There is a powerful package on the way to Father. If you want a slice, make haste.'"

St. John stared at her. Finally, he said, "You really think that's going to work?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "You tell me. Suppose you're on the other end of the telegram. Do you ignore it?"

St. John's jaw tightened; and after a moment, he said irritably, "Probably not."

"I didn't think so. Take me to Admetos."

"I won't be able to help you," he said, voice empty.

"I don't need your help," she replied.

"Are you certain about this?"

She paused and gave his question some actual thought. She didn't want to die, so was she really certain?

She had no urge to run.

"Yes," she said.

"Very well. I'll go into town tomorrow and send out the telegrams," St. John said.

"To all of them," Janey insisted.

"To all of them," he agreed.

And she knew he wasn't going to fight her, not anymore.

"And the next day, we'll go see Father," he stated.

Janey smiled widely and said, "We're going to have so much fun."

St. John didn't look convinced.

"Eat breakfast with me in the morning," she requested.

"As you wish," he replied.

"Good night, Victor," she said as she stood. "I'll see you in the morning."

She hated to leave him all alone, but she was beginning to be uncertain of herself, and she knew she was better off in her room.

When she reached her room, she went to the open window and stared out into the darkness.

Somewhere out there, Admetos was prowling his house, eating anyone his sons brought to him, worry gnawing at him and making him desperate. She had seen desperate before, and she knew it was a dangerous state.

"I'm coming for you," she whispered.

She gazed out the window for a while longer, then she washed her face and fell onto the bed. But she wasn't tired, and she couldn't seem to fall asleep. She just stared up at the ceiling, mind unable to focus on any one thing.

She was so aware of St. John that she knew he was still sitting in the parlor, his eyes boring into the dying fire.  

Janey flopped onto her stomach and punched a hole into her pillow before plopping her face into it. Nothing changed. She was still restless, and she was still thinking about St. John.

"This is stupid," she muttered.

It was more than stupid though; it was devastating. She was one step closer to killing Admetos. She had the poison; she knew how to kill the sons. She just needed one more thing, one more spark of creativity, and Admetos would be dead.

And so would St. John.

Just the thought pained her.

She had memorized his face and his expressions. She knew the exact color of his eyes, and she knew exactly how the color changed, especially when he was looking at her. She knew his laugh and the sound of his voice. She even knew his body. She could feel his warm chest against her and the steady beating of his heart beneath her palm.

She tried a little desperately to remember all the times she had hated him, but viewed through the lens of time and knowledge, she found that all those moments had shifted.

"Hell and damnation," she hissed as she rolled off the bed and searched the dark room for her coat. She found it and put it on, then crept silently through the house towards the backdoor, only to find St. John standing in the garden just beyond the door, staring up at the stars.

She could feel his awareness of her, but she also knew he would let her silently retreat. All she had to do was back up. But in spite of little Janey screaming for her to run, Janey moved to stand beside him.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

"Worried?"

"No."

"The stars always seem brighter in the cold," St. John said.

"They're beautiful," Janey agreed.

She startled, but didn't pull away when his fingers touched hers.

"I don't want to take you," he whispered.

"Just tell me where to go."

"I won't send you on your own," he stated.

"I'm never alone."

"I'm not going to leave you," he said firmly.

His fingers were intertwined with hers now, and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

"You should go back inside now," he told her softly.

She didn't ask why; she knew, and she dropped his hand and left him alone in the dark.

Janey spent the night staring at the ceiling, furious with herself for behaving like an idiot. She had made a vow to kill the saints, and that was exactly what she was doing. What she wasn't doing was becoming friends with St. John. That would be stupid; and, no matter what her pa had said, she wasn't stupid.

Only she was stupid. She was absolutely terrified of St. John, and she finally knew why. When he looked at her the way he did, part of her wanted to return the look.

What had happened? How? And why? She loved her brothers; she loved Mohkave and his people, and she knew exactly why she loved them. Why the hell did she love St. John? And why the hell couldn't she stop?

"Stupid," she hissed under her breath.

She tried to think of a reason to hate him. Young Janey had a hundred, but the Janey staring up at the ceiling simply couldn't hate him.

That wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was that she knew she would never be able to kill him.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I have to."

And she forced herself to remember the souls that were tethered to him. She couldn't choose St. John over them; she couldn't choose herself over them. Being a knight meant doing the right thing, no matter what.

She wanted nothing more than to grab her things and run. She could run all the way to California and jump on a boat. She could sail away and not waste another minute thinking about Admetos or St. John.

Only she couldn't escape from him that easily. He had told her so. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to run from him. She didn't. She wanted to run towards him, and that made her want to weep.

"I have to kill you," she whispered to the dark. "Why can't you understand that?"

She couldn't be like Ana. She couldn't walk away and let others suffer for her weakness. She had to kill St. John; she had no choice.

Her heart was aching by the time the sun peeked in her window, and she wanted to sob, but she didn't. Instead she stood, cleaned her face, and brushed her hair.

She had one more day with St. John; and, as strange as it sounded, she wanted to enjoy it, so she had to be brave. She had to be brave.

Janey left her room and walked slowly towards the breakfast room. When she reached it, St. John was shrugging out of his greatcoat and handing it off to George. His dark hair was covered with a sheen of dew, and she knew that he had already been to town. 

He looked over at her and grinned before saying, "Telegrams sent, Jane dear."

His grin suddenly faded, and his eyes sharpened. He took a step towards her, but stopped himself and said roughly, "You mustn't look at me like that."

Janey dropped her gaze to the floor, horrified at what he must have seen. She was making a mess of this. She just wanted this one day; that was all.

She moved to her chair and forced a smile before looking at him once more.

He sat beside her, eyes hooded, and said, "I ordered a full breakfast, sans porridge," he added with a laugh.

He was trying to keep the balance, and she gave him a grateful look.

"How many telegrams did you have to send?" she asked.

She knew he only had eleven brothers left, but she didn't know how many sons they had had. Or if any of the grandsons and so on had their same powers.

"A hundred," St. John replied. "We suffered quite a few losses before we fled Europe, and between you and Pecos Bill, our numbers are the smallest they've ever been."

A hundred was still more than she had expected, but she wasn't worried. She was certain that the eleven brothers would eat Admetos. And if the eighty-nine other saints abstained, she, Two Stones, and the others could easily end them. She only had one worry, and it was St. John.

His fingers brushed lightly over her cheek as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Your hair is beautiful," he said.

Janey thought that was a rather stupid thing to say. It shouldn't have mattered one bit if he thought her hair was beautiful; of course it was beautiful. But somewhere deep inside, where the soul of woman lay, Janey was pleased by his words.

"It was your power that first interested me," St. John went on. "It was latent, but I could taste it. Then it was your power and the beauty that was shining through in spite of your efforts to hide it."

Janey finally looked at him, surprised by the strange look in his eyes.

"I don't ever want you to think I don't see the you behind your power and beauty though," he said earnestly. "It's your mind, your will, your strength, your kindness, your determination, your loyalty. You're an absolutely gorgeous woman, and it has almost nothing to do with your face."

His tone was tender, but his eyes were full of sorrow; and for a moment neither of them spoke, but just looked at each other.

He reached towards her once more, and his thumb brushed across her cheek.

"Please don't cry," he said softly. "I would never want to be the reason you cry."

She hadn't realized she was crying, and she ducked her head to hide it.

"Coffee?" St. John offered, tone light.

She nodded.

The scent of coffee wafted towards her, and she took the cup in her hands, trying to absorb some of its warmth.

She didn't want to spend today crying; there would be plenty of time for that later.

She took a sip to steel herself, then she straightened her back, smiled at him, and said, "They almost got it right."

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied.

"Do you have a favorite color?" she asked. "Mine's blue," she added, thinking of her butterflies.

"A favorite color?" St. John said pensively. "I don't know if I've ever considered it. Perhaps green, but truly it's the color of your skin."

Janey felt her cheeks begin to heat, and she fought the urge to duck her head once more.

"May I fill your plate?" he asked.

She nodded and watched as his elegant hands started serving.

They did not eat in silence. He talked about some time he had spent in Morocco once, and since she didn't know where Morocco was, he promised to take her to his study when they were done and show her on his map of the world.

"Their architecture is something to behold," St. John told her. "Do you know what a mosaic is?"

She didn't, so he described one, filling her mind with splendid buildings and rainbows of color.

It sounded like a fairy tale to her. White-tiled rooms filled with water for bathing. Vendors in the squares selling trinkets and wares. She had never heard of anything so fascinating.

"Have you been everywhere?" she asked him.

"Everywhere is a lot," he replied. "But I have been nearly everywhere in Africa, Europe, and Asia. I have never been to Australia or South America. I haven't explored much of North America either. It's very different than the Old World. With one exception, I find I'm not as fond of it."

His eyes were on her, always on her; and this time she forced herself to be brave and said, "I'm happy to know I had such an affect."

He grinned widely, clearly pleased with her, and bravery fled from her, so she took another drink in order to hide inside her coffee cup.

When she put the cup back down, St. John filled it, and they continued to eat while he spoke about a small village he had once visited in Norway and the metalwork he had taken home with him.

"I collected artwork from all the places I visited," he explained. "I had an entire wing of the house dedicated to Oriental arts. There was this red lacquered vase that I particularly enjoyed."

His eyes brightened as he told her in detail about a few of the finer pieces of his collection.

"You like beautiful things," she said after he had finished describing a tapestry he had once owned.

"Doesn't everyone?" he replied.

She didn't know how to explain it to him, but she could see now that he sought out beautiful artworks so he could be surrounded by them. It was no wonder he didn't care for the States. It had very little to offer in the way of art and beauty.

"What's your favorite piece in this house?" she asked.

"I don't have one," he replied.

"Come now," she urged. "You picked every piece for a reason."

"You suddenly think you know me so well?" he teased.

"Not at all. You're thousands of years old. It would take years upon years to peel back all of your layers and look beneath them."

And she would never have that time. At best, she had a handful of days.

He must have noticed the shadow that passed over her face because he quickly said, "I do have one painting I'm rather fond of; and if you're done eating, I'll show it to you."

She nodded her assent, and he stood and offered her his hand. She didn't hesitate, just took it; and as he placed her hand onto his arm, she found that she didn't feel trapped like she once had; she felt cherished.

St. John never seemed to hurry when he was with her, and they walked slowly down the hallway to the study. When they entered it, Janey studied this space of his with fresh eyes, because it was his and she suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

The wall hangings were green, but the room wasn't dark because the sun was shining through the windowpanes and illuminating every corner. It felt very much like a room St. John would enjoy spending his time in.

"This," St. John said as he moved with her towards one of the walls, "is my favorite piece."

He stopped in front of a small painting, and Janey studied it carefully, a little surprised to see that it wasn't some grand piece in a gilded frame. It was a simple watercolor of a woman walking down a lane. The sky was grey overhead, but she was walking towards the sunlight, and a beam had just broken through and was touching the tips of her feet.

"I think it must remind me of you," he said thoughtfully.

And she suddenly knew which piece was really his favorite. She was. She was the finest piece in his collection. Only he hadn't caged her, not this time. She had come to him of her own accord.

Once more, she didn't know what to say, but he didn't let the silence linger, instead he turned and led her towards the other wall. She had noticed the map there when she had searched his study, but she hadn't taken the time to look at it.

"It's a world map," he said when they had stopped in front of it.

It was strange to see the known world laid out like that, covering an entire wall from floor to ceiling and corner to corner but still only hinting at its vastness.

"This is Morocco," he said as he drew her towards the map and pointed towards a shape in the upper part of Africa.

She gazed at the map with all its colored shapes, and it occurred to her that St. John was a walking history book. He had seen vast sections of more than half of the world. He hadn't seen everything from everywhere all at once, but he had seen more than she could ever imagine.

"I once traveled the Silk Road," he said a little distantly as he indicated an area on the map. "I was using the name Marco Polo at the time. The things I saw…" He sighed heavily before saying, "Modernity really rather pales in comparison. The train is an abomination, so loud and full of ruckus. Father loves trains, and he has strange dreams of making an army of mechanical beasts, but I can't abide this new age of machines."

"I once killed a train," Janey said offhandedly.

"How do you kill a train?" he asked.

"You throw a bunch of gunpowder into the engine and close the door," she shrugged.

St. John began to laugh, but she didn't laugh with him, just ducked her head so he wouldn't see her smile.

"Of course you killed a train," he chuckled. "And did you kill all of the men on the train?"

"Naturally."

"How many were there?"

"I didn't get an exact count," Janey admitted. "Maybe two hundred?"

"You are truly a most singular woman," he said. "Did you scalp them all?"

"No," Janey said with a snort. "Do you have any idea how long that would have taken?"

"I didn't know you cared."

"I had been shot a few times, and I felt it was best to leave before the army showed up."

"Indeed," St. John agreed. "It's no wonder hawk chose you," he said, eyes blazing with desire. "You're a magnificent huntress."

His fingers brushed over her cheek, and she stared at him, heart pounding.

"Magnificent," he stated.

She couldn't hold his gaze any longer; it was too intent; and she was still frightened, so she dropped her eyes and tried to think of something to say.

She was considering running from the room when St. John chuckled softly and said, "What would you like to do now?"

"Would you fight me?" she whispered.

"As you wish," he said.

They walked out to the sand pit in silence, but when they reached it, St. John sighed and said, "Would it have been too much trouble to wait until summer to kill him?"

The sun was shining brightly, but St. John's breath turned into a white puff when he spoke.

"Sorry," she shrugged.

"Perhaps you should work on your sincerity," St. John chastised.

"Nah," Janey replied, grinning widely.

St. John turned away from her to remove his shirt, but not before she caught sight of his grin.

She pulled Saint Killer as quietly as possible and started creeping across the sand towards him, but when she was still a few feet away, he turned and leaped, catching her easily in his arms.

"Not sneaky enough," he told her.

"I'll try again," she retorted.

He released her so slowly that his hands left a burning trail across her skin, and she suddenly couldn't quite remember what she was doing.

His chuckle of amusement returned her to her senses, and she ducked and stabbed upward at the same time. Saint Killer made contact with St. John's stomach, but the blade had only just touched his skin when St. John was holding her from behind.

"I seem to be winning today," he murmured before pushing her away from him.

She spun and raced towards him, but he was faster than she was; and although she managed to stab him this time, he caught her hands before she could retreat.

He didn't release her right away, just stared down at her almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. Janey twisted her hands free, but even then she didn't move away from him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said softly, his fingers grazing her cheek.

She accidentally laughed, and St. John's eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry," she said, still laughing. "But I've seen the first women, and you cannot say I'm more beautiful than they were. They were first."

"Yes," he said, taking her hands and pulling her towards him. "But they didn't have your spirit. And they didn't have your fortitude. They ran from Father or simply stood still as he cut them down. You're actually hunting him. You're hunting the first hunter," he said, voice awed. "The first women wouldn't even fill your shadow."

She had completely forgotten how to breathe, and she couldn't tear her eyes from his. His hand was touching her face again, and his finger brushed over her bottom lip.

"Jane," he whispered.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't. She was terrified to let him touch her. Not because she was afraid he would hurt her; she was afraid she would lose something of herself if he did.

But she didn't have to tell him no; she didn't even have to move away. He must have seen it in her eyes because he released her and stepped away from her.

"I win again," he said easily. "Mostly. I think it might warm up enough to have lunch in the garden. Shall we?"

She didn't trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.

"I'll let them know."

He smiled at her, and then he picked up his clothing and walked back towards the house.

Janey watched him go, disappointment and relief warring within her. She was such a coward. She was willing to face a murderous monster, but she was frightened of a kiss.

"Stupid," she muttered as she rolled her eyes.

She didn't even know why she would want to be kissed. And by St. John of all people. Maybe Brings the Rain was right; maybe coffee really did make white people crazy.

She shook herself to clear her head, and then she strode quickly towards the forest. If they were leaving in the morning, she needed to tell Two Stones. Even though it was likely he already knew.

Two Stones met her just beyond the garden wall.

"We leave in the morning," Janey said as soon as she saw him.

"The spirits told me," Two Stones replied.

"Of course they did," Janey muttered.

"They also said you do not have a plan."

"I don't," she admitted.

"Then what is your plan?" he pressed.

"I just said I don't have one."

An irritated look crossed Two Stones's face, and he said, "Are you planning to die?"

"Absolutely not!" Janey retorted. "It's hard to explain, but I'm certain that if I'm face to face with him, I'll know what to do. You're just going to have to trust me."

"And the other saints?"

"They'll arrive at some point or another. If we have to, we'll sit right outside of Admetos's front door and kill them as they come."

"And St. John?"

"I don't know," Janey said, chest tightening. "I just… I don't know."

"It shows wisdom to admit you are uncertain," Two Stones said.

"I feel like an idiot," Janey replied, frustration filling her. "I feel like I did everything wrong, and I feel… I feel weak. Like I should have had more control over my… feelings towards him," she muttered.

"You mean you wish you had held onto your hate?"

"Yes!"

"What have I told you about hate?"

"I know!" she snapped. "But I'd really rather hate than the other thing."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes!"

"Why do you feel weak?" Two Stones asked, abruptly shifting the conversation.

Janey hung her head in shame and said softly, "He's a filthy people eater. He's delivered people to Admetos to be eaten. He ate his mother. He's eaten a few dozen people over the thousands of years he's been alive. He's… He's… He's a creep," she hissed, forcing herself to say it. "How could I feel anything for him but disgust?"

"Is he helping you to kill Admetos?"

"Yes."

"Is he helping you to kill his brothers?"

"Yes."

"Has he ever hurt you?"

"No."

"Did he hurt anyone on the wagon train?"

"No, except the Indians," she hastened to add.

"It is true that he provided evil men with the opportunity to do evil deeds. And it is true that he put the idea into their heads. He did not force them to do it though."

"He could have," she muttered.

"Did he?"

"I doubt it," she admitted.

"Is he kind to his servants?"

"He's not mean to them," she replied, certain there was a difference between kind and simply not mean.

"In what other ways has he shown himself to be a good man?" Two Stones asked.

"He hasn't!" Janey retorted. But the lie was too much for her, and she said, "He's considerate; he's thoughtful; I think he's even loyal; but I don't know that such things add up to be good."

"How many nights have you slept under his roof?" Two Stones asked.

"I have no idea."

"Many, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"And he would like very much to take you to his bed, yes?"

Janey had some difficulty hearing it put so bluntly, but she nodded.

"And has he?"

She shook her head vehemently.

"I am fairly certain that only a good man doesn't take what he so desperately wants, especially when it is so conveniently available."

"I don't understand," she whispered. "How can he be both good and bad?"

"You tell me, Janey. You invented the label."

"You're supposed to be helping me," she snapped.

"Spirits say some mountains need to be climbed on your own."

"Spirits," she huffed. "We're leaving in the morning," she stated once more, ready to be done with the conversation. "Would you please bring Helly to the stables? But you won't be able to ride with us. Follow behind, and make certain you're not seen."

"The spirits will protect us," Two Stones stated.

"I'm sure they will," Janey grumbled.

She stuck out her tongue at him, and then she hopped off the rock she was sitting on and headed back towards the house.

Two Stones hadn't helped at all. If anything, he had only added to Janey's confusion.

He was like that sometimes. She would ask him a simple question, and he would reply with something so complex that it would make her head spin. It was wearisome.

She was still fuming when she reached the garden wall, but she paused just outside of it and gazed at the splash of orange and yellow plants within, still remembering what they had looked like before the frost had touched them.

With a sudden rush of horror, she realized that she loved the garden and the house just as much as she loved the man who had built them.

Sadness flooded her, and she let it pull at her. She wanted to fall onto the ground and cry, but that would be a waste of her last day here. Tomorrow they were going after Admetos, but today she had nothing to do at all but enjoy the garden. And she would be damned if she was going to waste it feeling sad.

Chapter 16

It was indeed warm by lunch time, and Janey and St. John sat in the summer house, conversing quietly while they ate.

Janey asked him a dozen questions about places he had seen, people he had met, and things he had done. He had a talent for painting a picture whenever he spoke, and before long she could see parts of the tapestry that was his life.

He told her about the canals in Amsterdam. He told her about the pyramids in Egypt. He told her about the lions in Africa and the elephants in India. He told her the names of his children and where he had been living when they were each born.

St. John refused to just talk about himself though. He asked her about her favorite plants and her favorite stories, and Janey even found herself telling him about Granny and the old man in the woods.

It was late afternoon when St. John said, "I have to finish up some paperwork before we leave tomorrow. I will see you at dinner?"

She nodded and said, "Will you send up a bath for me, please?"

"Certainly."

He took her hand and brushed his lips lightly across the back of it before leaving her; and after he was gone, she walked slowly through the garden, memorizing each and every corner.

The blooms of the St. John's Wort plant had faded long ago, but Janey still brushed her fingers over it, remembering a time when it had been in full bloom. She wished it had actually protected her from St. John, but it hadn't. And she hadn't. And she didn't know what that meant, but she knew she wasn't prepared for it, so she didn't examine it at all. She would simply keep moving forward. It was the only thing to do.

After she had covered every inch of the garden, she went inside to see if her bath was ready, but it wasn't. While she waited for it, she curled up in the chair by her bookshelf and began to read.

She was truly lost when someone knocked loudly on her door and called out, "Miss!"

"Come in," she replied.

Apparently, she would never learn to listen. At least not while she was reading. It was good to have one consistent failing though. It kept one from getting overconfident. At least that was the excuse she was going to use from now on.

She didn't leave her chair as George and Jacob set up the tub, built up her fire, and hauled bucket after bucket of water up the stairs to her room. When they were done, she locked the door behind them and removed her clothes.

She took a chunk of yucca root with her as she stepped into the tub and slid her body into the water. She just floated in the warmth for a while, staring up at the white molded ceiling above her.

She would never sit in this copper tub again. She would never stare at this ceiling again. This was no longer her room; it was just a room.

She dashed a stupid tear from her eye and began to scrub herself with the yucca, being slightly more thorough than usual. She didn't question her motivation. She rarely questioned why she was doing something, and she was smart enough to know that if she did it now, she would find she wasn't as brave as she thought she was.

When she was clean from head to toe, Janey stepped from the tub and dried herself. Then she sat in front of the fire and brushed her hair. She brushed it a hundred times, just as Carmina had told her to, and then she brushed it a hundred more. When she was done, her hair was dry and flowing down her back in one big mahogany wave.

Hair finished, Janey stood and surveyed the room. She was leaving in the morning, and she wasn't coming back. She hated the fact that she was going to miss it. She was going to miss the lacy curtains and the view of Sun Peak. She was going to miss her bookshelf and her books.

St. John had told her she could take the books with her, but she couldn't. She lived on a horse. She had no room for books in her life. The thought hurt, but it was true. They were wanderers, and they could carry all of their possessions on their backs.

She couldn't bear to leave them all behind though, so she walked over to the bookshelf and picked out the thinnest volume.

The binding was blue, and there was an image of a tiny fairy embossed upon the cover. Janey wrapped the book in a handkerchief she found in one of the dressing table drawers and slipped the book into her saddlebag. Then she folded the pants and shirts St. John had given her, leaving out one outfit for tomorrow, and tucked the clothing into her saddlebags, along with her few possessions.

She placed her saddlebags on the chair with her scalps and draped her coat over the bag, followed by her weapons and her clothing for tomorrow. She nudged her moccasins across the floor until they were beside the chair so that everything would be together, and then without any further way to procrastinate, she turned to face the wardrobe.

With hesitant steps, Janey walked over to it and pulled open both of the little doors. There were many dresses inside, but she only needed one. The green one.

She took it out and held it up to look at it. It was beautiful, but she had sworn she would never wear a dress again. Was she really so changeable?

She stared at the dress for a long time, wrestling with herself. She finally decided that a vow made to herself was easily broken. It didn't involve anyone else, and she was allowed to change. She had changed.

She wasn't weak, and wearing a dress wasn't going to make her weak. She was Janey Falke. She shared the soul of Hawk, and she would wear a dress if she damn well wanted to.

Mind made up, she worked carefully to put on the seemingly fragile dress, then went to look in the mirror. She stared at herself and wondered if it was too late to run. She certainly didn't look like Janey. She didn't look like anyone she had ever seen. She looked like a creature of mythology, not of real life.

"This is stupid," she muttered to herself, and then she started to pace.

Was this really what she was going to do? Was she certain about this? She wasn't. She wasn't certain at all. She looked strange and not like herself. It wasn't that she didn't like it; she kind of did. She just wasn't sure she had the courage to be this person. She would rather face Admetos.

She took a deep breath and stood up a little straighter. She didn't have time to be a coward; she had to be brave now. She couldn't keep hiding behind her pants and knives, and she wasn't going to hide behind any stupid labels either.

She wasn't wearing a single weapon; all she was wearing was this damn dress, but she still wasn't weak. She would never be weak. Wearing a dress wasn't what had made Ma weak; Ma had simply been weak, and she would have been just as weak in a pair of pants.

Janey wasn't Ma though. She was Janey. She liked wearing pants, but tonight she was in the mood to wear a dress.

A knock on the door startled her, and she stared at it in horror, courage taking flight before she could.

"Jane?"

She didn't move.

"Reading again, are you?" St. John said with an amused tone.

He knocked again, much louder this time. Her feet wouldn't budge.

"I'm opening the door," St. John called out.

Janey watched the lock turn, and then the door swung open and St. John stepped into the room. He looked at her reading chair first, eyebrow shooting up in surprise when he realized she wasn't there, and then he turned, freezing when he saw her.

Everything about his body changed, and his eyes swept up and down her form before stopping on her face.

"What have you done?" he demanded.

Janey glanced down, wondering if she had somehow put it on backwards or something. It looked fine to her, so she looked back up at him and said haltingly, "Put on a dress?"

"For gods' sake, why?" he croaked.

She couldn't give him what he wanted; she couldn't, but she could give him this.

"For you," she whispered.

His eyes were burning now, and he took a step towards her before stopping himself. She could see his struggle, and she felt cruel for taunting him so.

"I'll change," she said quickly.

"No," he said just as quickly. "Don't. Please."

He held out his hand, and she stepped towards him, heart pounding rapidly. When she reached him, she put her hand in his; and for a moment, they just stood there, frozen.

Then his eyes dropped to her bare feet, and he grinned widely and said, "I should have known you wouldn't wear the shoes. I feel as if I'm being visited by a woodland fairy."

"I'm not as pretty as a fairy," Janey said.

His eyes returned to her face, and he raised one enquiring eyebrow.

"Probably," she added awkwardly.

"Have you seen a fairy, Jane?" he asked.

"No?"

"You're a terrible liar," he said. "Come. Your dinner will get cold, just like your feet."

He placed her hand on his arm, covered it with his own, and together they walked down the stairs towards the dining room.

Janey felt so very different than the first time they had done this that she could hardly understand it. She was wearing a dress again, for him, but she had put it on because she wanted to please him. She wanted to give him something, and this was all she had to give.

He sat her at the table, and then he sat beside her. Neither of them spoke as the boys carried in the plates. The oil lamps had been replaced with candles, and everything about the dinner felt different. It was more cozy and intimate.

St. John poured a cup of coffee and passed it to her. She took a sip.

"How does it taste?" he asked, voice low.

"Perfect," she replied.

And it did. It had just the right amount of burntness.

"Good," he said. "Please eat."

He hadn't touched his silverware yet, and she cast him a curious glance before turning her attention to her food. If he wanted to watch her eat, she would eat.

With slow deliberateness, Janey took a bite. She could feel St. John's eyes on her, burning into her skin, but she kept her focus on her plate.

"How does it taste?" he asked after she had taken a few bites.

"It's full of flavor," she replied. "I can taste the thyme."

He continued to watch her as she ate, but he didn't say another word until she was finished and the boys had carried away their dinner plates and left plates of chocolate cake instead.

"I like watching you eat," St. John said.

She met his eyes because she didn't want to be a coward tonight and said softly, "I enjoy it when you watch me."

The hunger on his face intensified, and he said, "Eat the cake."

For the briefest of moments, Janey considered bristling at his command, but she didn't want to waste any time being stupid so she didn't. Instead, she obeyed him and ate the cake. When she was done, he leaned towards her and rubbed his thumb across the corner of her lips. His thumb came away with a tiny smear of icing, and he stared at it for a moment before saying "forgive my weakness" and licking the icing from his thumb.

Janey forgot how to breathe again.

St. John pushed his own slice of cake towards her and said, "Enjoy."

She wasn't certain she could; her stomach was twisted into knots and her throat was tight.

But she didn't want to disappoint him, so she picked up her fork and took a small bite, watching him as she did.

His eyes were so intent that she could hardly hold his gaze, but she watched him steadily as she ate, heart pounding and tongue barely tasting the chocolate.

When she was done, he poured her another cup of coffee. But this time, he took a sip from the cup before handing it to her.

His action felt so intimate that Janey's heart stuttered slightly. In some bizarre way, he was offering her his lips. Or maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe he had just wanted a drink. Her mind was hot, and she couldn't think straight.

She glanced at him. He was watching her still, and the look on his face told her she definitely wasn't overthinking it. Without looking away from him, she slowly raised the cup to her lips and took a drink. It somehow tasted different than before, as if he had marked it with his essence.

She reminded herself that she wasn't a coward, and she drank the whole cup.

An hour seemed to pass as they just stared at each other over the table, but then St. John said, "Will you converse with me in the parlor?"

She nodded, and he rose and offered her his hand. She took it, and he led her to the parlor. Here too the oil lamps had been replaced with candles.

St. John guided her to her chair, but instead of sitting in his own afterwards, he moved it closer to hers, until the two chairs were facing each other and there was barely any room between them. Next he moved the small stand that held the book, but before he sat, he tugged a colorful blanket from the back of the divan.

After he had sat, he said softly, "Allow me to keep your feet warm."

It was a request, not an order, but she wasn't entirely sure how he meant it, and she wasn't certain she was brave enough to give him whatever it was he was asking for.

He was waiting for her response, and she finally said, "Yes."

She wanted to give him something, and her feet were surely the least of her. Heart skittering, she untucked her legs and set her feet on the floor. St. John stooped forward, picked them up, and placed them on his lap before draping the blanket over them.

He sat back, a pleased grin on his face, and said, "Isn't that better?"

She had watched Charlie with the horses at the ranch, and she had a suspicion St. John was treating her like a skittish horse. He had merely slipped the bridle over her head and walked away for a moment. But he wasn't done yet; she was certain of it.

She knew she was glaring because he was smiling at her, amusement clear on his face.

"Would you tell me about the fairies if I promise not to try to eat one?" he asked.

His statement startled a laugh from her, and she said, "How did you know that's what I was thinking?"

"Your face gives you away," he said. "Will you? I've always heard rumors of other creatures, but I never could find any. If they were there, they were smarter than the humans. They ran from us and hid."

"And because they ran, they survived," Janey said softly, thinking of herself.

"I suppose so."

She didn't mind telling him about the fairies, but it wasn't easy to talk about herself, and she didn't much want to look him in the eyes and say, "My parents didn't want me so they left me in a drawer to die."

This wasn't an evening for cowardice though; it was an evening for bravery. And she could show him without telling him anything at all.

"I'll show you one," she said.

Then she leaned forward, took his hand in hers, and closed her eyes.

She didn't show him her birth, but she did show him the Irish doctor with his strange lilting voice.

"There're fairies in these woods, little Janey. You can't see them. They're invisible to humans. But they would never abandon such a beautiful baby as you. They like beautiful things, you see; and they'll take care of you. I promise you they will."

The doctor kissed the baby's tiny head and left. A few minutes later, the baby began to cry.

Janey tried to shift the memory forward, but she couldn't, and she opened her eyes and looked at St. John.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I want to see."

"Why?" she asked.

An uncertain look crossed his face, and then he said softly, "Because I want to know you."

This was only a small part of her, just like the names of his children were only a small part of him. However, she treasured the names of his children, if only because they were part of him.

How stupid would it be, and what a waste, to hide from him? She smiled, tightened her hand around his larger one, and closed her eyes once more.

His hand warmed hers as they watched that small baby suffer. The baby cried in fear and hunger and loneliness. She was spit on, and she was ignored by all but Eddie who touched her gently, but only when no one else was watching.

Night fell, and the room grew cold. Somehow even the baby knew that she must be silent now, and she slept fitfully.

A heavy dark silence enveloped the room, but it was softened by the gossamer light that followed an ethereal woman as she glided over to the dresser and whisked the baby from the drawer. The woman spoke to the baby in soft tones as she seemed to float from the house and into the forest beyond.

A bear mother waited just inside the trees; she waited for her baby to be given her. Her own cub had been killed in a trap, and the fairies had promised her another to care for.

Bear mother took the baby and fed her. She licked the child clean. She kept her warm through the night. And then the fairy lifted the baby into her arms and returned her to the drawer.

Long, dark, and lonely days passed in this manner, but the love of the bear mother kept the baby alive. The whispers of the fairy sisters soothed her and gave her a reason to fight against the cold.

Janey knew what was coming though, and she wasn't in the mood to cry today so she released them both from the memory and looked into St. John's enigmatic eyes.

"I disagree," he said.

"About what?" she asked.

"You are far more beautiful than a fairy."

She could see that he meant it, and she smiled at him, and said, "I think perhaps your eyesight is finally failing."

"It's never been better," he stated.

The silence and the warmth of the room had wrapped around them like a cocoon, and Janey began to feel that feeling she sometimes got in her stomach when she gazed into his eyes for too long.

"I'm sorry I'm not braver," she whispered, and then she pulled away from him.

Her chair felt cold now, but her feet, which were still tucked against his lap, felt warm and safe. She didn't understand that. How could feet feel safe? And how could he think she was more beautiful than a fairy? He was clearly daft.

"Shall I read to you?" he asked.

"Please."

If he was disappointed by her actions, he didn't show it, and with a smile he picked up The Pickwick Papers and began to read.

Once more, his voice pulled her into the story, and she could picture every moment just as easily as she could picture a memory.

After some time, he stopped reading, and she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I'm afraid we won't have time to finish it," he said, tone full of regret.

"Don't say that," Janey replied. "We have all night."

"That we do," he agreed. "Would you read for a while?"

She took the book from him and picked up where he had left off.

After she had read for a few moments, he stopped her by saying, "What are you doing?"

"I'm reading," she replied, lowering the book so she could look at him.

"With your feet," he ground out.

"Oh, sorry. They're hot; I was just trying to get them out from under the blanket."

She started to pull her feet away from him, but he caught her by the ankles and held her still.

"Leave them," he said.

Again, it was a request, not an order, although there was a rather desperate edge to his words, and Janey smiled at him before continuing to read.

She hadn't made it very far before she stuttered to a halt and said, "What are you doing?"

"Rubbing your feet," he replied.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I want to. Would you like me to stop?"

She hated it when he did that. She would have rather he just kept on doing it than he make her say that she wanted him to.

No one had ever touched her feet before, and she was confused by it. She was certain that she wouldn't have liked it if it had been anyone but him touching her, and that made it even worse.

His fingers stopped moving, and she made a sound of protest.

"Jane," St. John said.

She was utterly transfixed by the sight of her feet in his hands. Her feet looked so tiny and delicate.  

"Tell me what you want, Jane," he said.

She was beginning to remember why she had hated him.

He released her, and she suddenly felt cold.

She lifted the book to cover her face and whispered, "I don't… You could… Hell and damnation," she grumbled, "please don't stop."

She nearly sighed with relief when his fingers started moving again.

"If you're not going to read," he said, "the least you could do is lower the book so I can see your face."

She didn't want to do that. She was too embarrassed to lower the book. But why was she embarrassed? She didn't even know.

She wasn't a coward. She was done hiding, especially if it was going to rob this moment from her.

She lowered the book and found him watching her.

"Thank you," he said.

They sat in silence once more, St. John's fingers moving gently and firmly over her feet. After a while, he stopped and just held her feet lightly in his hands, at which point, Janey began to read again.

"Your turn," she said when her voice was worn from reading.

"Will you return your feet to my lap if I get you some coffee?" St. John asked.

Janey felt her cheeks turn hot, but she nodded.

"Very well," he said as he lowered her feet to the floor and left the room.

He wasn't gone long enough for Janey to think overly much; and when he did return, he was carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and another slice of cake.

He set the tray on his side table, added some wood to the fire, and poured her a cup of coffee before handing her both the coffee and the cake. Then he sat back down and retrieved her feet.

St. John watched her while she sipped her coffee and ate her cake, and although she should have been used to it, she wasn't.

And while he watched her, he trailed his fingers lazily over her feet, exciting strange feelings in her toes and ankles.

When Janey was done eating, she watched his fingers and wondered how something as simple as a touch to the pad of her foot could be felt in her stomach.

She wanted to say something to break the odd silence that had settled around them, but her tongue refused to cooperate.

She had no idea how much time passed before he said, "Shall I read?"

She hated to have to choose between hearing his voice and the pleasure of his touch, but she finally smiled at him and said, "Yes. Thank you."

"No, thank you."

She wasn't sure what he was thanking her for, but his voice was so solemn that she was certain he meant more than this moment.

She wanted to thank him too, but she didn't know why, and before she could figure it out, he started reading. He was somehow managing to hold the large book in only one hand while his other hand was wrapped protectively around her feet.

She sighed, feeling strangely happy, and leaned against the back of her chair, letting his voice carry her to another world.

She didn't fall asleep because she heard every word he spoke, but she drifted just on the edge of here and there. She heard him stop reading at some point, and she sat up in protest, but he hushed her with a finger to her lips.

"I'm only putting the blanket around your shoulders," he whispered.

His fingers brushed across her neck, and Janey let her eyes drift closed again. She smiled when she felt his warm hands tuck the blanket into place. She heard him move his chair. She felt him lift her feet onto his lap once more, but this time quite a bit more of her legs were touching him. She didn't mind.

She wondered why she didn't wake up all the way and talk to him, but here in this strange nowhere place she could pretend that morning would never come.

After he had settled her feet, he started reading, and the adventures of Mr. Pickwick began to take shape once more.

The story finally ended, and her heart began to ache. She knew if she opened her eyes, the fingers of dawn would be touching the sky beyond the windows. She could feel the cold that always came with the dawn, and she felt like crying, but she didn't.

"Jane dear," St. John said softly. "It's time."

"I know," she whispered. "Just one more minute."

She still didn't open her eyes, but she was so aware of him that she felt as if she was looking right at him. She didn't want to take her feet from his lap, and she didn't want to leave this room. She knew that once she left, she would never be back.

"Please don't do that," he said, voice raw.

"Don't do what?" she asked.

She had her answer when his fingers brushed across her cheek.

"I'm not crying," she insisted as she opened her eyes.

"Liar."

She smiled at him, trying not to ruin the moment with sadness.

"Thank you for a… a perfect evening," she said.

"Thank you."

"I'll meet you at the stables," she whispered.

He inclined his head, and she drew her feet away and stood, not even noticing when the blanket fell to the floor. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want to do this. And for the first time in a long time, she wished that she had crawled out from under Pa's wagon and let the Indians kill her.

St. John had stood when she had, and now he wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and laid his forehead against hers.

"Don't cry," he told her. "Not for me."

"I'm not crying for you," she whispered. "I'm crying for me."

He chuckled softly and said, "You never cease to amaze me. Go now and change. I can't imagine you killing Father in a dress."

She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. There was something she wanted to tell him, but she didn't know how, so she just stood there for a moment before fleeing the room.

She was crying in earnest by the time she reached her room, but she didn't try to stop. She just sobbed while she wiggled out of the dress and hung it gently in the closet by the other dresses that would never be worn.

She quickly donned her pants and weapons, but they didn't make her feel any stronger, they just reminded her of the task that lay ahead of her.

She put on her coat, tossed her saddlebags over one shoulder and her scalp belt over the other, and left the room without glancing around it.

She hated everything about that room, and she was glad to leave it. She was glad she would never see it again. She was glad she would never see this house again. She hated it all. Now all she had to do was remember that.  

Chapter 17

St. John was waiting for Janey at the stables, standing beside a huge draft horse. It wasn't the horse he had ridden when he had traveled with the wagon train, but it didn't surprise her that this was the horse he preferred. Just like its master, it exuded a sense of restrained power.

There were two pack horses as well, and they were loaded down with bags, and Janey smiled slightly as she remembered how much St. John hated riding on the trail. He wasn't a roughing it type of man. That and eating humans were his only really obvious flaws.

As she was walking towards St. John, Two Stones and the others rode into the yard, and she adjusted her course, meeting them halfway.

She always felt like half a person when she wasn't with them, and she was delighted to see them. She wished they could travel together, but she wasn't going to take any chances with their lives.

St. John was still standing by his horse, halfway across the yard, and Janey glanced over her shoulder and gestured for him to come to her. His eyebrow rose in surprise, but he strode over to her, pausing just behind her.

"Two Stones," Janey said, "may I introduce you to Victor St. John. Victor, please meet my brothers, Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain."

For the longest moment, no one said anything. They all just stared at each other, and Janey was starting to fume when St. John bowed deeply and said, "It is an honor to meet you. I have heard much about you."

"I am honored to meet you as well, Mr. St. John," Two Stones said solemnly. "I have also heard much of you."

St. John grinned slightly and said, "All of it good, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Two Stones replied, also smiling.

Wolf Heart muttered something in their language, and Janey cast him a furious glance. She hadn't been able to catch all of the words, but she had caught enough to know it wasn't complimentary.

She snapped what she hoped was "quit it," but she wasn't sure she got it right because Wolf Heart rolled his eyes at her.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your language," St. John said apologetically. "It has quite a lovely cadence though."

"Wolf Heart is merely expressing his age," Two Stones said. He turned to address Janey and said, "You will not see us, but trust we are with you."

"I always do," Janey replied.

Two Stones handed her Helly's reins; and without further comment, they left the yard and disappeared into the woods.

"I like Two Stones," St. John said, tone a little surprised.

He had changed some since they had first met, and perhaps that had been her influence. He had acted so white and disdainful to begin with, but it was almost as if he was starting to remember his origins and the way things were meant to be.

"How many languages do you know?" she asked as she mounted Helly.

"I really couldn't say," he replied. "I'm sure I've forgotten twice as many as I remember. It will take us all day to get there," he added before mounting his horse. "However, I suggest we camp for the night."

"Fine," she said.

She had really hoped it would take longer than a day. Not because she was scared of Admetos, but because…

She didn't allow herself to finish the thought, and she kept her eyes fixed on Helly's ears as they left the yard and headed south. Her heart was aching, and she wanted to look back and get one last glimpse of his beautiful house, but she was afraid if she did, she would start crying.

"I missed you, girl," Janey whispered as she followed after St. John.

Helly nickered softly.

"It's not going to snow," Janey argued.

Helly shrugged one of her shoulders.

"Like hell they did," Janey spat. She rolled her eyes and added, "The spirits only talk to Two Stones."

Helly reared slightly, and Janey said, "Fine, you win. It's going to snow."

Helly started prancing, and Janey ground her teeth together, silently fuming and wondering why she had bothered to miss Helly in the first place.

The rest of the day dragged on in a seemingly endless fashion. Janey usually liked to ride, but not today. There was a pall over everything, and she wished she could go back to yesterday and stay there forever.

St. John didn't talk the entire day, and he only stopped occasionally. He didn't ever say why he had stopped, but Janey had learned a long time ago what a pause during a ride was meant for, so she needed no prodding.

St. John's face grew progressively darker as they rode, and when he stopped in the early evening by a fast-flowing river, his expression was positively menacing.

Janey ignored him as she cared for the horses and quickly built a fire. Then she wandered off along the river, looking for anything she could use for tea. It was late in the season, but not all of the plants had gone to sleep yet.

It felt wonderful to be outside. She hadn't quite realized how much she had missed the rhythm of their life. She liked riding all day. She liked gathering food. She liked watching the sun move across the sky. She liked seeing the birds soar.

She might be white, but she wasn't meant to live inside a house forever. It was all right for a time, but she liked being outside and filling her lungs to the brim with fresh air.

She was smiling by the time she returned, hands full of mint and rosehips, but her smile faded when she saw St. John sitting on a small folding chair by the fire, his face dark and pensive.

She started heating water, and while she was waiting for it to boil, she glanced down at the river. Wolf Heart usually did the hunting, but tonight it looked as if she was going to have to fish for their supper.

A sharp whistle had her turning, and she smiled when she saw a pair of fish hanging from a nearby tree.

"Thank you," she whispered before fetching them and preparing them to cook.

"You belong out here, don't you?" St. John said moodily.

It was the first time he had spoken in hours, and it shocked her how different his voice sounded. He sounded petulant and tired.

This was the St. John she had first met.

Only now, her eyes were more discerning, and she could see the truth of him, something she hadn't been able to do before.

He was scared. He was scared of Admetos; he was scared of himself; and he was scared for her. Terrified, actually. And guilt-ridden. She could see that even though St. John craved freedom, he would stay chained to Admetos forever if that meant not losing her.

Since it would benefit neither of them, Janey ignored his question, smiled at him, and returned her attention to the cooking fish. When she caught a whiff of cooked meat, she turned them over; and then, even though she had tea, she took out her coffee pot and started a pot of coffee.

When everything was ready, Janey took one of the fish and wrapped it in some dry grass before handing it to St. John.

"I cooked it for you," she said firmly. "So you have to eat it."

A shadow of humor crossed his face, and he said, "How good are you at cooking?"

"Not very good," she admitted. "I did learn how to make biscuits though."

His eyebrow rose, and she said, "I was always burning them. That's what saved my life."

"What do you mean?"

"I burned the biscuits that morning, and I knew Pa would beat me, so I crawled up under the wagon. That's where I was when the Indians came."

"You always were very good at hiding," St. John said.

"Not anymore," she stated.

His eyes dropped, and with his free hand he plucked a piece of meat from the fish. He ate it slowly, and he smiled slightly afterwards, saying, "Nothing quite tastes like meat cooked over a fire, does it?"

She suddenly felt very sorry for him, and she lowered her own eyes so he wouldn't see it. Admetos had done a terrible thing. He had taken a beautiful wild creature, and he had domesticated it. He had forced St. John into tight shoes and made him eat with a fork, and now St. John didn't even remember what it was like to be free.

She wasn't hungry anymore, but she knew she had to eat, so she did. When she was done with her fish, she poured a cup of tea and shared it with St. John. Then she poured a cup of coffee, but that she didn't share.

"Do you have Mother's knowledge of plants?" St. John asked.

"No," Janey said regretfully. "I know some of the plants she knew, but she talked to them and they told her how to use them. Nothing talks to me," Janey sighed.

"Nothing talks to me either," he said.

She cast him a smile before asking. "How close are we?"

"About five miles," he replied. "If I took you any closer…"

He trailed off, and she said, "What?"

"He'd smell you."

She shrugged and said, "I'm sure he smells lots of people passing by."

"You don't understand," St. John said. "And maybe smell is the wrong word. He'd sense you. He'd sense your power. And he'd want it."

Of course he would. He was a greedy creep. She was hoping he was a very, very greedy creep. So greedy that he would be blinded to the truth until it was too late.

St. John looked so morose that Janey wished she could comfort him, but she wasn't sure how, so instead she said, "It's going to be cold tonight so I'll keep the fire going. My brothers will keep watch for us."

"I'll keep the fire going," St. John replied. "You rest."

She wanted to stay with him. She wanted to draw him into conversation until he forgot what they were doing. She certainly didn't want to waste any time sleeping, but she needed to. There was something she had to do before they reached Admetos, and this was her only chance to do it.

She took off her coat and tossed it onto the ground before lying on top of it and pulling her blanket over her shoulders. She gazed up at the dark sky in wonder, happy to be sleeping under the stars once more. She didn't like roofs; they got in the way.

She couldn't stare at the sky for long though; she had work to do. So she closed her eyes and made herself fall asleep.

A different moment wanted her attention, a different moment with St. John, but she ignored such tugging sentiments and went to her doorway where he had asked her if she had seen a fairy. And she watched her face when she answered, heard her tone of voice, and heard him say, "You're a terrible liar."

After watching herself, she could see that he was right. She had never had any reason to lie, so she had never developed the skill. It hadn't mattered what she had said, Pa had beat her just the same, so she had learned it was better just to keep her mouth shut and hope he forgot she was there.

She wasn't going to have that option tomorrow though. She was going to have to speak; she was going to have to convince Admetos that she admired him, and she was going to have to make him believe every ridiculous word she said.

She tried to think of another time she had deliberately lied, and she remembered the sheriff of the town where she had left those two pathetic women.

She moved the dream there and watched herself answer the sheriff's questions. She had lied, but now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see that she hadn't lied well. Her mouth had said what she wanted it to, but her face and body had been screaming something completely different.

She faced St. John again. He asked her if she had seen a fairy. She said no. It still wasn't believable, but why not?

She didn't believe herself, and that was part of the problem, but how could she believe herself when she was telling a lie?

It wasn't that she cared. She didn't believe in the false morality rules handed down by the lying preacher and his made-up sky god. If she could save a life, even her own, by telling a lie, she was damn well going to do it.

She tried again. She failed again.

Learning to lie was more difficult than learning to duck, and she hoped she could figure it out before it was time for her watch.

Instead of looking at St. John as she spoke, Janey closed her eyes and tried to feel her face and her body. They were both tense because they knew she was going to say something untrue, and they didn't want to get caught.

Now she knew the problem; she was afraid of getting caught. That was an easy fix though; all she had to do was lie convincingly; but to lie convincingly, she had to not be afraid of getting caught.

She laughed at her own reasoning and tried again.

It was still obvious.

What would happen if she did get caught in a lie? If she got caught in a lie with Admetos, she would lose. And if she lost, St. John would lose. And Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain would lose.

Since it would put them all in danger, losing was not an option; and because her body knew that, it would be tense.

She tried working it from a different angle. What if she assumed she would get caught just like she had always assumed she would get hit? It was an odd way to approach it, but she didn't have a lot of time, and she needed a quick fix.

She took a deep breath and relaxed everything. It was easy. She was going to get hit. She always did. There was no sense pretending otherwise.

She looked St. John in the eyes and said, "No."

The dream shifted around her as it always did when she changed things. The reality was still there, as an under layer, she had only changed the overskirt.

She rewound and tried again. She practiced over and over and over. She went back to that town and told the sheriff that her name was James Whit, only she did it with the assumption that he would certainly not believe her.

And then she found other conversations, ones that hardly mattered, and she lied for no reason at all. She lied to Granny about the herbs she wanted. She lied to Eddie about the pigs getting loose. She lied to Ma about the store being out of sugar. And everything shifted around her because she no longer cared if she got caught.  

She would have liked to test her new skill on something that mattered, but she didn't want to taint any of her memories, so she just kept lying about silly things.

By the time she woke for her watch, she had lied so many times that she was fairly convinced she could actually do it when she was face to face with Admetos.

She still didn't want to face the day though; and for a long moment, she just stared up at the dark sky above her. The stars seemed dim, and the air felt heavy. Perhaps it really was going to snow.

She felt that such a day as this should be marked with something more spectacular like a meteor shower or a wind storm. After four years of training and fighting, she was finally going to meet Admetos, one of the very first men and the father of greed.

She had no doubt that she would prevail. After all, Hawk and the mother were with her. How could she possibly lose? So why did she feel so uncertain?

Janey rolled to her feet, unsurprised to find St. John watching her. He looked positively demonic in the shifting shadows of the fire, but he didn't frighten her.

"What did you dream of?" he asked.

She let her shoulders ease before saying, "Nothing."

She could tell he didn't believe her, but it wasn't because she hadn't lied well. She had.

She smiled at him and said, "It's time for my watch."

"Whatever pleases you," he replied.

She put on her coat and moved to stand at the edge of the firelight. And then with the iron focus that Hawk had given her, she looked out into the night and considered nothing but the darkness. She knew when the elk passed through just beyond them; she heard the pad of a cougar; she heard St. John breathing; she heard the fire crackling, but she saw nothing that might offer them any threat.

When the first light of day began to brighten the sky, she strained her ears and listened for Brings the Rain's voice, but she didn't hear anything so she walked over to St. John and reached out for his hand. He startled slightly when she touched him, almost as if he had been somewhere far off, but he didn't pull away; and she closed her eyes and remembered another dawn, one in which she could hear Brings the Rain singing.

They were on the mountainside, and the valley beneath them was painted pure gold. Wolf Heart was sitting beside her; and just beyond them, Brings the Rain was facing the sun, his voice blending with the rays of light.

When Brings the Rain's voice faded, Janey let go of the memory, but she didn't release St. John's hand.

He didn't speak, and she didn't know what to say so after a long moment, she started to pull away.

St. John abruptly stood and grabbed her wrist, his grip so tight that it actually hurt, and pulled her towards him.

"Are you certain?" he demanded.

His face was thunderous and his eyes were more than a little crazed, and just then she knew that his life had been so much worse than her own. She had only suffered for thirteen years; he had suffered for thousands. The fact that he had any sanity left at all was merely a testament to his strength.

"It's going to be alright," she promised him. "Trust me."

And then she slipped her hand free, stepped towards him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. For a moment he just stood there, stiff as an oak, and she began to wonder if he remembered what a hug was, but then his body eased and his arms moved to encircle her.

She tried to give him some of her strength, some of her bravery, but she wasn't sure such an action was possible. The closer they got to Admetos, the weaker St. John became. He didn't have his own will when he was with Admetos. He was merely an extension of his father, just like Sol and Will and finally Eddie had been extensions of Pa.

"Will you think less of me if I beg you to run away with me?" St. John whispered against her head.

"No," she said.

"Would you run away with me?" he asked, humor coloring his tone.

"No."

"Would you run away without me?" he pressed.

"Never."

One of his hands cupped the side of her face, and he gently kissed her forehead before stepping away from her. His face was tight, and his eyes were terrified, although she knew he was doing his best to hide it.

"No time like the present," he said, trying to force his voice to be cheerful.

"It's going to be alright," she told him once more.

Hawk's mark on her hand had been burning ever since they had left St. John's house, and she knew, she knew without a doubt, that she was the scorpion who was going to kill Admetos.

It was mid-morning when Admetos's house rose up on the bluff in front of them. It didn't surprise Janey that he had built on a bluff. It also didn't surprise her that he had hauled in a ridiculous amount of huge stone blocks to do it.

The house was a monstrosity; it looked exactly as she imagined an evil magician's castle would look. But it was also very solid looking, and it was bigger than anything else for hundreds of miles around.

She was certain Admetos was very proud of it. After all, he had never been able to understand what made something valuable. He only understood power and strength, and this particular house screamed power, not to mention torment and horror. There were thousands of souls trapped inside with Admetos; and even from here, Janey could feel their anguish and their hopelessness.

She could also feel the fear pouring off of St. John, and she knew that Admetos would be able to feel it as well, so when they were still well beyond the solid rock wall that surrounded the grounds, Janey pulled Helly to a halt.

After St. John had stopped as well, Janey said, "You need to stop thinking that you have something to lose."

"But I do," St. John said, tormented eyes holding hers.

"You don't," Janey told him. "You believe he is all-powerful, and so he is. I believe he is nothing, and so he is. I need you to believe in me now. I need you to be the Victor St. John who doesn't care about anyone else. I need you to be apathetic."

"At least two of those contradict each other," he pointed out.

"Good," she stated. "A woman should never make sense. It's one of her powers."

A laugh overtook him, and for a moment he looked like Victor, then his features settled; and she was staring into the face of St. John, the man she had once hated more than anyone else.

"Perfect," she said. "Remember, no matter what happens, believe in me."

"As you wish," he replied, face not changing at all.

"Lead the way," she said.

"And what do I say to Father?"

"Tell him you brought him a gift."

St. John's face briefly twisted, and she winked at him and said, "Trust me."

"You've no idea how much," he replied before he started riding once more.

The gate opened before they reached it, and Janey noted with interest the guards along the wall. She did a quick count and determined there were at least twenty of them; it was of little importance, but it was good to know.

Once the gate had closed behind them, St. John and Janey both dismounted, and St. John headed across the plaza towards an archway that Janey knew would lead into Admetos's garden.

She fell into step behind St. John, surprised to find that her heart wasn't even pounding. She had never been so certain of anything in her entire life.

Seeing Admetos in person was a little different than seeing him in visions though, and Janey was fiercely glad that St. John was in front of her, blocking her revulsion.

Admetos was grossly tall and broad, much taller than he had been when the mother birthed him. His face, which had once been handsome, was twisted by time and greed, and his eyes were pure black, like pools of midnight. He looked like some sort of hideous creature from a fairy tale.

As Janey watched his vile face, her confidence faltered. She knew what she had to do next, and she wasn't certain she could lie quite so convincingly, but the mark on her hand flared to life once more, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

"Father," St. John said, tone subservient. "I've brought you a gift."

"Victor," Admetos replied, voice silky with hatred. "You know I despise dining on women."

"I think you'll find she's worth the exception; however, I wasn't suggesting you eat her."

The words were so smooth that Janey would have thought St. John was relaxed except for the slight tightening of his jaw. She wished she could tell him how well he was doing; but at that thought, she quickly shifted her eyes to Admetos, worried that if she watched St. John, Admetos would see something on her face that she would rather him not see.

She had loathed Admetos before, but standing in his presence like this was actually making her sick. She wanted to put an end to him right this second; she wanted to stop his reign of terror. But she knew that just this once, she must bide her time. 

"Come here, woman," Admetos said.

His voice reeked of compulsion, and Janey hid her smile, amused at his assumption of strength. She did, however, step out from behind St. John and take one step towards Admetos. Then she stopped and forced her entire body to relax. She was about to lie, and she didn't give a damn if she got caught.

She told her face she was absolutely thrilled to see Admetos, and she told her eyes to shine as if she had been waiting her entire life for this one moment. Just as if she was a fairytale princess, and he was her prince.

"My lord," she said breathlessly as she briefly bowed her head.

She stood quite still after this, allowing him a moment to assess her. Her eyes never left his face, and it wasn't long before she was satisfied that he had evaluated her correctly.

A look of absolute avarice filled his expression, and he said, "A gift indeed. Come here."

Again, compulsion was laced into every word, but compulsion meant nothing to Janey.

"I shall have to decline, my lord," she said apologetically. "Not that I don't trust you," she said in a fawning tone. "I just feel as if you've yet to understand my full value."

Rage filled Admetos's face, and he snapped, "Come here!"

"As I said, no."

He took a step towards her, and Janey held up her hand and said, "I'd rather you didn't. I don't want to be eaten like a cow and discarded; I want to stand by your side. And to prove my worth to you, I will lead you to Pecos Bill."

Rage was pouring off of Admetos, and he snarled as he said, "Stand by my side? The impudence!"

"Then I suppose you've no interest in Pecos," Janey sighed. "How very disappointing. I've heard such tales of your godhood. The very embodiment of Zeus, they say, and I only wanted to bask in your presence, to breathe the same air, to serve you in all things. If I must though, I will be content with merely laying eyes upon you."

Admetos took another step towards her, his intent quite clear.

Janey held up her hand once more and said, "No."

Admetos stopped, and the look of surprise that filled his flat eyes was almost laughable. She wasn't certain if it was merely surprise that someone had stood up to him or if she had actually stopped him in his tracks. She knew without a doubt though, that if she had stopped him, she wouldn't be able to stop him for long.

He was a petulant child, used to getting his own way; and he had grown strong because of it. She was going to take him to his knees before she killed him. The last thing he was ever going to do was bow down to a woman.

She could feel St. John getting restless behind her, but she put him from her mind. St. John was in no danger because Admetos would lose his status if he ordered St. John to hurt her. He had to be the one to do it. He had to be the one to break her; otherwise, he would lose his place as king, and he knew it.

"Father," St. John said, voice servile. "She speaks of the strong man."

"I don't care who she speaks of," Admetos snarled. "I will teach her to tell me no, and then I will tear her heart from her chest."

"My lord," Janey said pleadingly. "I want nothing but to serve you. Please let me serve you."

"No," he snarled as he leapt towards her.

He was very, very fast indeed. Not nearly as fast as Two Stones, but slightly faster than St. John. Janey had the eyes of Hawk though, and Hawk had seen the move coming even before Admetos had decided to leap.

Admetos's arms closed around the space where Janey had been, and he roared in anger, glancing from side to side as he did, but it took him just a second to think to look up to where Janey was standing on the edge of his summer house roof, hawk wings of pure golden power holding her perfectly in balance.

"I said I don't want to be eaten," Janey said. "And I don't really think that's asking too much, especially if I give you something better to eat."

Her heart was pounding a little now because the rage pouring from Admetos was so potent that it was nearly drowning her.

She hadn't had a plan at all; she had simply trusted Hawk, but she was just as surprised by her newfound wings as St. John apparently was. He was staring at her in total shock, as if he had never seen her before.

"My lord," Janey said, trying to add a favoring quality to her voice, "please allow me to serve you. Let me take you to Pecos Bill. Let me watch you feast on his power; let me watch you rule. All I ask is that you leave a place for me by your side."

Admetos was glaring up at her, fury so evident on his face that Janey wasn't sure this was going to work at all, but it wasn't long before his avarice showed its ugliness once more.

She could see him considering now, calculating and evaluating. He wanted Pecos's power, and he hadn't been able to get it on his own. She could tell the exact moment he made up his mind, and she knew exactly what his plan would be. He would use her to get Pecos, and then he would break her and eat her.

What a fool he was. He was so blind he didn't even realize she had had the plan first.

"Come down from the roof," Admetos crooned. "And we will talk."

"I find I prefer the roof," Janey replied.

"How can I trust you if you won't come down?"

"Trust takes time," Janey shrugged.

Her skin was clammy, and her heart was skittering. Not because she was scared, but because this was the first time she had ever had to use words to do her fighting for her. She usually just pulled a knife and started stabbing, and she wanted nothing more than to slice Admetos's hair from his head and shove it down his nasty throat. But she couldn't use brute force here; she would lose if she tried. She had to be clever.

"What's your name, woman?"

Janey chose to lie once more because the thought of her name on Admetos's tongue was more than she could bear.

"Emily," Janey said easily.

"Emily," Admetos purred. "Come down from the roof."

Apparently, he wasn't quite done making a play for power. She was just going to have to show him that his power was useless against her.

She smiled sweetly and said, "Come up and get me."

The rage Admetos had covered up surged to the surface, and he leapt towards her. Janey didn't as much as flinch; her wings simply billowed out and carried her to the peak of the roof.

Admetos rushed up the roof towards her, moving in a fashion she had never seen a man or animal move before, but he still wasn't fast enough, and he didn't have wings. Every time he tried to grab her, Hawk's power grew, until Janey was hovering in the air above Admetos, waves of golden energy radiating from every inch of her.

"Victor!" Admetos screamed. "What is this demon you brought me?"

Janey's eyes never left Admetos's furious face, but her heart stuttered for a beat or two. This was the moment that would prove St. John's worth. Would he be able to deceive Admetos just this once?

"Most abject apologies, Father," St. John said, tone pleading. "She came to me, asking to meet you and promising the strong man. I could taste the power on her, and I knew you would enjoy her. I didn't know she was a witch. I have failed you, and I offer you my life as forfeit."

"What a waste that would be," Admetos scoffed. "Of all my useless sons, you're the only one worth anything. You have brought me a treasure."

Janey raised an eyebrow. Admetos was changing tacks. She hadn't been sure he had it in him to adjust, but she was certain he had finally realized he would never have her by leaping after her. His only chance was to get her to come to him of her own accord. As if she was stupid.

Admetos walked leisurely to the edge of the roof and dropped to the ground. It was cold out, but he sat on one of the garden benches and looked up at Janey with a cruel smile.

"Tell me about the strong man," he ordered.

"I know where to find him," she said.

"Interesting," Admetos murmured. "Victor is a powerful hunter, and he is unable to find the strong man. How is it, woman, that you were able to?"

His voice was dripping with disdain, but Janey pretended to take no notice and said, "Pecos took me there."

Fury crossed Admetos's face, and she realized how he had interpreted her statement. She didn't correct him. After all, it was in her favor if he assumed that Pecos had possessed something that he had yet to even touch.

"He's not as powerful as you are, my lord," Janey said, trying to make her voice as complimentary as possible. "And he makes poor use of what power he does have. You can easily defeat him. I yearn to watch you defeat him."

She really had no idea where these words were coming from. She didn't say things like "yearn," but she knew her only tactic was to play to Admetos's ego, which was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Bring the strong man to me, and you may stand beside me," Admetos said.

She had anticipated this, both the request and the false promise.

"But, my lord," she gasped. "I am but a woman. How could I possibly defeat him?"

"I will send Victor with you."

"My lord," she protested. "I—"

"Silence!" Admetos roared.

This time Janey obeyed him.

"If you want to stand beside me, you will bring the strong man to me. If you fail, I will eat you instead. I have your scent now," Admetos added, voice greedy and disgusting. "You can never hide from me."

Janey fought to control her expression. She reminded her body to stay relaxed; she forced her shoulders to slouch.

"My lord," she said. "I would never want to hide from you. If it will please you for me to bring you Pecos Bill, if that is the only way for me to show you my worth, then that is what I'll do. I will find a way."

She bowed her head, mostly to hide the absolute loathing she felt for him, and then she alighted softly onto the ground several feet away from him and bowed deeply.

"I will not fail you, great lord."

She could see him wrestling with his appetite. Admetos had little patience, and he wanted to possess her now, not later; so she quickly stood upright and headed towards the door.

It was best if he thought he had won, and if she flew over the walls, he might feel a little like she had won instead. She had won, but he was too blind to see that.

When Janey reached Helly, she mounted and started riding. She knew St. John wouldn't be far behind her, and she needed to get as far from Admetos as she could so that she could breathe again.

She was so angry, and even though she hadn't felt it at the time, she was shaking from the sheer terror of standing toe to toe with him. He was so much more than she had been expecting.

He was vile, and she hated him. She absolutely loathed him. She wanted to tear him to pieces with her bare hands, and it was taking all of her will power to keep Helly going the other way.

Admetos made all the other creeps she had killed seem like nice people. The evil that had oozed off of him had made her so sick that she had fought off the need to vomit several times, and her neck hairs had stood on end from the moment his house had come into view.

She hadn't just been lying to him the entire time; she had been lying to herself, telling herself that she could be in his presence without it affecting her.

"Faster, Helly," she urged.

Admetos hadn't touched her, but she felt as if he had. She had felt all of his horrid intent, and she felt filthy and violated. She felt as if the sickness that surrounded him had latched onto her and was dragging her down.

She couldn't stand it, and she was simply hoping that it would fade with distance.

She urged Helly on until she felt her begin to falter, and then she hugged her neck and said, "I'm sorry I pushed you, girl. I just… I couldn't stand to be near him."

She shuddered once more, and when Helly ambled to a halt, Janey leapt from the saddle and vomited in the grass.

She retched until her stomach felt like it was turning inside out, and she probably would have kept going except for St. John's sudden presence beside her.

"Sorry," Janey gasped as she tried to stop herself.

"Hush," St. John said.

He gently pulled back her hair so it was out of the way, and then he ran his hand soothingly over her back.

Strength depleted, Janey sagged; and St. John caught her, lifted her, and settled her against his chest.

She was shaking, and he wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. She had no idea what he was saying, but his voice calmed her, and she didn't fight against him, just let him comfort her.

When the shaking finally stopped, Janey whispered, "I'm sorry. He's just… He's disgusting. I could feel all of his evil and his vileness. I hate him. I want… I feel… I want a bath," she said, voice pathetic.

"You were incredible," St. John told her. "I wouldn't have worried so much if you had told me you could sprout wings."

"I didn't know," Janey admitted. "Not exactly." She had simply trusted that Hawk would help her, and he had.

She felt St. John stiffen just before he growled, "You went into Father's house without knowing what you were going to do?"

"No," Janey lied. "I knew I would I win, and I did."

"Do you have any idea how close you came to…"

"I'm not stupid," she said as she pulled away from him.

"Are you certain?" he snapped.

She glared at him, foot tapping angrily, and retorted, "Did he touch me? No! So I think I did just fine! Not that you noticed!"

"Are you out of your mind?" he shouted. "You think I didn't notice?! I've never felt so powerless in all my life! I trusted you, and you didn't even have a plan!"

And she suddenly realized why he was so angry. He was angry because he had been frightened for her. She hadn't been scared, but she also hadn't witnessed over five thousand years of Admetos's cruelty and brutality.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It was the only way."

He apparently wasn't in the mood to listen yet because he snapped, "And when did you learn to lie?"

"Last night."

"You are an unbearable woman," he snarled.

His eyes were flashing with fury, and she couldn't help smiling.

"Stop that!" he ordered. "Do not try to manipulate me."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you," she said. "I just… It's interesting when you're angry."

Her words seemed to confuse him, and he stared at her for another moment before saying, "You are a dangerous woman. Please tell me you have a plan."

"I do," Janey said happily. "We're going creep hunting. It's my favorite past time," she added with a grin.

"Explain," St. John growled.

Janey rolled her eyes, ignored him, and grabbed her water skin from the back of her saddle. She quickly rinsed out her mouth and took a few drinks, and when she turned back around, she laughed when she saw St. John glaring at her.

"Explain, please," he spat. 

She shrugged and said, "We're going to find some creeps, powerful creeps, and I'm going to kill them. You'll tell me which one is best, and I'll cut out his heart, poison it, and take it to Admetos. He'll eat it; he'll die."

"You honestly think that Father is so stupid he'll eat a poisoned heart?" St. John retorted.

"No, I think he's so greedy," Janey shot back. "All you have to do is convince yourself that whatever pieces we take back to him are from Pecos Bill. That way when he asks you, his most favored and trusted son, if it is indeed Pecos Bill, you can say yes."

St. John's eyes narrowed, but before he could yell at her anymore, Janey smiled widely and said, "Trust me."

St. John rolled his eyes and shook his head before saying wearily, "You're going to be the death of me."

Janey felt the blood drain from her face. She really was going to be the death of him. Her stomach rolled once more, and she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

"Jane," St. John said urgently as his hands closed around her arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Jane, look at me."

She couldn't. Not without letting him see inside of her.

"Jane," he pleaded. She opened her eyes, and he hissed and said, "Don't look at me like that."

She couldn't help it.

"Jane," he breathed.

His lips suddenly brushed over hers, like the brush of a butterfly's wings, and she gasped in surprise. His hands were cupping her face now, and he was staring into her eyes, his own eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't quite name.

"Tell me to stop," he ordered.

She should. She could. She didn't want to.

"No," she whispered.

His eyes flared with need, and he kissed her again, this time deeper and with more intent, no longer soft like a butterfly, but just as gentle; and she felt as if she had jumped off the cliff and soared into the air.

He pulled away slightly and said, "Say it, please."

She knew what he was asking, and she understood why now. The only person who ever said his name was Admetos, and he hated it.

"Victor," she whispered.

His lips covered hers, and she clung to him, feeling both weak and powerful at the same time. She never wanted it to end, but then he abruptly pulled away and said, "I have to…"

Whatever he had to do, he didn't say, he just left her standing there all alone, her skin burning from his touch.

She hadn't known that being kissed would feel like that, although she had a suspicion that it wouldn't be like that with just anyone.

Her heart was full and breaking at the same time. She knew exactly what to do with Admetos. It was easy. She was going to kill him. But killing Admetos meant killing St. John, and her heart couldn't even bear the thought.

She suddenly felt very lonely, and as if they had somehow known, Two Stones and the others stepped out from behind some trees and headed towards her.

"Did Admetos follow us?" she asked.

"No," Two Stones said. "Spirits say we are hidden."

Janey heaved a sigh of relief before saying, "Would you ask the spirits to find me some creeps? Please," she added a little belatedly.

Two Stones didn't immediately respond, and when he did, he said, "Spirits say there are some creeps nearby."

"I need strong creeps," Janey thought to add.

Another pause, then Two Stones said, "Spirits say will suit purpose."

"Good," Janey said.

Her fingers were itching to kill someone, and she could only hope it would burn the memory of St. John's words from her mind.

"You're going to be the death of me."

She knew it was just an expression; she knew he hadn't meant it that way; but she also knew she was. Or maybe she wasn't. He didn't have that many souls tied to him…

She shook her head violently. Even one was too many.

"Janey," Two Stones said softly.

"Yes?"

"You have a plan?"

She was sick of people asking her that. Why was it so important to have a plan anyway? She had faced Admetos without a plan, and things had gone just fine.

"Yes," she said easily. "I have a plan."

Two Stones studied her before saying, "You may have learned to lie, but you will never be able to lie to me."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Doesn't matter. I have a plan. Mostly. Creeps first."

She saw Wolf Heart's eyes move, and she knew that St. John was somewhere behind her. And then she could feel him. She had never been so aware of someone in all her life. Even with her back turned she could track his movements.

"We should dally for a few days," St. John said.

"Why?" Janey demanded without turning to look at him.

"Because you want my brothers to be there," he said flatly. "And they need time to arrive. At least four days, maybe five. And even Father's greed might question it if you return in a single day with a heart on a plate."

"Fine," Janey ground out. "How many days?"

"A week to be safe."

"A week?!" Janey exclaimed, finally turning.

"Don't you have any patience, Jane dear?" St. John asked, eyes slightly mocking.

"No," Janey spat. "I really don't."

"Learn," he said. "I won't return with you unless you wait at least a week."

Wolf Heart said something in their language along the lines of "I changed my mind; I do like him," and Janey shot him a glare.

Wolf Heart shrugged and said in English, "We should find a place to make camp then."

"For seven days?" Janey ground out.

They never camped anywhere that long.

"At least," Two Stones said cheerfully.

Janey snarled irritably and stomped off. She knew she was acting childish, but seven days was a long time to wait. It was a long time to remember. It was a long time to be haunted by Admetos's awful face and spirit.

She would rather spend the next seven days riding around and killing every creep they came across, but she knew no one else would agree to such a course of action.

She had only walked a short ways when the others rode up behind her. Two Stones dropped Helly's reins as he passed Janey, but Helly didn't stop running.

"Helly!" Janey snapped. "Come back here!"

Helly ignored her.

"Fine! I'll find a new horse!" Janey yelled.

Helly started running even faster.

"I'm sorry, Helly!" Janey shouted. "Thank you for running so hard earlier! You're a wonderful horse!"

Helly slowed down and finally halted, but she didn't return to Janey, and Janey dashed through the woods until she reached her. She mounted quickly, grumbling softly under her breath about how stubborn Helly was.

Helly nickered and bucked.

"You are!" Janey shot back.

Helly reared up, and Janey grabbed Helly's mane.

"I'm sorry," Janey lied. "I was wrong. Forgive me?"

Helly settled down, and Janey rolled her eyes. She was glad she had learned to lie. It might not work on Two Stones, but it seemed to work on everyone else, including Helly.

Janey didn't bother trying to catch up to the others. Instead she rode as slowly as possible, just barely keeping them in sight. She hadn't thrown a fit in a long time, and she was in the mood to do so. She was angry about Admetos, and she still felt disgusting. She was angry that she had vomited afterwards, and she was angry about what St. John had said, but most of all she was angry that he had kissed her and then ran away.

She had never been kissed before, and now she was confused. Were they done? Would he kiss her again? Did she want him to? What was the point of kissing her in the first place?

She vaguely understood the final objective of a kiss, but she wasn't inclined to pursue that, and she was certain he realized that.

If he asked though, he could have her feet and her lips, but that was all she was giving him.

"Oh, hell," she muttered.

Her mind was muddled, and she couldn't afford to be muddled. She needed to be focused.

She sighed heavily because she knew she was lying. The truth was that she would rather not think about Admetos. Especially for seven whole days. Already he was larger in her mind than she thought he really was. What would he be like in seven days?

But she didn't want to think about St. John either. She didn't want to think about anything. For four years she had been hunting the saints. If everything ended in seven days, then what?

She didn't want to admit it, but she was scared. She was scared of the future. She was scared that there wouldn't be a place for them. She was scared that the world would slowly tighten down around them until they had nowhere else to go.

She inhaled deeply and tried to focus on the woods around her. It was snowing now, just as Helly had said it would; and even though Janey hated caves, she hoped Two Stones found them a cave or something equally warm. She was not in the mood to sit all huddled up under a tent in the snow.

Two Stones did find a cave, and after Janey had settled Helly and St. John's horses, Two Stones said, "Go find food."

She cast him an angry glare; he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not in the mood to think like a fox," she snapped.

"Spirits say think like hawk instead," Two Stones replied.

Janey grunted and left the cave. She wandered for a long time, not really looking for food, but pretending as if she was looking for food. She collected some pine nuts, some pine needles, some lonely tendrils of warrior's plant, and a few leaves of rabbit's ear.

Not at all what hawk would eat, she thought as she watched a rabbit scurry past through the drifting snow.

Only when it was growing dark did she return to the cave.

The four men were gathered around the cheery fire, but they weren't speaking. St. John was sitting on his chair on one side of the fire, brooding; and the other three were sitting in their normal positions, but they weren't sitting idly.

Wolf Heart and Brings the Rain were sharpening their knives; and, at a glance, Janey knew that Two Stones was speaking with the spirits.

She dropped her meager collection onto the ground beside Two Stones and began to make her coffee.

"You were gone so long, we ate without you," Wolf Heart told her. "The wétiko brought food," he added, gesturing towards St. John.

"His name is Victor," Janey snapped, knowing exactly what Wolf Heart meant by wétiko.

Wolf Heart shrugged and returned his attention to his knife.

There was a pasty sitting on one of the stones ringing the fire, and Janey picked it up and ate it. It wasn't as good as fresh fish, but she was hardly eating because she wanted to; she was eating because she had to.

"I'm sorry you didn't get a bath," St. John said softly.

It was the first time he had spoken to her since he had told her he wouldn't go with her if she didn't wait, and she wanted to ignore him, but she knew she would regret it if she did.

"There's always tomorrow," she shrugged.

"In this snow?" St. John asked.

"The spirits know the best hot springs," Janey replied.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments, and then he said, "What do you normally do with your evenings?"

"We fight," Janey said. "But I don't like to fight in caves. We talk. We sit and stare at the fire."

"It seems we are doing it then," he said disgruntledly.

She laughed and replied, "It's better than hiding in the pantry and hoping everyone goes to bed soon."

"But is it better than sitting in the parlor reading?"

"It's just as good," she said easily.

"I find I disagree," he stated. "I much prefer evenings with your feet."

Janey felt her cheeks heat up, and she ducked her head so that no one would see her blushing. She wasn't certain why his statement had made her blush or why she suddenly felt shy. She didn't like feeling this way, and it was exactly why she hadn't wanted anything to do with men, at least in this fashion. She was confused, and she didn't like it. 

She was still trying to work out her conflicting emotions when St. John brushed his hand over her shoulders and said, "You may lean against me, if you like."

She hadn't realized she had chosen to sit so near him, and part of her was horrified that she had sat beside St. John instead of by her brothers; but they had been ignoring him, and she hadn't wanted him to be alone. He had been alone for so much of his life already.

Was she really going to have to suffer through seven days of this? She was about ready to run out into the snow and climb up a tree when Two Stones opened his eyes and looked at her.

He smiled slightly, and something in his expression relaxed Janey. Then he said, "There is no wrong pathway here. Do as you please."

She hadn't been asking permission, but she also hadn't trusted herself to make the right decision, and Two Stones's words released the band that had been tightening around her heart.

She knew what was holding her back. She was scared. She was scared that by allowing a man to touch her, she would somehow become less. She was scared that she would become weak.

Emonah hadn't been weak though. And neither had the mother. Brings the Rain's wife hadn't been weak. Enrica wasn't weak. And Janey nearly laughed at the idea of Señora Teodora being weak. These were all women who had allowed men to touch them, and they hadn't seemed to suffer from it.

But that wasn't quite the point. Janey was scared that she, personally, would lose her power, her will, her spirit, if she gave herself over to a man in that way.

She didn't know where that fear had come from. Perhaps from watching Ma and Pa. Perhaps from hearing the lying preacher shout out over and over how it was a woman's place to obey and submit to her husband. But Janey had always known he was lying, so it wasn't as if she believed him. And she also knew that, people eating aside, St. John was nothing like Pa.

She felt young and foolish. And she was. She felt as if she knew everything there was to know about war, but she didn't know anything about peace.

She was so frightened of losing her strength, but what made her think that allowing a man to touch her would make her less than she was? Perhaps her true weakness would be continuing to hide when she wanted so much to be seen.

She didn't want to be a coward. She didn't want to wake up some day and realize that, like Granny, she had hidden away her entire life because she had been scared to take any risks.

The risk had already been taken. She wasn't going to cry any less if she kept herself hidden from him. In fact, she might even cry more. She honestly didn't know, but she wasn't going to waste any more time thinking about it.

With a tight exhale, Janey relaxed her back and leaned against St. John's legs.

His hands immediately slid over her shoulders, and she felt as if he was kissing her again. She felt light and strange. Then his fingers threaded their way into her hair, and he combed his fingers through it before allowing his thumbs to drift lightly over her neck.

She hadn't known her neck was so sensitive, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel his pleasure at touching her, and his pleasure became hers.

Her entire body warmed, and she stopped trying to hold herself back. She wanted to be touched by him, and she was fiercely glad she hadn't continued to resist him.

The warmth of his hands relaxed her, and before she knew it her eyes had slid closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 18

As usual, Janey woke for her watch, but she woke slowly, her head hazy and confused. She knew she had been asleep, but she hadn't dreamed, and she didn't understand why.

She tried to shake off the warmth that was cocooned around her, squeaking in surprise when she realized she was tucked up against St. John's warm chest.

His arm tightened around her, and he said softly, "You shouldn't wiggle so much."

He was so close to her. Her hands were pressed against his chest, and he was all she could feel and all she could smell, and she couldn't even think to respond.

"I want to hear my name," he whispered in her ear.

"Victor," she whispered back.

He rewarded her with a slow and deliberate kiss, and she melted into him, for the first time in her life thinking of nothing outside of what she was feeling.

Then someone cleared their throat, and Janey jerked away from St. John and scrambled to her feet.

"Watch," she stuttered. "It's time for my watch."

St. John chuckled softly, but she couldn't really see him in the stygian darkness of the cave, and she didn't want to see him, so she walked quickly away from him and joined Wolf Heart at the mouth of the cave.

"How was it?" Wolf Heart asked.

"How was what?" Janey stammered.

"The kiss."

Heat flooded Janey's cheeks, and she stuttered, "What kiss?"

"Is it difficult?"

"What?" Janey asked, mind still stumbling.

"Kissing?"

"What? No, I mean, not really; it's sort of… natural," she murmured. "Damn it, Wolf Heart! You tricked me!"

He laughed at her before saying, "Enjoy your watch."

And then she was standing there alone, feeling foolish; but also relieved because if Wolf Heart was teasing her, he wasn't angry with her.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to relive the sensation of St. John's lips on hers, but then she cleared her mind and watched the shifting darkness beyond the cave. Her brothers trusted her, and she would never let them down.

Janey watched the darkness carefully until the sun started to make its appearance, at which point Brings the Rain joined her at the cave mouth.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and started singing, and she listened raptly. His song was different every morning, and this morning he was singing of a lost bird. Janey watched the trees sparkle as he sang, and she grinned when the baby bird turned into a sweeping hawk and flew up towards the sun.

"Beautiful," she told him in their language.

"Tell me what you see," he replied.

She struggled to compose a sentence about the trees and the snow and the fox tracks, and he praised her efforts before correcting her mistakes.

"I have missed our mornings," he told her.

"As have I."

When they walked back inside, the fire was burning again, and Two Stones and St. John were talking. Two Stones looked up when they approached and said, "Mr. St. John has asked if there is a nearby hot springs. Spirits say there is one close by."

"I will stay to tend the fire," Brings the Rain offered.

"I'm not leaving you alone, old man," Wolf Heart stated. "You might wander off."

"What?" Janey demanded.

"It is true; we would never find him in this snow," Two Stones said solemnly.

Janey stared at them incredulously, certain they had lost their minds.

Then, as if to prove it, Two Stones looked at her and said, "Spirits say I should not go out in cold today."

"Like hell they did!" Janey exclaimed.

"I gave Mr. St. John directions," Two Stones added, face placidly innocent.

Janey stared at him, too confused at this point to argue.

"Perhaps you should saddle the horses," Two Stones prodded.

"Whatever," Janey muttered.

She was halfway done saddling when she realized what they were doing, and then her cheeks turned so hot that she was surprised she didn't catch on fire.

"Stupid," she muttered as she tightened down Helly's cinch. "What the hell do they think they're doing?"

Her face was still burning by the time she was finished, and she didn't want to go out into the sunlight, but she couldn't just stand here, so she edged the horses towards the entrance, knowing that St. John would follow her.

They mounted their horses in silence and started riding toward the east, St. John slightly in the lead.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but then St. John said stiffly, "I should apologize."

She didn't want him to apologize, but before she could say anything, he said, "I didn't want you to dream of Father, so I put your dream snatcher under your head last night."

Janey frowned, uncertain how to react to his confession. Part of her wanted to be angry because it hadn't been his choice to make; but on the other hand, she hadn't wanted to dream of Admetos, and if she had thought of it, she would have done it herself.

Furthermore, Brings the Rain had often given her the dream snatcher without telling her first, and she had never been mad at him. Or if she had, it hadn't been for long.

St. John had only been trying to protect her, and that was why she had rankled, because she didn't want him to think she needed protection or that he could give it to her when she couldn't give it to herself.

She suddenly started laughing because she was a ridiculous person, and she had only just realized it. She had to stop struggling to be a man. She wasn't a man, and she never would be. There were always going to be things St. John could do better than she could. And so what? She could do things he couldn't. For instance, there was no way in hell he would have ever been able to hide under a wagon. The Indians might not have been able to kill him, but he definitely would have been full of arrows.

Janey was laughing so hard that she hadn't even realized that Helly had stopped moving, but St. John suddenly grasped her by her waist and pulled her from her saddle; and before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, and he was kissing her absolutely breathless.

He pulled away for a second and said, "Your laugh is captivating. Shall I return you?"

She shook her head but also resolved that someday she was going to make him say what he wanted instead of the other way around.

That was the most she was able to think before he was kissing her again, and this time, she had enough sense to kiss him back. His hands tightened on her waist, and he tugged her closer before shifting so he could kiss her even more deeply.

It was a very long time before he pulled away from her and said, "I've wanted to kiss you like that ever since I saw your feet up on my table."

She couldn't seem to look away from the absolute hunger on his face, and he kissed her lightly before saying, "If you want to make it to your hot spring, you had better stop looking at me like that."

A moment later, she was back on Helly; and they were riding again.

Janey felt strangely light and ridiculously happy, and she couldn't understand either feeling. For a second, she lost herself trying to figure out how she had gotten here, but she decided it was a waste of a day and focused on the beauty surrounding her instead.

There were little icicles hanging from the spruce trees, and Janey pointed them out to St. John as they rode.

"I admire that about you," he said.

"What?"

"You can still see," he murmured. "I stopped seeing long ago."

She didn't think that was true. He saw the stars, and he saw her; he just couldn't see himself anymore.

It wasn't long before she could see the steam rising up into the air from behind a series of low running hills.

"I think we've found your hot spring," St. John said.

"You found it," Janey shrugged. "Two Stones never would have sent me on my own."

"Why is that?"

"I don't pay any attention," Janey admitted. "And unless Helly already knows the way, I always get lost."

"I'm pleased to know you have at least one flaw."

She rolled her eyes and retorted, "It's one less than you have."

She regretted saying it because his flaws were really rather large, but he didn't ask her what they were, just dismounted and lifted her down from Helly before she had a chance to dismount herself.

"I like touching you," he said. "Do you want me to stop?"

She considered kicking him in the shin, but instead she gave him what he wanted and said, "No."

His eyes darkened, but there was one thing she had to say, and she had to say it now, just to make absolutely certain he knew.

"I won't go to bed with you," she stated.

Her voice was firm even if her cheeks were turning hot again.

"I don't want a child," she hurried to add because it really had nothing to do with St. John and everything to do with herself. "And I'm not going to invite one into the world."

"I understand," he said solemnly.

Relief filled her, and she ducked her head and said softly, "But you may have my lips."

Then, because she really wasn't a coward, she looked him straight in the eyes and said, "And my hair and my feet and my hands."

She had never seen such a look on anyone's face before, and it should have frightened her, but it didn't. It made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"What about your shoulders?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

"Do you want them?" she replied.

"Yes."

She smiled and said, "Then you may have them. And if you want, you may hold me during the night."

"I want," he said.

"Good. Now kiss me, Victor, please."

The words had barely left her mouth before his lips were covering hers, and the world outside ceased to exist.

Janey did eventually bathe in the hot springs, and she did it alone. St. John built a fire for her, and after she was dressed, she sat beside it and let him brush her hair.

Then she let him kiss all the parts of her that she had told him he could have.

It was nearly dark by the time they made it back to the cave, but Two Stones and the others didn't say a word about how late it was or how mussed Janey's hair was.

The evening passed more easily than before, and she fell asleep in St. John's arms, her dream snatcher tucked beneath them. She didn't want to dream of anything when she was with him; she just wanted to be with him.

The next six days were like a fairy tale. Every day Janey and St. John went to the hot springs. She lay in his arms for hours on end asking him questions about his life, and everything he told her took shape in her mind until it was just as real as something she had actually seen.

She liked it best when he lost himself enough to laugh. It was the only time he seemed totally free of his chains.

Janey refused to think of what was going to happen when the week was over. It felt like a fairy tale, but she knew it wasn't. The fairies of her youth weren't going to materialize at the last second and free the souls clinging to St. John so that he didn't have to die. There was only one way this ended, and it wasn't happily ever after.

Janey hadn't counted the days; she couldn't bear to count them, but she knew it was their last afternoon together. She could tell by the way St. John was holding her.

At some point, he had given her his chest, and she was currently tracing her finger around the edges of one of his tattoos for strength. She had memorized its shape, and she could have traced it with her eyes shut, but she liked to look at him.

He really was very beautiful. She had never considered a man beautiful before, but she thought it about him.

She didn't feel his body tense, but she suddenly found herself beneath him, and he was staring down at her, eyes full of anguish.

"Jane, I…"

He trailed off, then abruptly spoke in a different language.

She didn't understand a word he said, but she could read his eyes, and she smiled up at him and lifted her hand to his cheek before saying gently, "You're much too old to still be so afraid. Don't be afraid," she told him. "I love you, Victor."

She had never said those words before, not like that, and her heart stuttered slightly as she did.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he stared at her, a whole range of emotions crossing his face.

"I wish I had a fraction of your bravery," he whispered, and then he kissed her.

It was a kiss of pure desperation. She could feel it, and she wanted to soothe him, but she simply didn't know how.

So she lost herself to giving him what she could, her lips and her neck and her shoulders.

Dusk was falling when St. John lifted her to her feet and straightened her shirt for her.

"Come," he said, tone flat with despair.

She followed him without a word, but her stomach was twisting into knots.

Their week was over, and there was nothing she could do to bring it back. If she didn't return, Admetos might actually leave to find her, and then she wouldn't be able to protect St. John.

The only way forward was back.

The previous evenings had been filled with easy chatter. Two Stones and St. John had talked so much, in fact, that they seemed quite comfortable with each other. Tonight, however, a pall seemed to have fallen over them. No one spoke, St. John brooded, and Janey forced herself to eat.

When she was done eating, she went outside and looked up into the clear night sky.

"I'm Hawk," she whispered. "I have wings. I can fly. And I can do this."

She wasn't talking about Admetos. She had no fear about Admetos, not really. She had been chosen to kill him, and she would. It was as simple as that.

She was worried because her heart was trying to break, and she couldn't let it. She had to be strong.

She had been right after all. Letting St. John touch her had made her weak, just not in the way she had expected it to. She was consumed with worry and fear, and she had never felt this way before, not even when she had known that Mohkave and his people were going to die.

They had chosen their path, and they were assured of their welcome among their ancestors. What assurances did St. John have? None.

"I am Hawk," Janey ground out.

She didn't care about seeing the truth right now; she just needed to be strong.

She slipped her hand around Saint Killer's handle and whispered, "Roaring Waters, this is it. Come stand with me. Loan me your strength, and we'll finish this together. We'll finish your revenge together."

The wind shifted in the trees around her, and she turned her face towards it.

Once the wind had died down, Janey said firmly, "Ana, you called me. You asked me to do this. Help me. Blind Admetos to the truth. Let his greed guide him, as it always has."

At that exact moment a star shot across the sky leaving behind a blazing trail of white.

"Mother," Janey said. "I'm doing this for you. I'm giving your souls back to you. You're asking more of me than I think you know, but I will not stay my hand. I will do what is necessary."

Pain tore through her at the thought, but she didn't allow it to weaken her resolve.

"I only ask one thing of you. Be kind to Victor."

A different breeze twisted itself around Janey, and she felt there was an air of promise to it.

Just then St. John wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, "I need you."

There was an edge to his voice, and she knew what it was. It was fear.

She turned in his arms and kissed him, not protesting when he lifted her and carried her back inside the cave. He laid her down on their blankets, and his lips devoured hers. She met him with equal intensity, pretending that this was the only moment that mattered, that there were no other moments.

Janey fell asleep wrapped in St. John's arms, and when she woke, she wanted to weep, but she didn't. She merely kissed St. John lightly and stood to take her place at the cave's entrance beside Wolf Heart.

They stood in silence for a moment, then Wolf Heart reached out and took her hand, and Janey grasped it tightly.

"Don't leave me," she pleaded. "I don't want to be alone."

"You're never alone," Wolf Heart replied. "I wasn't tired anyway. Every time I close my eyes, the wétiko is eating your face."

"Wolf Heart!"

"It's terrifying," he said, laughing softly.

"I'm going to kick you later," she grumbled. "When you're not paying attention."

"I'm shaking in fear," Wolf Heart said. "Your feet are so large and intimidating."

"Hush, you," Janey snorted.

Wolf Heart laughed and said, "Only because Two Stones is trying to sleep, not because you told me to."

They fell into silence, and Janey kept her eyes and mind trained on the woods beyond the cave mouth. Wolf Heart didn't leave her side, and they stood hand in hand until the sun began to rise, at which point, Brings the Rain joined them and held Janey's other hand while he sang his song of morning.

When Brings the Rain's voice finally echoed to an end, Janey turned to find that Helly was already saddled and ready to go.

She cast Two Stones a grateful look, but he shook his head and gestured towards St. John.

St. John's beautiful face looked absolutely flat and emotionless, so much so that he almost seemed a different man.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded sharply.

Janey led Helly from the cave and did her best to ignore the ache in her chest. Their week was indeed over.     

Chapter 19

They had ridden for a few hours across the frozen landscape when Two Stones said, "There's a cabin up ahead. Five men. All creeps."

Janey was more than ready. She was brimming with anger and frustration. She wasn't mad at St. John. She understood him too well to be mad at him. She was mad at life. And she wasn't above taking out her anger on a handful of creeps.

Two Stones pulled his horse to a halt and said, "Just through the bushes."

"I'm going to make it a little messy," Janey said as she dismounted. "After all, I can't imagine a fight with Pecos being all that easy."

Two Stones and the others made no move to join her, and St. John said, "You're letting her go on her own?"

"Letting her?" Wolf Heart exclaimed, and then he burst out laughing.

"Why don't you just let them know we're here?" Janey snapped as she tossed her coat up onto the saddle and yanked Saint Killer free. Then she strode through the bushes and out into the clearing on the other side.

"Here, creepy, creepy, creepies!" she called out.

A man poked his head out of the derelict stable and said, "Who the hell are you?"

"Janey," Janey replied easily. "Janey Falke."

"Bit daft in the head are you?" the man laughed as he walked towards her.

His intention was obvious, and Janey was glad. It was going to make it that much easier to kill him.

She waited until he reached for her, and then she sliced through his wrist as if it was nothing. As he howled in pain, she leaped behind him, grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back before slicing Saint Killer across his throat.

Warm blood splashed across her face, steaming in the cold as it did.

Since her hand was already holding his hair, Janey sliced it off and tossed it onto the ground behind her before smiling widely at the other four men who had just surrounded her.

"Whaja do that fer?" one of the men demanded.   

"Because I wanted to," Janey shrugged. "And also because you're all creeps. Both the spirits and my neck hairs say so, and my neck hairs are never wrong."

"You're gonna regret this, girl," another of them snarled just before he leaped at her.

She had seen him moving before he had even started moving, and she reached him before he reached her. She shoved Saint Killer into his belly, then twisted it viciously before yanking it from his gut. The man began to crumple, and Janey slammed her elbow into his face as he fell.

Not wanting to risk the same end, the final three men rushed her all at once; but she was much, much faster than they could ever hope to be.

Janey dashed forward, Saint Killer singing in her hands, and sliced the first man's throat. Then she spun around and thrust Saint Killer through the side of the second man's neck.

The third man was scrambling towards the cabin when she turned his way, and she dashed after him and plunged Saint Killer into his back.

She yanked Saint Killer free as the man dropped to the ground, and then she quickly scalped him before scalping the other three men. The one she had stabbed in the stomach was still alive, and after she had scalped him, she sliced open his neck.

Creeps handled, Janey cast a quick and irritated glance around the yard. The entire place was filthy, and it reminded her of Pa. There were piles of feces just beyond the house, there were cans littered around the yard, and the animals she could see were thin and ragged looking. She wasn't sure what these men had done to make the spirit's creep list, but she would have killed them on sight anyway. If only because they hadn't been interested in killing her at all.

"Bunch of Old Man Finnegan's," she muttered as she began to clean the flesh off of her scalps.

She heard the others approach, but she didn't look up. Only when she was finished, did she seek out St. John and say, "Which one?"

St. John didn't respond. He was staring at her, eyes full of hunger, but this time his hunger had a dangerous edge to it.

"You should wash," he managed to say.

"Why?"

His hands were clenched at his side, and it suddenly occurred to her that he wanted her. Like this. Covered in blood and reeking of death.

Something in her eyes must have changed because he stepped towards her with a growl and said, "You play a dangerous game, Jane."

She liked playing dangerous games. And she liked killing. And she liked that watching her kill had made his eyes look like that. 

Before she could figure out how to tempt him, he was kissing her, and she could taste the blood on her lips.

It had only been a few hours; but she had missed him, and she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed her body against his.

Someone coughed, and St. John pulled away from her regretfully.

"My huntress," he whispered as he stared down at her, eyes blazing.

Then he stepped back and cast a quick glance over the bodies before pointing towards the one with the oozing belly. 

"That one," he said. "Heart, eyes, tongue, kidneys, liver, and…" His face blanked, and he said flatly, "His man parts."

"What?" Janey said, certain she had misheard him.

"His…"

St. John gestured, and Janey shook her head and said, "Absolutely not."

"Father will want it," St. John insisted.

"That's disgusting," Janey declared. "I'll get the normal parts, but I'm not touching that."

She laid down a sheet of leather beside the cooling body and started cutting. She had helped butcher enough animals that she wasn't even all that bothered. It took more effort than she would have liked, but she soon had everything St. John had asked for. Everything except for the man parts.

"What will he eat first?" Janey asked, although she was pretty certain she already knew.

"The heart," St. John replied.

Just as she had suspected.

"I'll dose it, you handle the other bit," Janey said.

She went over to the edge of the muddy yard and washed her hands with snow, practically stripping the skin from her arms in order to get the blood off of her. She would leave the rest of it because she wanted Admetos to think she had struggled, but she wasn't going to walk around with gore all over her hands for the rest of the day.

When she was clean, she went back to the organs and removed the poison from the fold inside of her boot.

"Guide me, Mother," Janey whispered as she uncapped the small vial.

She knew that even a strong whiff of the poison might be enough to kill a normal man, but it would take the entire vial to kill Admetos. That was why she wasn't going to spread it about; she was going to put it all on the heart.

She checked her hands for cuts, and when she didn't see any, she started working. Sweat rolled down her back as she carefully applied the poison to the outside of the heart. Then she sprinkled the poison inside the ragged little tubes coming out of the heart. She worked carefully, using a piece of smooth bark to rub the poison into the surface, and when she had used every last particle of poison, she held the heart up to the light and studied it. It looked just like a heart.

"It's no good," St. John said.

His voice was defeated and relieved all at once.

"Why not?" Janey demanded.

"I can smell the poison," St. John said. "And if I can smell it, so will Father."

"I'll cover it up with my blood," Janey stated.

"That won't work either," St. John said. "He can smell you, and he'll know it's your blood."

Janey rolled her eyes and said, "Then what do you suggest?"

"Use my blood," Wolf Heart offered.

St. John turned an inquiring gaze Wolf Heart's way, but then his eyes shifted to Brings the Rain, and he said, "Your blood."

"What?" Janey said.

"Brings the Rain. His blood might do."

"Why his?" Janey inquired.

"He's more powerful than the other two," St. John said frankly.

"Brings the Rain?" Janey demanded.

"Yes. Can't you tell?"

"No," she spat. "I can't."

She glared at Brings the Rain, suddenly feeling irritated again.

"I am happy to offer my blood," Brings the Rain said.

He smiled serenely at Janey, but she didn't return it. She was annoyed.

"You'll need to bleed on all of the organs," St. John told him. "So they all smell the same."

Brings the Rain nodded before pulling a long, skinny knife from his belt and making a large cut across his forearm. He held the cut over the heart, and Janey carefully used the bark to rub his blood into the surface of the flesh. Then she turned the heart so that some of the blood would fall inside of it.

"I can still smell the poison," St. John said. "But less now, and I know it is poison; Father will not. We will simply have to trust his greed."

His tone was rather despondent, and Janey knew that he wasn't convinced this was going work. She didn't know how to assure him; but she knew that no matter what happened, today Admetos was going to die.

Janey carefully wrapped the heart in a scrap of leather, and by the time she was done, the remaining organs had been scented with Brings the Rain's blood as well. Janey rolled up all of the organs in the leather sheet, and then she tucked the bundle into her saddlebag.

"Brings the Rain," St. John said. "Splash some of your blood on Jane."

Janey shot him a questioning look, but she didn't argue, just stood still as Brings the Rain cut himself once more. He seemed to understand St. John's request better than she did, because he took the blood on his hand and smeared it over Janey's face and clothing.

"One more thing," St. John said when Brings the Rain was finished.

"What now?" Janey growled.

She still had five bodies to bury, and she was ready to be done with this.

"You didn't bleed," St. John said.

"I don't… Explain," she sighed.

"None of this blood is yours."

Now she understood, and she said "that's an easy fix" and drew Saint Killer.   

"Stop!" St. John exclaimed, grabbing her hand.

"What?" Janey snapped.

"Wash yourself first," he said, tone pleading.

"Why?"

"In case there's poison on your skin," he explained.

"Oh," she muttered, feeling a little foolish she hadn't thought of that herself.

She went to clean her arms again, and once she was done, she pulled Saint Killer and made several small cuts on her arms, one on her face, and one on her neck. When she was finished, she cleaned Saint Killer and put it away before returning to the others.

With a growl of irritation, Janey retrieved the shovel from behind her saddle and slammed it into the ground. It bounced so hard her teeth rattled.

"Of course," she muttered. "It had to be winter."

"What are you doing?" St. John asked.

"Trying to bury the damn bodies," Janey snarled.

"Why?"

"Because I scalped them and rather mutilated one, and the last thing I want is for some idiotic white man to find them and assume a tribe of Indians did it."

"Do you always bury the bodies?" he asked curiously.

"If I scalp them."

"That's why you didn't scalp the men on the train," he stated.

"Would you just shut up and help me?" she growled.

He smiled in that way he had when he was pleased, and Janey was so overjoyed to see it that she almost smiled back. She remembered herself at the last second and scowled instead.

His smile widened, and he said, "Say it, and I'll help you."

Now she did smile. Because for just a second she was standing outside of his house with him and Admetos was nowhere to be seen.

"Victor," she said softly. "Please help me."

His face relaxed; and for an instant, everything was fine again. But only for an instant.

"Put the bodies in the house," he replied. "I'll take care of the rest."

She dropped the shovel and started dragging one of the bodies instead. Two Stones and the others helped her, and when they were done, St. John simply looked at the house and it was burning.

It didn't start to burn. One second it wasn't on fire, and the next second it was in full blaze.

Janey couldn't help watching it burn, and she knew that when the flames died out, just like the wagon train, there would be nothing left. St John's fire wasn't like normal fire. It didn't leave anything behind, and she wished he could use it to cleanse the earth of the taint of modernity.

Two Stones tapped her arm, and she knew it was time. Wolf Heart had already freed the animals; the bodies were taken care of; the heart was fresh; and the poison was laid.

Janey took a deep breath, allowed her shoulders to relax, met St. John's eyes, and said, "I'm ready."

"If only I was," he replied.

And then he mounted his horse and started riding.

"You can't follow us too closely," Janey said as she watched St. John's form move away.

"We know," Two Stones said.

"I don't suppose the spirits have shared any wisdom," Janey inquired.

"They are silent."

They usually were when she felt like she needed them the most.

"We are with you," Two Stones said.

"I know," she whispered. "But who's with him?"

"You."

If only that were true.

Without looking at any of them, Janey mounted Helly and urged her to run as swiftly as possible.

Soon she was riding beside St. John, the wind whipping her hair behind her and wresting tears from her eyes.

They rode without pausing, and it wasn't long before Janey began to feel the oppressiveness of Admetos's fortress once more.

She had been aware of St. John the entire ride, and she had felt him pulling away from her. By the time they stopped just outside of the gates, she would have sworn he felt nothing for her at all, except she knew better.

He was trying to protect her from Admetos, and she was glad that he was because she needed Admetos focused on her and on her only. She needed to distract Admetos just enough so that his greed overruled his suspicion.

The gates opened; and as before, Janey and St. John rode into the plaza and dismounted. She had already told Two Stones how many guards there were, and she knew they would handle them, so she put them out of her mind.

"My brothers are here," St. John said.

His tone was flat, and there was no emotion in it.

Janey didn't reply, just retrieved the packet of organs from her bag, and followed St. John into the garden.

It was growing late in the afternoon, and already a chill had taken hold of everything, but Admetos didn't seem to feel the chill. He was pacing the garden, suit coat immaculately pressed, and he turned with a snarl when they entered.

"At last," he spat. "And where is my prize?"

"Forgive me, my lord," Janey said as she threw herself onto the ground. "Pecos proved to be too strong for me. I could not subdue him as you asked. I was forced to kill him. But I did bring you his heart, my lord. Please forgive me."

Janey knew that Admetos was near her, and she told Hawk to hold steady. This was not the moment to play predator; this was the moment to play prey.

She gasped when he grabbed her hair and yanked her from the ground, and she made her eyes say exactly what he wanted them to say. She made them scream fear.

"Victor," Admetos snarled, although his wicked eyes never left Janey's face. "Can you perhaps explain to me why my sons are here at my apparent request?"

"I cannot, Father."

"Did you receive a telegram requesting your presence?" Admetos demanded.

"I do not know," St. John said abjectly. "I've been out with the witch."

"And you have brought me the strong man's heart?"

"Yes, Father."

"Have you touched the woman?"

"No, Father. She is yours."

Janey had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling because she suddenly understood how St. John was managing to lie. He wasn't lying at all. Admetos's questions simply weren't specific enough, and they allowed St. John far too much wiggle room. Admetos had grown lazy in his power, but St. John had never stopped trying to defy him, and in his own way he had.

"Leave us," Admetos ordered. "And get rid of your brothers."

"Yes, Father," St. John said.

Janey heard the thread of desperation in his voice, but Admetos didn't seem to notice.

As soon as St. John was gone, Admetos moved Janey closer to him and sniffed her. He was absolutely repulsive, but Janey reminded herself that she wanted him to think she adored him, and she allowed some of the fear to fade and replaced it with awe.

"What do you smell, my lord?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"Power," he purred.

He brought her even closer, and she steeled herself for what she knew was coming next. He licked her face, his long tongue scraping over her skin, and then he kissed her roughly before dropping her to the ground and saying, "Give me the heart."

Janey was fighting not to gag, and she kept her head bowed as she crawled over to the package she had laid upon the ground. She unrolled the contents so that Admetos could see all of the organs, then she carefully picked up the heart and held it out to him.

"My lord," she whispered.

She had planned to spout off something ridiculous about his godhood, but she couldn't get the words out. All she cared about at this point was that he ate the damn heart.

Admetos snatched the heart from Janey's hands and hurriedly unwrapped it. She knew immediately she hadn't fooled him. His eyes narrowed, and he studied the heart with something more than greed. Suspicion.

Her heart began to pound. She wasn't worried about herself. Admetos had touched her as much as he would ever. She was worried about St. John.

No one had ever protected St. John. Not his father, not his mother, not the mother. But Janey wasn't going to let this monster hurt him, not anymore.

She brushed her fingers over Hawk's mark. She would tear Admetos to pieces if she had to, and she would eat his heart herself just to keep anyone else from doing it.

She braced herself, knowing that she would have to move faster than she ever had, but Hawk's eyes suddenly shifted, and Janey could see the spirits gathering behind Admetos.

They were no longer weeping; they were whispering, and she could hear them.

"Power," they whispered. "Such power."

Their voices were like a chant, and although Janey knew Admetos was oblivious to their presence, their energy seemed to affect him. The suspicion in his eyes began to fade, replaced with a dark yearning.

He licked his lips and said, "I can almost taste it."

Ana's spirit stepped past the others, and she put her hand on Admetos's arm.

"Power," she whispered. "So much power. With this power, you can finally rule. As you were meant to."

Admetos's eyes were shining now. Shining with such absolute greed that it made Janey sick to see it.

"Power," the spirits continued to chant. "So much power. Take it, Admetos. Take it."

"Can't you smell it?" Ana whispered. "It's your destiny."

"Yes," Admetos sighed. "Yes."

He raised the heart to his lips, sunk his teeth into it, and tore off a bite. Blood spewed across his face and splattered onto his white shirt. Pleasure filled his eyes, and he licked the heart happily before taking another bite.

Janey watched in rapt horror, unable to look away.

Brings the Rain's blood truly was something because Admetos actually grew taller and his eyes glowed with an inner light so wicked that she could barely stand to look at him.

The spirits kept chanting the word "power" over and over and over, egging Admetos on and on; and before Janey knew it, the heart was gone and Admetos was licking his fingers with delight.

"That was resplendent," Admetos sighed. "I can't remember the last time I ate something so good. Give me the liver."

Janey was reeling. Was he truly so strong that the poison had no affect on him? Had the mother been wrong?

"Woman!" he shouted. "The liver!"

His voice was like thunder, and Janey's flinch of surprise wasn't faked. She scrambled to get him the liver, certain she had better wait to attack him until he was distracted once more.

When she offered it to him, he snatched it from her hands, and there was no pause this time; he simply devoured it with such absolute disregard that Janey wanted to vomit.

"The kidneys!" he shouted.

She had lost her chance again. She had to focus this time. She had to kill him now. Before he called St. John back to him.

She handed him the kidneys, and then she rubbed her finger over Hawk's mark.

"I need you, Hawk," she whispered. "I need you now. Roaring Waters, I need you."

Her heart was pounding; and for the first time, she was scared. She had trusted the mother implicitly. It had never occurred to her that the mother might be wrong.

She felt the power of Hawk building inside of her. She didn't know exactly what that meant, but she trusted Hawk. He was with her, and he would help her, always.

With a sharp breath, Janey drew Saint Killer and launched herself at Admetos, moving with such speed that he didn't even notice, not until Saint Killer had sliced through his blood-smeared neck.

"Pathetic," Admetos sneered, swatting her away from him as if she was nothing more than a fly.

Janey tumbled across the garden, but she managed to land on her feet. Admetos was already moving towards her, a greedy wicked gleam in his black eyes, and Janey snarled as she gripped Saint Killer tightly and readied herself to gouge out his nasty eyes.

Heat began to build in her body, and Saint Killer suddenly dropped from her fingers as her hands were swathed in wings of pure light. Her mouth opened in surprise, and Hawk's cry tore from it. Once more, the spirit of Hawk was upon her.

Fury spewed from her mouth as she flung herself at Admetos, her talons slashing like a thousand knives. Her talons ripped through Admetos's flesh, but just as soon as his flesh tore free, it regrew.

Admetos tried to grab her, but her wings pulled her back just in time. His hand clamped around her leg, but she kicked free with her other leg, taking some of his flesh as she did. She pecked at his eyes, but this time, he was too fast for her and thrust her away.

Admetos was snarling with rage now, and Janey was floating just above the ground, trying to figure out how to remove his head. She had just settled on a plan when Admetos rushed towards her. She flew into the air, deliberately slow; and Admetos leapt up and grabbed her leg. She immediately yanked him upwards, then drove her talons into his neck.

Admetos clawed frantically at her, but his power was nothing compared to hers. She tightened her grip on him and flew even higher.

Curses were bubbling from his lips, but nothing he did could touch her. She was Hawk. She was Janey Falke. She was woman. And she had marked Admetos for death.

Admetos suddenly began to scream, and the sound of it was horrible. It rolled through the sky like the crackling of lightning; and down below, the doors burst open and several men rushed into the garden.

Janey surveyed them, relieved to see that St. John was not among them. Admetos was only screaming, after all; he hadn't issued any orders. Not yet.

She tightened her hold on Admetos's bloody neck. Since the poison hadn't worked, her entire plan was ruined. She had to get away from Admetos's sons before she could kill him. She didn't dare leave any of Admetos's body behind to feed them.

The men were arguing amongst themselves, but then one of them drew a gun and fired towards Janey. The bullets tore through Janey's wings, but she didn't even feel them. She was a being of pure power; bullets meant nothing to her.

Just then she realized that Admetos had stopped screaming and was now convulsing in her grip. She could feel his pain, and she knew that it had nothing to do with the talons in his neck.

The mother hadn't been wrong after all. Admetos was finally dying. He was dying, and all the souls tied to him would be free. It had been more than five thousand years coming, but the earth was finally going to be free of his taint, of his sickness, of his greed.

"How does it feel to know a woman killed you?" she demanded.

She knew he heard her because his head twisted slightly upwards, and she tightened her grip once more.

"Die, you creep," she ordered. "Die."

Whether it was because she had told him to or because the poison had finally run its course, she didn't know, but at that exact moment, she felt Admetos's spirit tear from his body. It was howling angrily, but it didn't howl for long because, as Janey watched a different spirit, a massive winged spirit with a thousand sharp teeth, emerged from a rift in the sky, snatched up Admetos's screaming spirit in its jaws, and carried him away.

A sudden clamoring below arrested Janey's attention, and she looked down to see the men in the garden yelling and shouting. A few of them had even climbed up onto the roof of the house and were trying to reach her from there.

Her awareness shifted once more. St. John was in the garden now; she could feel him. She turned, looking for him, and then she saw him standing in the doorway, staring up at her, a look of complete and total awe on his face.

The strangest sense of satisfaction mixed with torment swept through her. She had saved him. And now she was going to kill him.

She kept her eyes on St. John as she opened her talons and released Admetos's body. The body crashed into the garden below, and silence suddenly fell.

For a second.

St. John's eyes never left Janey's as his brothers abandoned their efforts to kill her and scrambled after Admetos's body.

She could hear them arguing, but she was done with them. Their father would care for them just as he always had. With poison and hatred.

She only had eyes for St. John now.

She alighted in the garden right in front of him, shuddering as she felt Hawk withdraw from her. For just a second she felt cold, but then St. John's arms were around her.

"You did it," he whispered against her hair.

"Did you ever doubt?" she retorted.

"I've never felt like this," he said. "I fought against his control, but he was too strong for me. I… I never broke free."

She placed her hand on his face, mourning for him, mourning for that laughing child he had once been. He was like the genie in the bottle from one of his Arabian Nights. Always chained to the will of someone else. But not anymore. For the first time in his life, Victor St. John was free.

Chapter 20

Janey didn't know how long they stood there in that sheltered archway, hidden from the world, just holding onto each other.

The clamor behind them eventually died down, and dusk began to fall. Everything was quiet and cold, and Janey felt the shift in St. John before he spoke.

"Father is dead; my brothers are dead, and most of their sons. You were right. Their greed is what killed them."

He laid his forehead against hers and sighed heavily. "I once thought you would grow strong enough to match me, but now I see how foolish I was. I could never dream of matching you," he said as he feathered his hand over her cheek and into her hair.

"I've always been a coward, and you're so brave. Loan me some of your bravery, Jane."

Fear started to uncoil inside of her. She didn't want it to end like this. Couldn't he have a day to be free? Or even two? A week. Couldn't he have a week?

"In all my life, I've never wanted to live as much as I do right now," he whispered.

He pulled away from her enough to look into her eyes, and Janey couldn't look away from him. His eyes were fathomless pools, and she was terrified of what he was going to say next.

"I love you, Jane Falke," he said softly.

His hand tightened, and he lowered his head and kissed her. It wasn't just a brush of the lips; it was a kiss full of yearning and need; and Janey clung to him, both fear and desire crashing through her.

He suddenly pulled away from her and took a step back.

"I love you," he said firmly. "But understand, I don't do this for you; I do it for me. To prove that I was ever worthy of you."

And then he turned from her and started walking towards the scattered remnants of Admetos.

As soon as she realized what he was doing, she started to run after him. It was Wolf Heart who held her back. It was Brings the Rain who covered her mouth so she couldn't beg St. John to stop. And it was Two Stones who covered her eyes so she didn't have to watch St. John pick up the poisoned flesh and eat it.

She fought them fiercely, anger and fear giving her strength to slay a thousand men, but not enough to break her brothers' hold.

"It is done," Two Stones finally whispered in her ear. "It is done."

Janey was suddenly free, and she raced across the bloody stones and grabbed St. John's hand. He smiled at her, but he was swaying slightly, and she knew the poison was already eating away at him.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage and cry and shriek, but she couldn't. This was the final act of Victor St. John, and it was the most honorable thing he had ever done. 

She had to honor him. She had to. She would weep for him when he was dead.

"Sit," she urged, and she lowered him to the ground and laid his head on her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, "Victor. I love you, Victor. I'll always love you."

She pressed her forehead against his, and she felt the tears start to come, but she forced them back.

"I was happiest when I was with you," he said.

His words were slurred, and she knew he didn't have long.

"I'll remember you, Victor," she promised him. "Always. I'll always remember you."

And so he would die without sorrow, she grasped his face with her hands and began to remember all the moments they had shared together.

They stood on the roof and studied the stars. They ate breakfast. He read to her. He sat by her side while she slept. They fought, and he always won. He held her hand in the garden. He told her how beautiful she was, and she showed him in the only way she knew how exactly how much she felt for him.

And then they were standing out in the wilderness, and he kissed her. She remembered how free she had felt. She remembered soaring off the cliff. She gave him everything she could; she took everything he offered. And then he was telling her that he loved her, and the moment he finished speaking, she felt him die in her arms.

A wail tried to break free, but she simply couldn't cry. Not yet. If she started crying now, she would never stop.

A hand touched her cheek, and she looked up from St. John's dead face into his beautiful eyes. Never had his eyes been so free of pain and anguish. Never had his face looked so young.

"Victor," she gasped.

His spirit was kneeling before her, and she could feel his hand; she could feel his breath.

"Sing him home," she whispered, heart breaking. "Sing him home. Sing them all home. Do it now!"

Brings the Rain's voice filled the air, and Hawk's eyes suddenly showed her the garden and all the spirits within. Hawk showed her them gathering together; he showed her them at peace.

But her heart was breaking too much to care about them, and she tore her eyes free and stared into St. John's eyes as Brings the Rain's song wrapped around him.

He was leaving her; she was losing him.

She stopped herself from trying to grab him, and she leaned against his hand instead and closed her eyes.

"I love you, Victor," she whispered.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

A sob tried to break free, but she didn't allow it. She still had work to do. Without looking down, she lowered St. John's head to the ground and stood.

She had done what she set out to do. She had killed the saints. Now she would scalp them so that Roaring Waters could be free.

Janey crossed the garden, picking up Saint Killer as she did, sharp eyes looking for Admetos. When she located him, she lifted his mangled head by the hair and sliced his hair free. She knew hell wasn't real, but she couldn't help hoping that the spirit who had taken Admetos would toss him into a lake of fire somewhere and let him burn.

Janey tossed Admetos's scalp to the side and moved quickly around the garden, scalping each and every head, except for St. John's. She already had his scalp, and she wouldn't take it again.

When she was finished scalping the saints, she found a bag and stuffed the scalps inside so she could clean them later.

Her work was nearly finished, and she turned to survey the garden, sob bubbling free when she saw St. John's still form on the ground.

Once more, she forced the tears aside.

"Bring Victor," she told Wolf Heart.

And then she left the garden. The souls had been returned to the mother. The saints were dead and scalped. She had fulfilled her oath to both the mother and Roaring Waters. She was done.

Janey's legs tried to fail her, but she kept walking. She couldn't be near Admetos's house anymore. She needed to breathe. 

She was so hollow inside that it hurt. She wanted to fall onto St. John's body and die with him. She wanted to scream at the mother to give him back. She wanted to do anything but feel like this.

When she had walked as far as she could, she halted and said, "How do you send your people home?" 

"We lay them in the trees," Brings the Rain replied.

"Do it," she whispered. "Please."

She sat on the ground beside St. John and held his cold hand while the others began to build a platform out of small tree limbs. When it was finished, she watched them pick a tree and climb up it to fasten the platform into place.

She knew from the visions she had seen that they would have never chosen a pine tree for one of their own. They had chosen a pine tree for her, and they had fastened the platform all the way up at the top. For her.

When they came to get the body though, she couldn't let go, and it was Brings the Rain who peeled her hands free and held her to him.

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Her mouth opened, and she began to wail. 

She wept and wept and wept, sobbing so hard that her body could hardly keep up. The only thing that kept her from breaking apart entirely was Brings the Rain's voice. He anchored her, and although she could feel nothing but grief, he kept her from giving herself over to it so completely that she couldn't find her way back.

When she didn't have the energy to cry anymore, she turned in Brings the Rain's arms and curled up against his chest. She couldn't stand to be alone. She couldn't stand to let the cold touch her.

Darkness reached her, and she welcomed it. There were no voices, no memories, no spirits, no St. John. The darkness was empty, and she both loved it and hated it.

She couldn't comprehend how she had done something as stupid as fall in love with a man she knew was going to die. It hadn't made her weak at the time, but she was sure as hell weak now. She was shattered and broken, and she didn't know how she could ever be whole again.

When she had given him her lips, she had given him her heart as well, and he had taken it with him when he died.

She was sobbing in her sleep; she knew she was because Brings the Rain was soothing her again.

"I don't want to feel this way," she cried. "I don't want to feel anything! Can't you make it stop?!"

"No," Brings the Rain said gently. "You must go through it. Grief is a raging river. If you fight it until you are exhausted, it will pull you under and you'll be lost. You must give yourself over to it. It seems endless, but you will soon find yourself on the other side."

She didn't believe him. The pain was too much, and she was certain she would never survive it. But she had to believe him. Brings the Rain had lost so much more than she had. If he could still smile, she could learn to smile too. But not today. Today she was weeping.

There came a point when Janey physically couldn't cry anymore. She was exhausted and spent. Her entire body ached. Her heart ached, and it pained her to know that St. John would never look at her again, would never touch her again, would never say her name again.

But she was alive, and she wasn't done, and she couldn't stop. Not yet.

Her mind was muddled and slow, but she had remembered something St. John had said; and, with a tight exhale, she sat up and moved away from Brings the Rain.

She curled in on herself and said, voice cracking, "Has someone been watching the house?"

"Yes."

"Has anyone come?"

"Two."

"Did you kill them?"

"Yes."

"And scalp them?"

"No," Two Stones said. "You will have to do that."

She nodded and stood.

"Let's go then."

"Janey—"

"I'm not done yet," she said, interrupting him. "I will sit outside that house until every saint is dead. Will you ask the spirits how many are left?"

"Ten," Two Stones replied.

"Then let's go greet them," Janey said.

She wasn't particularly in the mood to kill, but she had to finish this once and for all. Otherwise, she would never be free, and she couldn't stand the idea of living her life chained to Roaring Waters.

She didn't look up at the tree when she passed it. She could feel St. John's body up there, being kissed by the breeze; and she hated that she was so aware of him, even in death.

She could feel his breath on her skin. She could feel his hand on hers. She could feel his eyes on her. But it was all just a memory. It wasn't real. Not anymore.

Admetos's house was just as overwhelming as the first time Janey had seen it, but the oppressive air had lifted. It was still tainted, but she was too numb to care.

She sat beside the front gate and began cleaning her scalps.

It was late afternoon when Two Stones said, "Two saints are approaching."

"Let's find out if bullets will kill them," Janey said.

She stood and drew her gun, and when the men rode into view, she shot them both in the head.

There was a moment when everything seemed to freeze, but then they both slumped and fell off their horses.

"How disappointing," Janey muttered.

She caught the horses and cut the saddles loose before slapping the horses on their flanks and yelling at them to go.

She scalped the two men and returned to her spot, not caring what happened to the bodies, and only vaguely noticing when Two Stones and Wolf Heart carried the dead men inside. They carried out two different men, and she stood long enough to scalp them before slumping back to the ground.

She ate when they gave her food, and she drank when they gave her water, but that was the most effort she could make except for cleaning her pile of scalps.

Several days passed, and Janey only moved to kill and clean her scalps. She had just finished cleaning the last scalp when Two Stones said, "The final saint is coming."

"Good," Janey said.

The other saints had been easy to kill. She had shot them all, and Wolf Heart had only had to intervene once to kill a man who didn't seem to want to die. She was certain this last one would be no trouble at all.

Janey stood, weak from lack of sleep and exhausted from her endless grief. When the final man rode into sight, she barely had the strength to lift her gun, but she did, and she shot him in the head. Blood blossomed on his forehead, and then he died.

She found it rather anticlimactic. She had somehow expected this last one to put up a fight, and she couldn't believe it was over just like that. She had devoted four years of her life to hunting down the saints, and now it was done. They were dead, and she was empty.

She scalped him, and the others moved the body. She refused to go inside the walls. She refused to see the place where St. John had died. She refused.

Two Stones had assured her that they had handled Admetos's guards, servants, and animals. And now all of the saints were dead, so the only thing left to do was destroy Admetos's stupid house. Only she couldn't because it was made of solid stone.

"How the hell are we going to get rid of that damn monstrosity?" Janey growled as they stood looking up at it.

"I will do it," Brings the Rain said.

Janey cast him a sideways glance. She was too tired to be angry at him for keeping secrets from her. If he could destroy the house, she wanted him to.

"Do it," she said. "Please," she added.

Brings the Rain smiled at her, but she couldn't smile back. Not yet. She was still too empty to smile.

Brings the Rain began to sing, only this time the song was different. It spoke of thunder and giants. It spoke of the earth shaking and turning everything in its path to rubble. And as Janey watched, his words surrounded Admetos's castle and brought it down. The rocks crumbled, the roofs cracked, and the walls collapsed into dust.

He sung and sung, and when he finished, there was nothing left but a dusty heap of debris.

"Hell and damnation," Janey whispered, awed in spite of her state. "How did…"

She didn't bother finishing the question because she knew what the answer would be. He just did. Just like she turned Hawk. There was no understanding it.

The oppressive nature of the air seemed to fade as the dust settled, and Janey felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Admetos, one of the first men to walk the earth, one of the only men to hear the mother's voice, the first man to turn to greed and envy, was dead. For over five thousand years he had tormented those weaker than himself, and for five thousand years he had thought he was untouchable.

Admetos had been wrong. She had his scalp to prove it. And now what little was left of his body was buried under a massive heap of stone.

"Let's go," Janey said as she walked over to Helly.

With a grunt, she tossed her scalp belt over the back of Helly's saddle. There were so many scalps now that she could barely lift them on her own, and she was ready to be rid of them.

The saints were dead; the house was gone; she wasn't staying here another minute.

There was a part of her that didn't want to leave St. John's body behind, but it was just an empty shell, and she knew that. She had seen his spirit, and she knew he was gone. She had loved the shell, but only because the spirit had been inside. Without St. John's spirit, it was nothing. And she already had nothing; she didn't need more of it.

Janey would have ridden for days just to be as far away from Admetos and St. John as possible, but they only rode until the sun was gone. Then Two Stones found a sheltered place, and they made camp. No one asked her to do anything, and she didn't offer.

The only thing moving her forward was the need to fulfill her oath and be done with it.

She cared for Helly and St. John's horses, and then she took the scalp belt over to the fire and sat down, cross-legged, the scalps in her lap.

She hadn't slept in days. She was scared to sleep. She was scared that if she slept, she would like it so much better than reality that she would just stay there forever, St. John's arms keeping her warm.

In less than a month, she had lost her people and her love, and she was scared to go on. She had so little left, but it was by far the most precious to her.

Her brothers needed her to go on though. They needed her to live. She couldn't leave them, not for death and not for memories; and she wouldn't. She had promised to stay with them, and she was a white woman who kept her promises. 

It was easy to say that when she was awake and everything was bleak and broken, but she wasn't sure how firm her resolve would be when she entered the world of memories. 

"Wake me for my watch," she said.

If they didn't wake her, she didn't trust that she would ever wake on her own.

After Wolf Heart had nodded solemnly, Janey tightened her hand around Saint Killer, closed her eyes, thought of Roaring Waters, and went to sleep.

When she opened her eyes again, she was still sitting beside the fire, scalps on her lap, but instead of Two Stones, Roaring Waters was sitting across from her.

"I finished your revenge," she said.

"I was with you," he replied.

She stood, held out the scalps to him, and said, "These are the scalps of your enemies. They are yours."

"You honor me," Roaring Waters said as he took the scalps from her. "And I am honored to call you my sister."

She nodded and said softly, "Brother."

"Thank you," he told her.

"You're free," she whispered. "Go. Be with your wife. Be with your father. Dance with your ancestors." She held out Saint Killer and said, "I'm finished with it."

"I don't think you are," he said. "Keep it. It's yours more than it was ever mine."

Roaring Waters began to walk away from her, the scalps of several hundred men resting on his shoulders, and Janey felt once more like she was losing something, but she didn't call him back. He had a place, and he was going there.

She suddenly woke. The others were sitting around the fire with her, watching her steadily, but there was no sign of the scalps; they were gone.

"It's done," she said, forcing a smile. "I made an oath, and I carried it through. Roaring Waters is free now. He's free."

They were all free, and they were floating away like butterflies on the breeze.

"Why don't we get to go with them?" she asked, voice breaking.

"Because we're not done," Two Stones said.

"Why can't we be done?" she whispered.

"Because we're not."

She laughed softly, but then she started crying again, and when Two Stones lifted her onto his lap, she didn't fight him.

She wasn't strong enough to keep going. She had been broken too many times; and this time, this time, she didn't have the strength to get back up.

Chapter 21

For days they rode through snow that seemed endless and bleak. The white never changed. There was no color, no sky, no stars, no spark of happiness. Everything was completely desolate, both the landscape and her heart.

Janey cared for the horses, she ate, and she slept. She did nothing she didn't have to do; she didn't even speak. She was too empty to speak, and what would she speak of?

Everything was gone. Their people were gone. There were no more dances for them, no more gatherings around the fire. St. John was gone. She would never again see the hunger in his eyes when he looked at her. And Admetos and the saints were gone. Her reason for living was gone.

She shook her head and tried to reason with herself. Little Janey's reason for living was gone. Little Janey had lived for revenge; she had lived to settle the score, to balance the evil that her family had done. And she had done that.

Janey, though, Janey Falke, Hawk, she wasn't done; and she knew that. She had more than enough to live for. She had her family; she had the mother; she had purpose. She knew she had a purpose. She just had to remember what it was.

More days passed, and they didn't go to the mountain to make arrows. She wondered why, but she knew the answer without asking. They hadn't prepared for winter. They hadn't cut grass for the horses, and they hadn't dried meat for themselves. The mountain was a haven, but only if they were prepared. If they went there now, it would be a grave.

But if they didn't go to the mountain, Janey didn't know what they were going to do. The winter was sharing her sorrow because the snow just kept coming and coming, and it was impossible to do much more than ride and hide.

Two Stones had found a cave the night before, and Janey was sitting as close to the entrance as possible. It was no where near as roomy as the cave they had shared with St. John, but it reminded her of him nonetheless. And it reminded her of how cold and lonely the nights were.

She didn't understand how her body could miss him so much. They had only had a week, but she felt as if that one week had imprinted on her for all time.

By some miracle, Janey heard Two Stones sit beside her, and she acknowledged him with a grunt.

"Spirits say winter will be cold and long," he said.

"Good," she muttered.

"Hard on horses."

She felt a whisper of regret. She was in pain, but she didn't want the horses to suffer.

"Just say what you want to say, Two Stones."

Even saying that much took more effort than she could afford.

"Near St. John's land. Might be best to winter there."

"No."

Two Stones didn't argue with her. He didn't say anything at all. He just hugged her shoulders gently before leaving her alone.

She wasn't even angry at him for asking. She wasn't angry at anything anymore. It took too much effort to be angry.

It was when she was staring out at the endless white, trying not to think of St. John that she realized she hadn't been dreaming, and yearning swept through her. She wanted to see him again. She needed to feel him again. And maybe, just maybe, if she tried hard enough she could pretend he wasn't dead.

She stood, legs a little shaky, and walked back inside the cave. She searched her saddlebag and withdrew her dream snatcher.

"Have you been using this on me?" she asked.

"Yes," Brings the Rain said.

"Don't," she ordered.

A look of sorrow passed over his face, and she knew she had put it there. She was grieving the loss of St. John, but they were grieving the loss of her. She had to be stronger than this. She had to be.

"But be sure to wake me for my watch," she stated.

Relief filled his eyes, and she tried to smile, but found she couldn't.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" Two Stones asked.

"For not trying harder."

Then she shoved the dream snatcher back into her saddlebag and curled up on the ground next to the fire.

For the first time in days, she dreamed.

He was so beautiful, and she missed him so much.

"Jane," he whispered.

Janey opened her arms to him, and then she let herself be pulled through memory after memory. She didn't change anything. Every single moment was perfect, and she didn't want to shift them.

When she had watched as far as she could, just before their week was over, she rewound and started over again.

She didn't want to wake when Wolf Heart came for her, but she did. She did because they loved her, and she didn't want them to grieve for her.

She took her place at the cave mouth and watched. It was still snowing, and the horses were outside under a shelter that was already heavily bowed with snow.

Two Stones was right. The cold and the snow were hard on the horses, and Janey wasn't so selfish that she would let them suffer. She had thought she was brave before, but it had turned out she wasn't. Brings the Rain was brave. He had lost his wife, his children, and his tribe all in one moment. But he had picked up Wolf Heart and kept going.

"How did you do it?" she asked.

Brings the Rain had been standing behind her for several minutes now; she just hadn't acknowledged him because she hadn't wanted to speak.

"One sunrise at a time," Brings the Rain said.

"One sunrise at a time," Janey whispered, looking out at the horizon.

For the first time in days, the sky was clearing. She could see stars twinkling through the trees, and she knew before long the sun would hit the snow and it would shine so brightly that it would hurt her eyes.

"Will you sing a song for him?" she asked, voice nearly inaudible.

"Yes, if you will tell me what it should say."

So she did. She told him what St. John had been like as a boy. She told him about his falcon. She told him how he had traveled the Silk Road under the name of Marco Polo. She told him the names of St. John's children. She told him the places St. John had been, the things he had seen, the changes he had made. She told him how St. John had patroned the arts. She told him about St. John's tattoos and his fight to be free from Admetos. She told him about the stars and the telescope.

And when she was done telling him all she could remember about St. John's life, she told him about the man. How kind he had been, how thoughtful, how intense. She told him how there were two of him, and how the wicked one had died with Admetos.

She hadn't thought she could cry any more, but she realized she was and had been. It wasn't important though. What was important was Victor's song.

She told Brings the Rain how St. John's voice could summon up scenes like a painting. She told him how he could fight, yet still be gentle. She told him that he liked the color green.

Her voice gave out just as the sun was breaking through the trees.

Two Stones and Wolf Heart were standing on either side of her now, and they each put a hand on her shoulder as Brings the Rain began to sing.

To Janey, it was the most beautiful song she had ever heard. She could feel the essence of it, and the essence was Victor.

It seemed to last longer than usual, and the sun was peering into the cave when Brings the Rain finally finished singing.

"Thank you," Janey whispered. "It was beautiful."

And then, because she had to be brave, she said, "We will winter on St. John's land."

"It's not St. John's land anymore," Two Stones said gently. "It's yours."

"What?" Janey asked.

"He told me he gave it to you," Two Stones said. "And he asked me to give you this."

Janey's heart clenched when she saw the folded white paper in Two Stones's hand. She wanted to snatch it from him, but she also wanted to run from it.

"I don't want to read it," she whispered.

"Then don't," Two Stones said. "I will ready the horses. The fire is still burning, and Wolf Heart made you coffee."

Her attention was so fixated on the letter that she barely heard him. Two Stones took her hand and closed it around the paper. And then she was alone. Alone with a letter she didn't want.

She moved closer to the fire and unfolded the paper with trembling fingers. Seeing St. John's bold pen strokes spelling her name made her want to weep. How was it possible to miss someone so much?

Janey rubbed her finger over Hawk's marking and said, "Please, please help me be brave." And then she began to read.

Jane,

I wish I was with you. If I could have fed you my heart and stayed with you always, I would have done it. But that just proves that I'm not the man to stand by your side. I'm much too selfish, and I have too much of my father's greed.

I took some liberties with your name. It was a gift, but knowing you, you'll curse me. I hope you do. I hope your eyes snap, and you stomp around angrily for hours. I like it when you do that. It makes me want to kiss you.

Your twin brother, that unfortunate soul, Jake Falke is dead. He was killed by the sheriff just outside of Colorado Springs. From now on, everything you do will be in your own name. If you're ever in the mood to visit his grave, it's in Fairview.

I want to give you the ocean, Jane. It's open, and there are no fences. Not for you. Everything that is mine is yours. Do with it what you will. In order to give you the freedom to do whatever you want, I married you. You are now a wealthy widow.

Janey stopped reading because she wasn't certain she had read that last bit correctly. She went back and read it again. Nothing changed. She stared at the letter in confusion. He had done what?

She read it again.

I married you.

How?

She kept reading.

I have many connections, and it was a simple matter to record the license. I would have married you in person if I had thought you would really have me. It would have given me the greatest pleasure to call you my wife.

When you are ready, you will find all the paperwork in the middle drawer of my desk. I hope you can find some pleasure and enjoyment from my legacy. It is yours.

Janey was crying again, and the words were blurring in front of her. She held the letter away from her so she wouldn't stain it and kept reading.

I don't know how this ends, but after seeing the souls tied to me, I know that even if Father is dead, I won't truly be free. Death is the only answer, and if it weren't for you, I can't say I would even mind. I gave up thinking about death thousands of years ago, so to be faced with it now is a little disconcerting. I can't turn away from it though, not after seeing myself with your eyes.

I am uncertain how much love a man like me has to offer, Jane, but what I have is yours. I only wish I had had the time to earn your love in return. How I wish I could say I was worthy of you. How I wish I could say that Jane Falke, huntress, hawk, chose me.

She had though. When had he written this?

She hurriedly kept reading.

I never enjoyed life as much as I did when I was with you. Thank you.

Victor.

But that wasn't quite the end. There was a scrawl at the bottom beneath his signature.

Jane,

Your love has given me the strength and bravery to do what I know I need to do. I love you.

Victor.

That was the end.

The last words of a dead man.

For a long time Janey just sat there, reading and rereading the letter, over and over again. At first, she couldn't decide if she was angry at him for managing things so neatly, but she didn't think she was.

She had freed St. John from Admetos, but he had freed her brothers and her from aimlessly wandering forever and ever as the noose tightened down around their necks. With St. John's money, they could go anywhere and live anywhere, and even if they were just three Indians and a white woman, no one would tell them no because money superseded all labels.

Even at the end, he had been thinking of her.

Besides the fact that he was dead, she only had two regrets. She wished she could thank him for freeing her, for freeing them; and she wished, just once, that he could call her his wife.

She had never wanted to marry. She had never wanted to be touched by a man. But now she found she missed being touched, and she regretted not knowing that she ever had a husband.

She reread the letter again, this time hearing it in St. John's voice.

How she missed him.

He had proved that love didn't have to make you weak. Love had made him stronger than he had ever been before. Love had given him the strength to do what was right. 

She thought of St. John for a while longer, remembering the sound of her name on his lips. Then she folded up her letter and put it between the pages of the book she had taken from St. John's house.

She stared at the dying fire for a long time, wrestling with her emotions and her thoughts, but in the end, there was no choice. It was time to go home.

It took them less than a day to reach St. John's house, and when the house came into view, Janey swallowed a sob.

She loved that stupid house, but she had loved it because of St. John. She had loved it because St. John had picked the artwork and the curtains and the silverware. She had loved it because St. John had spent his days there.

Janey bit her tongue to keep from crying as she helped Two Stones and the others settle the horses in the stable. Smith had offered to do it for them, but that simply wasn't their way.

Smith didn't argue with them or try to stop them, but once they were done, he said, "Should I be expecting Mr. St. John as well?"

"No," Janey said. "He won't be coming home."

And then because her grief was still too raw, she started to cry.

She heard Smith saying that he hadn't meant to upset the missus, but he seemed far, far away. Her grief was swallowing up everything else, leaving her in a pool of blackness.

She shouldn't have come. She wasn't strong enough to do this, but now that she was this close, she couldn't have stopped herself if she tried.

She walked like a ghost, tears streaming down her cheeks. The boys met her at the front door; they said something to her, but she didn't hear them. And then she was in St. John's room, and she could smell him. She hadn't even realized that she had learned his scent.

With a sob, she hurled herself onto his bed, and she pulled the blanket into her arms and pretended it was him.

She cried until she fell asleep, and then she dreamed of him.

Days passed.

Janey left the house to eat with Two Stones and the others. She didn't speak to anyone else. She couldn't, not yet. Everything reminded her of St. John, and it was all she could do to walk from his room to the garden where Two Stones and the others were making use of the summer house.

Every night she dreamed of St. John, and every day she wished she was asleep so she could dream of him.

She wanted to live; she needed to live; she just didn't know how to live without him.

Night came once more, and she fell asleep, restlessness filling her. When she opened her eyes, she was fighting with St. John in the sand pit.

She had just wrapped her arms around his neck, and he had fallen back on her and was crushing her beneath him.

"We'll just see which one of us can hold out longer," he rasped.

Janey could barely breathe, but she tucked her arm more tightly around his neck and pulled him towards her. It didn't seem to affect him at all.

She felt him shifting his feet, and then the weight on her chest suddenly increased. She released him, and he immediately rolled off of her.

"That was really clever," he said approvingly.

He was smiling, and it made her furious because she was so terribly unhappy, and she missed him so very much. She missed his smile and his laugh. She missed his eyes and his touch.

In this moment, the moment she was dreaming, she had been grieving for Mohkave and his people. She had been grieving for her people.

But now she was grieving for St. John.

She was crying in the memory, crying because Mohkave was dead and she didn't want to kill St. John and add to her misery. 

St. John knelt on the ground in front of her, and he said softly, "It pains me to see you so sad, and I know that your companions are growing restless. They watch over you in the garden every day, but you're so lost to your grief you don't even notice them. You are young, and you feel your grief with a passion only someone who is young can.

"I envy you. But there must come a time when you take your grief and store it away, like an old winter coat that is no longer needed. You still have it. You can even take it out and look at it. You can wear it if you want to, but it is not always on you.

"I cannot tell you that time is now, Jane; but I, for one, miss your sharp and angry words. I miss the spark in your eyes. And I don't think that whomever you are weeping for would want you to wear your grief forever. It seems a waste."

His eyes were boring into hers, and she felt as if he was talking to her just now, right now, about himself; but she wasn't ready to put this grief away yet. She wasn't ready to leave him. She wasn't. She didn't want to.

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't know how to let you go."

The dream shifted, and she was lying on his chest, tracing his tattoos.

Her body ached for him. How she wished they had had more than a week. They had had a week though. One beautiful, perfect week.

She didn't want to waste her life grieving, and St. John didn't want her to waste her life grieving. He had killed himself so that she wouldn't have to bear the pain of it. He had freed her from white man's rules. He had given her everything she needed to live and to live well.

Was she really going to waste it all by moldering in his bed weeping for him? He was gone. He wasn't coming back. All of her crying wasn't going to change that.

He was kissing her now, and she gave herself over to it.

"I love you," she whispered once more. "I always will. But I have to put you in the wardrobe now."

His lips were on her neck.

"I know you understand," she said. "I have to be Hawk now. I have to fly."

She pulled him to her and kissed him. She kissed him so thoroughly that it seared her soul.

And then she let him go, waking up just in time to take her watch.

Chapter 22

It wasn't quite as easy as just letting St. John go, but Janey found that with each passing day she could think of him without wanting to cry and that she could sit in the parlor and simply remember him without grieving.

The current of the river was finally starting to ebb. She could see the other side now, and she knew that she was getting closer to climbing out onto the bank.

She read the books St. John had gifted her and simply enjoyed them. She read them to herself, and she read them to her brothers during the cold winter nights.

The spirits had been truthful when they had said that the winter would be long and cold, and Janey spent much of it inside the house that now belonged to her, looking for pieces of St. John.

He had left a book about stars on his desk for her with a simple note that said "for you," and she took it up to the roof and gazed out at the stars, wondering what St. John would have told her about them.

Sometimes she looked up the constellation names in St. John's encyclopedias so she could find the myths that went with them. There were a lot of myths, but none of them struck her as poignantly as the myth of Orion and Scorpius.

It was several weeks before she could read the letter he had left her inside of his desk; and after reading it, she studied the paperwork he had left her, trying to understand exactly what she owned. St. John had detailed everything for her. He had given her the name of his lawyers, the information for his banks, and how to contact his people back East and in Europe. 

There was also a list of his homes, a list of mines he owned, a list of companies he owned; and if she understood what she was reading, she now owned more than she could possibly conceive of. Not that she cared. She only cared that they were free.

When she was quite certain she could manage it without crying, she rode into town on a sunny winter day and visited her lawyer. He greeted her as Mrs. St. John, and although it shocked her at first, she didn't mind as much as she once would have.

In her mind, she was still Janey Falke, and she would always be Janey Falke, but she would play Mrs. Victor St. John when she needed to.

The lawyer had thought she would need his guidance, but she hadn't. She had ridden into town knowing exactly what she would do, and when he suggested she consider another pathway, she had simply raised one eyebrow and given him a look that had paled him and turned him into a stuttering idiot.

She didn't need a man to tell her what to do. And if she wanted a man's opinion, she wouldn't ask it from a bound man, one who needed the white chief to live; she would ask it of a free man.

After all, as St. John had said, a free man would seek whatever pleased him, but a bound man would seek whatever pleased his master. And she had no interest whatsoever in pleasing the white chief.  

As the days passed, Janey reclaimed her laugh when Wolf Heart teased her; she reclaimed her smile when Brings the Rain sang; she reclaimed her snort of irritation when Two Stones was overly vague.

She learned to let go of her grief without forgetting those she loved. She remembered them, and she celebrated them. She laughed with Wolf Heart about Hes and Mohkave's jokes, she discussed St. John's philosophies with Two Stones, and she shared her stories with Brings the Rain.

She was a butterfly, letting go of her cocoon of grief and sorrow and despair. She was spreading her wings and learning to fly.

She had thought that the loss of St. John would break her, but it hadn't. It had only helped her understand who she was.

She was woman. She was daughter. She was sister. She was wife. She was human. She was white. She was Hawk. She was huntress. She was wisdom. She was laughter. She was loyal. She remembered better than anyone. She loved with her entire heart and soul. And she grieved just as completely. She was strong too, stronger than she had ever realized; and no matter what happened, no matter how many times she got knocked down or how many bullets tore through her wings, she would always rise again.

Always.

The scent of spring was in the air when Janey said, "I'm ready to ride."

"Where do you wish to go?" Two Stones asked.

Janey put up her feet on the summer house table and said, "Anywhere with creeps."

"Spirits say you'll need to be more specific," Two Stones stated.

"Spirits," Janey grumbled, rolling her eyes. "I don't care," she added with a shrug. "It's spring, and I want to hunt."

There was a whisper on the breeze, and it was calling to her. It was a gentle voice, a soft voice, but it was urging her to ride, to hunt, to kill.

"Tomorrow then?" Two Stones asked.

"Tomorrow," Janey agreed as she stood.

She was still sleeping in St. John's room, and she went there now. She hadn't ceased to miss him, and she knew now that she would always miss him, but she also knew it was time to move on, that he would want her to move on.

She wasn't just doing it for him though. She was doing it for Two Stones and Wolf Heart and Brings the Rain. She was doing it for herself. This was her one life, and she was going to live it.

She didn't often let herself dream of St. John anymore, but tonight she would. She would hold him once more, and then she would ride. She would never forget him; she had promised to remember him. But she wasn't going to wear him any longer. She couldn't. It was spring, and her winter coat was no longer needed.

She opened the windows to let in the scent of spring, and then she lay on his bed.

"Scorpius will rise soon," she whispered. "And I'm going with it."

She fell asleep and dreamed of the rooftop. St. John was a shadow in the night as he showed her the constellation and told her about the mythology behind it.

She felt him beside her as she looked through the telescope for the very first time.

"It's beautiful," she gasped.

And it was.

Something shifted, and she wasn't on the roof anymore. She was gazing up at the horizon, waiting, waiting for Scorpius to rise. Waiting for it to return.

The child in her arms was restless. His mother was tired, too tired to continue on; and he could feel her growing hopelessness.

She whispered a soft promise to the boy, but her heart was heavy. The winter had been long and cold, and she was weary. Her heart was weary. She was ready to go home.

Janey woke with a gasp. For a second, she couldn't even think, but then she hurled herself from the bed, only pausing long enough to grab her weapons before dashing from the house into the garden.

"Wake up!" she yelled. "We're going now!"

Two Stones was at her side in an instant, but it took her a moment to calm down enough to be coherent.

"Emonah's alive!" Janey exclaimed, heart pounding. "Emonah's alive! We have to go find her! Now, Two Stones, now!"

She didn't know why it had to be now, but she knew it had to be. Emonah had been alone for so long; she needed them; Janey knew that she needed them.

The others didn't argue with her, and long before the sun had risen, they were pounding out across the frost-covered ground towards the east.

Janey didn't know where Emonah was, but she was damn certain the spirits did.

They rode without stopping for hours, and the sun was high overhead when Two Stones shouted out, "Just ahead!"

Janey frowned in confusion. They were a long ways away from Mohkave's people's land, and it was a long way for Emonah to have traveled on foot with a child, especially through the winter.

Janey had learned to trust the spirits though, and so she pushed Helly faster, a sense of urgency pushing her.

They burst through the trees, and Helly suddenly reared, startled by all the men on horseback who were just up ahead. They were wearing the blue uniforms of the army, and a snarl leapt from Janey's throat.

She hated them without knowing them, but she also knew them. They were slaves to their father's greedy commands. They killed whomever he told them to, tortured and raped whomever he commanded them to, imprisoned whomever he ordered them to. The white chief was Admetos, and these were his sons.

There might be a St. John or two among them, but they had willingly put on the uniform of their father and they had followed his orders; and in doing so, they had condemned themselves to death.

Hawk's eyes shifted, and Janey saw past the soldiers to the woman beyond. She might not have recognized Emonah if she hadn't known who they were looking for because Emonah looked completely exhausted and nothing like her fierce self. Not only that, but she was also holding a knife to Asohave's throat.

"Emonah!" Janey screamed.

The soldiers shifted in their saddles, but Janey didn't care about them anymore. She only cared about Emonah. Hawk saw a soldier reach for his gun though, and Janey hissed in rage.

Tightening her legs around Helly, Janey drew both of her guns and started firing. Shouts and gunfire filled the air, soldiers fell from their saddles, and the entire unit began to turn towards Janey.

She was hardly worried though. There were only a hundred or so of the soldiers, but Janey had Hawk and her brothers.

Janey heard an arrow whistle past her head, and she saw the soldier nearest her jerk in his saddle when the arrow tore through his chest. And then she heard the wolf howl.

She grinned, resisting the urge to look behind her, and pushed Helly forward. When she ran out of bullets, she slipped her guns back into her holsters and rammed Helly into one of the soldier's horses.

She grabbed the soldier with one hand, while she pulled Saint Killer with her other hand and stabbed it into the man's neck. She released him after yanking Saint Killer free and took the revolver from the soldier's belt as he was falling from his horse.

The wolf and Wolf Heart were running in front of her now, ripping soldiers from their saddles and tearing them to pieces, and Janey aimed at the soldiers nearest Wolf Heart, aiming carefully so that she killed six of them before tossing the empty revolver.

A bullet tore through her shoulder, but it only served to fuel her anger, and she unsheathed Saint Killer once more and urged Helly up beside another rider. As Helly ran past him, Janey leaned to the side and slashed Saint Killer across the soldier's neck.

She and Helly danced wildly through the soldiers, killing one after another and before she knew it, Janey had broken through the cluster of soldiers and was on the other side of them. She glanced back; and when she saw there were only a few stragglers left, she leapt from Helly and ran towards Emonah. 

"Emonah!" Janey yelled.

Emonah seemed completely frozen, and she was staring at Janey with wide confused eyes, knife still inches from Asohave's throat.

Janey pried the knife from her hand and said, "Emonah, it's me, Janey."

Emonah cried out suddenly, and tears began to pour from her eyes as she stumbled forward. Janey caught her before she fell and wrapped her arms around both Emonah and her screaming child.

"I'm so sorry," Janey whispered. "I didn't know you were alive. I would have come for you sooner. I'm so sorry."

Emonah was weeping, and Janey just held her, trying to be strong for this woman who had been strong for so long without anyone to help her.

Asohave was screaming at the top of his lungs, and Janey kept one arm wrapped around Emonah but moved her other hand to cup Asohave's cheek.

"I've got you," she promised him. "I've got you both, and I swear that you will never be alone again."

Janey held them until Emonah's sobs began to lessen, and then Janey said, "You're going to be alright. We're here now."

Janey knew Emonah didn't understand what she was saying, but she did know Janey, and she knew she was safe.

She was also swaying on her feet with exhaustion. It was time to take her home.

Janey glanced around for the others, unsurprised to find them standing with their backs to her, guarding her just like they always did.

"Two Stones," Janey said. When he had turned to look at her, she said, "Would you mount and take Emonah with you?"

He nodded, and Janey held Emonah until Two Stones took her. Once Emonah and Asohave were settled in Two Stones's arms, Janey cast a weary glance over the carnage they had left in their wake.

"I can't bury all those bodies," she stated.

"You did not scalp them," Wolf Heart pointed out.

"No, but it looks bad. Don't you think?"

"A little," he agreed.

He still had blood on his face, and she smiled at him slightly, wondering if he gained any power from their blood.

"Brings the Rain?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Can you sing a new song?"

"What kind of song?"

"One that asks the coyotes and the wolves and the birds of prey to come feast?"

Brings the Rain studied her for a moment before saying, "I do not know."

"Could you try?" she asked. "Tell them it would please the mother."

"Would it?"

"Yes," Janey said without hesitation. "It would please the mother very much."

"Then I will do it," Brings the Rain said.

When he began to sing, Janey closed her eyes and listened. It was a different song, but still so beautiful, and it wasn't a song of destruction; it was a song of life. It was a song of motherhood and protection; it was a song of Emonah.

He was still singing when Janey glanced overhead and saw the birds circling in the air above them. She grinned widely. Brings the Rain really was the most powerful of them all. She might be able to fly, and Wolf Heart could turn into a wolf, but Brings the Rain could shift reality, and all he had to do was sing.

They didn't ride nearly as hard going home, but they didn't stop until they had reached St. John's house once more.

"Carry them to my room," Janey ordered Two Stones.

And then she woke the boys and told them to bring up a bath and some porridge.

Janey built up the fire in her room herself, and she paced while she waited for the tub. Emonah was sitting in the chair where Two Stones had left her, Asohave clutched to her chest, a look of dazed shock on her face.

Janey didn't know how to help her; she only knew that Emonah looked cold and dirty, and if it were her, she would want a bath. And she had asked for the porridge because St. John had made her eat it when she could barely even get herself out of bed.

After the bath was in place, Janey pulled Emonah to her feet and gently pried Asohave from her arms and set him on the floor before undressing Emonah. She was shockingly thin, and Janey wished she had asked for the porridge first, but she hadn't, so she pointed at the bath and said, "Get in."

Emonah obeyed her. Asohave was gurgling and crawling around the floor, and Janey cast him a suspicious glance before returning her attention to Emonah. Emonah was just sitting in the water, staring vacantly at the wall.

"Wash," Janey said.

Emonah didn't move, and with a frustrated sigh, Janey grabbed the cloth and gently began to wash her. She had never washed another person before, but Emonah needed her, and she wasn't just going to walk away.

With clumsy care, Janey washed both Emonah and her long tangled hair, and then she urged her from the bath and dried her off before wrapping the towel around her and settling her next to the fire.

Janey retrieved her brush, gasping when she realized that Asohave was nowhere to be seen. Terror filled her, and she dashed around the room looking for him, trying to be quiet so as not to alert Emonah.

She was about to scream when a giggle reached her; and stopping her frantic search, she bent over and looked under the bed.

Asohave stared back at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That was naughty," Janey said firmly. "I was worried. And besides, you should only hide under the bed if you need to, not just for fun."

He giggled again, and she rolled her eyes.

"Come here," she said.

He ignored her.

"Please come here."

He laughed.

Janey finally got down on her hands and knees and went after him. He seemed to think it was great fun, and when she finally pulled him out, he wrapped his arms around her neck and laid his head against her chest.

"You don't really remember me, do you?" Janey asked softly.

He was much bigger than he had been, but she still felt as if she might break him.

He sighed, and her arms tightened around him.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner."

He actually said something, but she didn't understand him, so she said, "I'm going to bathe you now, and you will cooperate."

He did not. He was thrilled to be bathed, but by the time Janey was done, half of the water was on the floor and she was soaked.

"You're a very naughty boy," she told him as she dried him off.

He laughed.

Janey settled the boy on one hip before wrapping a blanket around Emonah and calling for the boys to come clean up the mess.

The boys were just as scared of Janey as they had been of St. John, but she didn't mind. Mary, Smith, and the others liked her just fine, even if they did think she was a trifle odd.

Once the floor was dry again, Janey set Asohave down on it and said, "You'll have to run around naked. Your clothes are much too small."

Asohave didn't seem to mind. He just giggled and headed for the bed.

"What did I tell you?" Janey grumbled. "No hiding unless you have to."

Emonah hadn't moved once, and Janey was beginning to worry about her, but she also remembered what it felt like to grieve, and she knew that Emonah was grieving for so much more than Janey ever had.

Emonah was grieving the loss of her people, the people she had been born to and lived with. She was grieving the loss of her husband. Not just a man she had known for a little while, but a man she had created a child with, a man she had been willing to die with. And she was grieving the loss of her son's people. In one moment, Asohave had gone from having a whole tribe of people to carry him forward to only having his mother.

Janey couldn't imagine such a burden of grief, and although several months had already passed, Hawk had shown Janey the truth, and Janey knew that Emonah hadn't shed a single tear until Janey reached her. She had been protecting her child; she hadn't had time for grief.

"I'm here," Janey said softly as she began to brush Emonah's hair.

When Emonah's black hair was long and silky once more, Janey began to braid it. She had never braided hair before, but she had watched the mother braid her hair so often that she was certain she could do it.

It took her several tries, but Janey eventually managed a reasonable braid. Now that was Emonah was clean, Janey just had to get her into some fresh clothes.

Janey opened the wardrobe and, ignoring the beautiful dresses she would have only worn for St. John, she pulled out a nightdress and worked it awkwardly over Emonah's head. Then Janey moved Emonah to a chair.

Janey quickly retrieved the porridge and handed one of the bowls to Emonah, saying, "Eat."

Emonah made no move to do so, so Janey knelt down in front of her and said, "Grieve all you want, cry, scream, wail; I don't care. But you will eat. Asohave needs you to eat."

At Asohave's name, Emonah's startled eyes swept the room, and she made a cry of distress when she didn't see her child.

"He's under the bed," Janey said, pointing. "He's fine."

And then to prove it, she crawled under the bed and retrieved him.

"I told you not to hide if you didn't need to," she chastised him as she crawled back out. "You gave your momma a fright."

Janey handed Asohave to Emonah, heart aching when Emonah wrapped her arms around the boy and just held him tightly.

"Eat," Janey said once more; and with an ease that surprised her, Janey plucked Asohave from Emonah's arms and sat down on the floor with him.

"You will eat without making a mess," Janey told him.

He did not.

But he did eat, and that was all Janey really cared about.

She called the boys up one more time, and once the porridge was cleaned off the rug and the boys were gone, Janey tucked Emonah and Asohave into bed.

"I'll stay right here," Janey told them as she turned down the lamps.

It was time for her watch anyway.

She had just settled into her chair when Emonah started weeping. Janey froze for a moment, unsure of what she should do, but she had grieved enough that she knew it was hard to grieve all alone, so she crawled into the bed with Emonah and wrapped her arms around her.

And for the first time in her life, she understood how difficult it was to be the one on the outside of the grief. Two Stones, Wolf Heart, and Brings the Rain had been so patient with her, so kind; and all the while, she was certain they had been aching for her and wanting her to be happy again.

At this moment, Janey wanted nothing more than to see Emonah's face light up with happiness. But she knew it wouldn't. Not yet, and not for a long time.

She didn't say anything, didn't try to soothe, didn't try to comfort, just held Emonah and let her cry. She needed to cry.

Janey had always thought crying was worthless, and she stood by that, but how else was Emonah supposed to release all that pent-up fear and anger and sadness? If she didn't cry, it would just fester inside of her.

Morning came, and still Emonah wept. Asohave began to grow restless and cry as well; and after some time, Janey kissed Emonah's head and got up, taking Asohave with her.

"I'm going to take him to the garden," Janey said.

Emonah continued to cry, but Janey needed her to acknowledge that she had the child because she didn't want her to come out of her sorrow and be frightened.

"Emonah," Janey said, tapping Emonah's shoulder.

Emonah opened her eyes and stared at Janey, although her crying never ceased.

"I have Asohave. I will protect him," Janey said.

Emonah's eyes lowered to the child in Janey's arms. She reached for him, but then she dropped her hands and nodded before curling into a ball and continuing to wail.

Janey practically fled from the room, taking Asohave with her. She went directly to the garden, sighing with relief when she saw Two Stones and the others.

"I do not like this," she declared as she began to pace. "How did you manage?"

"Manage what?"

"Watching me without just shaking me and begging me to stop?"

"We all grieve our own way. Wrong to stop," Two Stones shrugged.

"I know!" Janey exclaimed. "But I want her to be happy again."

"I want you to be happy again," Wolf Heart said.

"I am," she retorted.

And then she stuck out her tongue at him. He smiled widely, and she smiled back.

"This thing," she said, gesturing towards Asohave, "is naughty."

"Would you like me to take him?" Brings the Rain offered.

"No," Janey said with a glare. "I told Emonah I would protect him. I did not say that Brings the Rain would protect him."

"I see," Brings the Rain said with a smile.

"You see nothing," Janey spat. "Besides, he remembers me."

They were all smiling at her now, and she glared at them.

"This means nothing," she growled. "I just happen to like this one child. Brings the Rain, will you make him something to wear, please? His clothes are too small. And Wolf Heart, go find a rabbit or something so we can feed him. I'm never feeding him porridge again. Ever."

Wolf Heart started laughing, and she rolled her eyes and stomped away from them, taking Asohave with her.

"They think they're so smart," Janey grumbled.

Asohave giggled.

"They're sort of smart," Janey admitted.

Asohave tugged on her hair.

"But not that smart."

Asohave made a noise, and Janey somehow knew he wanted down, and since it wasn't muddy on the walkway, she put him onto it.

He looked up at her, and Janey offered him one hand. He grabbed it, pulled himself up, and began to walk, using her hand to balance.

"You're very clever," Janey praised.

He pointed at a plant.

Janey knelt beside him and said, "That's thyme. It's not ready to use yet; it's still coming back to life. It's a powerful plant. Granny said it's good for pretty much any sickness; and Culpepper, he's a teacher of herbs, and he says it's especially good for the lungs."

Janey trailed her fingers over the dry leaves and said softly, "But if you really want to know what it does, you should ask it. And if you listen very quietly, it will answer you."

Janey pointed at the spindly stems and said, "Thyme."

"Thyme," Asohave said.

Janey stared at him.

"Thyme," she said again.

"Thyme," Asohave replied.

She pointed at him and said, "Asohave."

He grinned widely and said, "Asohave."

She pointed at herself and said, "Janey."

Asohave gazed up at her with his beautiful eyes and said, "Janey."

She kissed his forehead and said, "You're so very clever. Let's make a tea for your momma. But we'll have to go further afield."

After lifting Asohave, Janey carried him to the garden wall and set him down on the other side. It was a brisk morning, and he was naked, but he didn't seem to mind.

Once she was on the other side, she picked him up again and carried him into the woods, searching for plants she could use.

It wasn't long before Asohave's hands were full of leaves and small spring flowers, and Janey chattered happily to him as they walked back to the garden.

The smell of cooking rabbit greeted them, and Janey reluctantly handed Asohave to Brings the Rain.

"Brings the Rain," she said, pointing at Brings the Rain.

Asohave grinned and said perfectly, "Brings the Rain."

"He's so smart," Janey said proudly. "Isn't he smart?"

"Very smart," Brings the Rain agreed.

She stared at him in confusion for a moment, then said haltingly, "It only just occurred to me that Brings the Rain can't be your name."

"It can't?" Brings the Rain asked.

"No. It should be…" She considered it for a moment then managed to string together several of their words.

"Very close," Brings the Rain said. And then he corrected her.

"Why did you tell me it was Brings the Rain?" she demanded.

"Easier for white people to say," he shrugged.

She glared at him.

"I will teach you true names," he offered.

"It's too late," she growled. "You're Brings the Rain. End of story."

And with an irritated huff, she turned on her heel and went back to the house.

She entered the kitchen, and the chef, Alain, immediately shuffled out of her way. By now, he was used to her invading the kitchen.

"More porridge this morning," Janey told him. "Please," she added. "Coffee for me. And will you make these into a tea?"

She had already taught him how to do it, and he smiled widely and said, "Oui, madame."

"Thank you," she said. "Send it up to my room when it's ready."

When Janey reached her room, she was relieved to find Emonah sleeping. She knew just how exhausting weeping could be, but she could hardly imagine holding in her grief for seven months or more and then letting it all out at once.

For three days and three nights, all Emonah did was weep and sleep. She held Asohave close whenever he was tired, but when he wanted down, she allowed Janey to take him. Except when she made Emonah eat and drink, Janey didn't push her at all; she simply let Emonah grieve in her own way.

Janey held them both during the nights because she knew just how long the night could be; and every morning, she took Asohave out to the garden and walked around with him.

Brings the Rain had made Asohave a little outfit out of buckskin so the boy didn't have to crawl around the garden naked unless he wanted to, and Janey and he spent hours exploring and turning over rocks and looking for new spring growth.

She was convinced he was the cleverest child to ever live because he already knew more than a dozen English words, and he used them accurately.

She didn't care that her brothers watched her with amused looks on their faces, and she didn't care if she was acting womanly. She loved Asohave, and all she was doing was showing him her love.

When Janey woke for her watch on the fourth morning, for the first time since they had arrived, both Emonah and Asohave were sleeping soundly.

Janey crept silently from the bed and sat in her chair so she could watch over them.

Her eyes were drawn to the window, and she stared out at the darkness, a strange feeling overtaking her. She was growing restless. It was spring, and she wanted to hunt, but she loved Emonah, and she refused to leave her when she was so fragile.

She tried to remember how long it had taken her to move forward, but she couldn't; and furthermore, she knew that Emonah's grief was greater than hers.

The breeze shifted and blew through the window, ruffling Janey's hair, and for just a second, she allowed herself to relive their battle with the soldiers. She had recognized four of the men she had killed, and she knew they had been part of the unit that had killed Mohkave.

She didn't regret killing them, and she momentarily considered hunting down the white chief and killing him too. She knew, however, that there was no point. When she had killed Admetos, she had killed all of his sons as well, so there was no one left to rise up and take Admetos's place. She could not kill all of the white chief's sons, so she would have to be content with killing the ones the mother revealed to her.

Janey released the memory and fixed her sharp eyes on the darkness that filled the room. She was keeping watch, not dreaming about her next kill.

When Emonah and Asohave finally woke, Asohave hugged his mother before reaching out towards Janey.

Janey picked up the boy and said, "I'll bring you tea and porridge."

Emonah shook her head and pointed towards the window.

"You want to go out?" Janey asked. "Outside?"

Emonah nodded, and Janey smiled happily before saying, "I have your clothes here. Brings the Rain cleaned them for you."

Janey rushed over to the chair and pointed at Emonah's clothes, then she tried to wait patiently while Emonah dressed.

When Emonah was ready, Janey took her hand and led her down the stairs and out into the garden. They hadn't walked far before Brings the Rain met them and spoke gently to Emonah in her own language.

Emonah's eyes filled with tears, but she responded to his questions, and they talked for several minutes before Brings the Rain turned to Janey and said, "Emonah said that the night before the final battle the mother came to her and told her to leave. Her husband had died the day before, so she knew she could not die by his side, and the mother was insistent that she leave, so she did. She wandered aimlessly these last several months, and the cavalry had just come upon her that morning. They were unkind she thought; they looked unkind, and their voices were unkind. And she remembered what you said, so she was prepared to kill both Asohave and herself when we arrived."

Janey's heart ached for Emonah and the long lonely months she had endured. But looking at her now, Janey knew that Emonah would survive, and she would be stronger for it. She was not weak. She had lost her tribe, but she had a new one.

Emonah was looking a tad uncertain, so Janey said firmly, "You stay with us now. This is the tribe of Brings the Rain, Wolf Heart, Two Stones, Janey, Emonah, and Asohave. You go where we go; we go where you go. My house is yours. You are part of us."

Brings the Rain quickly translated, and when he was done, Emonah smiled at her, and Janey could see a ghost of the woman she had once admired in her face.

Emonah reached out and touched Janey's face, and Brings the Rain translated her words.

"She says thank you. For everything."

Janey nodded, handed Emonah the boy, and said, "I'll get breakfast. We'll eat in the summer house."

She was so relieved that Emonah was up and talking that she wanted to dance and laugh and celebrate. She would order the dreaded porridge for breakfast one final time, but for dinner, they were having chocolate cake.

Another week passed, and with each day, Emonah spoke and interacted more, the worry in her face lessened, and she began to smile.

Janey saw that far from making Emonah weaker, having a child had made her stronger because everything Emonah did was for Asohave.

She ate so she would be strong for him. She walked with him in the garden, holding onto his little hand. She sang to him, and she spoke to him, smiling when he smiled and laughing when he laughed.

Emonah spoke haltingly of her people, and Janey joined her, Brings the Rain translating between them. They remembered the mother and Mohkave. They remembered Hes and Emonah's husband. They remembered dancing and hunting and the seasons. They remembered the woman's hut.

And they remembered the end. 

It was difficult for Janey to take her grief out of the wardrobe and wear it once more, but she found she enjoyed speaking of them, and that she enjoyed remembering them with Emonah.

Tears still welled up in Emonah's eyes when they spoke, but she was smiling more as well. Janey could see that Emonah was going to heal, and she was glad of it.

And she was glad that the white man had failed. She was glad that Emonah would never be forced into white man shoes, and that she would never be told she was less, and that she would keep her people with her, always.

If anyone ever tried to take that from her, if anyone ever tried to force white man beliefs and white man shoes onto her and her beautiful child, Janey would be there, and she would damn well put a stop to it.  

Janey was pleased to help Emonah, and she enjoyed Asohave's company more than she would have ever admitted, but by the end of another week, she was pacing the garden walls. 

The voice on the wind was stronger now, and Janey was trying desperately to ignore it. Trying and failing. 

"What is wrong with you?" Two Stones demanded.

"It's spring," Janey grumbled. "I want to hunt."

"Then hunt," he said.

"I can't leave Emonah," she protested.

A thoughtful look crossed Two Stones's face; and after a long minute he said, "Spirits say you don't have to go far."

"What?" Janey demanded.

"You don't have to go far. Emonah will be fine for a day or two without you."

A trill of excitement ran through Janey's body.

"Are you serious?" she demanded.

"Am I ever not?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Tomorrow?"

"Yes," Two Stones replied. "You and I will go hunting tomorrow."

Janey jumped off the wall and hugged him.

"I love you so much right now," she said.

"More than you normally love me?" he asked.

"Maybe a little," she laughed.

He shook his head, but he was grinning, and he said, "I am glad to see you smiling again."

"I'm glad to be smiling," she replied. "Victor once said that because I'm young I feel my grief with a passion that only someone who is young can, but I don't know if that's true or not. Maybe he only meant in the context of his own life. I can see how it might grow tiresome to grieve for thousands of years. I don't know how he stood it. Do you think he's happy now?"

"I do not know. I do not know what his afterlife looks like," Two Stones replied.

"His spirit looked happy at the end. He looked young," Janey said wistfully. "And free."

Both of them were silent for a long time, but eventually Janey said, "Thank you, Two Stones."

"For?"

"Being Two Stones," she said. "I never even imagined a friend or a brother like you. I couldn't have. I didn't know you existed. Victor said he was happiest with me; I'm happiest with you."

She didn't expect Two Stones to return the sentiment, so she was surprised when he said, "And I am happiest with you."

She cast him a curious glance, but nothing about his face suggested he wasn't telling the truth.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Two Stones said, "I will always miss my people, but I will never regret traveling with you."

She smiled widely, feeling happier than she had in months, and said, "I don't miss my people at all, but I would miss you. More than anyone. I'd better go tell Emonah we're leaving tomorrow."

"You had better."

"I just said that, didn't I?" Janey grumbled. "You're so difficult."

"But you would miss me."

"Probably," she shrugged. "I can't be sure. Go hide behind that tree for a while, and then we'll know."

He laughed, and she walked away from him, hiding her smile as she did.

She found Emonah in the summer house with Asohave and Brings the Rain, and Janey sat beside her and said, "I'm going hunting tomorrow with Two Stones, but we'll only be gone for a day or two. Will you be alright without me?"

Brings the Rain translated, and Emonah gave Janey a confused look and said something in return.

"She wants to know if Wolf Heart is not doing a good job," Brings the Rain said.

"What?" Janey asked.

"Hunting," Brings the Rain clarified.

"I don't… Oh, no," Janey said, shaking her head. "I mean, yes. Wolf Heart is good. I'm hunting men."

Brings the Rain translated, and Emonah's face cleared, and she smiled brightly before saying, "Scalps Many Bad Men."

"Exactly," Janey said with a grin.

"Happy hunting," Emonah said.

Happy hunting indeed, Janey thought.

St. John had gifted her with the freedom to do whatever she wanted, but she was never going to be the type of person who sat in the house and read all day. And she wasn't the type of person to go to plays or races or to dress up and gallivant about town.

She might occasionally enjoy those things, but Janey Falke needed to ride, and she needed to hunt.

She wasn't like Emonah. She wasn't like Two Stones. They had been born to tribes who loved and loved well. She had been born of creeps and endowed with that edge of cruelty. Take one step to the right and become Admetos. If she stayed on the path, however, if she only ever killed the creeps the mother revealed to her, she would simply be fulfilling the role the mother had given her.

And it was easy to do because Janey had Hawk's eyes; she could see straight through a man; she could see the truth of them. And the truth would set them free, one way or another. 

Chapter 23

Janey and Two Stones rode out of the yard well before sunrise; and after riding rather aimlessly towards the west, Two Stones pulled his horse to a halt and said, "You lead."

"What?" Janey snorted.

"You lead. You've never needed me. You just have to open your eyes."

"You're crazy," Janey laughed.

"You lead," he said once more.

"Sure. If you want to get lost," she shrugged. "And then when we do get lost, you and the spirits can sort us out."

She took a deep breath, looked up at the brightening sky, and announced loudly, "I'm looking for creeps. Any size, any shape, any color skin; I don't care."

Amazingly enough, Janey felt a sudden urge to go north. She turned Helly that way, and Two Stones followed without comment.

Janey didn't think of anything as they rode. She just let the wind pull at her hair and gave herself over to the sensation of riding.

She had missed this. She had missed the open range. She had missed the mystery, the uncertainty, the who am I going to kill next. She had missed the pounding of hooves offset by the absolute silence of the surrounding world.

She hoped it never changed, but she knew it would. St. John had told her it would.

But she wouldn't change with it. She would stay the same. Janey Falke. Hawk. Killer of men.

Without knowing why, she nudged Helly back towards the west a little. They rode all day, skirting two towns as they passed them, before riding up into the low hills of the range.

As it grew darker, Janey halted near a grove of oak trees.

"Spirits say good place to camp," Two Stones said as he dismounted.

Janey snorted and said, "We'll see about that."

She had never chosen their place before, and she felt a little unsure of herself. She had simply stopped when it felt right; there had been no logic to her reasoning.

While Two Stones made a fire, Janey gathered up some yucca fruit and other things to eat. Then, using Hawk's eyes, she found a chunky ground bird and killed it.

"I'm proud of you," Two Stones said as he took the bird from her. "You have grown much."

"You damn well know I haven't grown so much as an inch in the last five years," Janey snorted.

"And you damn well know that's not how I meant it," he replied.

She laughed at him before saying, "If I've grown, it's because of you."

"It is not," he stated. "It is because of you."

"Don't be stupid," Janey growled. "I wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for you."

"That may be true," Two Stones admitted. "However, there is an old saying, a white people saying that actually makes sense."

"Are you sure?" she asked with a grin.

"Yes. It says you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink."

"I've heard it," Janey shrugged. "What of it?"

"I can only offer you wisdom," Two Stones said. "I cannot force you to accept it. You have learned to be wise all on your own."

She could see his point, but she also knew that they had kept her above the water many times. It was what a tribe did. It was the reason the mother had birthed tribes in the first place, so there was always someone to lean on.

But she wasn't in the mood to argue with him so she said, "What kind of creep do you think we'll find tomorrow?"

"What kind of creep do you want?"

"A really creepy creep," she said.

"Then I think it will be a really creepy creep," he replied.

"You're being awfully agreeable," she pointed out.

"So are you."

She could hardly argue with that. She was just so happy to be out in the fresh air and sitting under the stars with him. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if Wolf Heart and Brings the Rain were with them. Two more smiling faces swam in her vision, and she amended her thought to include Emonah and Asohave.

Janey couldn't imagine a life without them now. She had loved them when they had been part of Mohkave's tribe, but she loved them even more now. They were hers, and she intended to keep them.

She and Two Stones ate in companionable silence, and then he said, "I will take first watch."

"Wake me when it's time," she said.

And then she did something she hadn't done in a very long time. She climbed the pine tree nearest Two Stones and tucked herself into the very top of it.

She located Scorpius on the horizon and stared at it for a long time, and when she finally fell asleep, she allowed herself to dream of St. John.

He showed her the constellation. She fought him; she ate with him; she wore a dress for him. He showed his love for her in a dozen different little ways. Changing the menus, buying her books, promising to protect her family.

And then he kissed her. She basked in his arms, and she never felt weak, not even for a second. And she knew that she never would. Not as long as she always remained true to herself, to Janey. If she was always true to herself, if she never changed to fit someone else's label, she could never be weak. Not ever.

She watched St. John touch her. She watched him kiss her. She watched him worship her, and she stared into his endless eyes and told him she loved him.

She was surrendering herself to his kiss when the dream shifted quite suddenly to a moment she had never once allowed herself to watch.

She was facing Admetos for the second time. He was holding her up by her hair, but she wasn't afraid, not for herself, only for St. John.

She didn't look at St. John; she kept her eyes on Admetos, and when Admetos ordered St. John to leave, she nearly exhaled in relief, but she didn't. She had learned to control her reactions, and she had learned to lie.

She wanted to rip off Admetos's face when he dared to touch her, but she didn't. She had known it would be the last time he ever touched a woman without consent.

She gave him the poisoned heart to eat, but he saw through her deception; he sensed her deceit.

Just as Janey had been ready to attack him though, the spirits he had anchored to him rose up, and they whispered lies to him and pushed him forward.

Admetos's greed, the thing that had separated him from the rest of the mother's children, the thing that had tainted him, the thing that had twisted him until he was past redemption, had been the end of him.

He had eaten the heart, just as he had eaten Ana's, and Ana had watched with a sad smile. She had suffered for over five thousand years because when tasked, she had disobeyed the mother. No longer though. She had finally done what needed to be done.

Janey watched the first woman cry as the man she had once loved ate his final meal, and she wondered if the mother wept for every child who had gone astray even as they wounded her with their evil deeds.

Janey was glad she was born of creeps. She didn't mourn Admetos, and she didn't mourn his sons. She only mourned Victor, and she only mourned him because she knew he could have been so much more.

He hadn't wanted to be evil; he had simply been too weak to resist Admetos's will. Evil nonetheless, but the small boy inside of Victor had always wanted to be better. He had wanted to preserve, not destroy.

Ana's face began to wrinkle with worry, and Janey shifted her attention back to Admetos. He had just asked for the liver, and she gave it to him.

He tore into it like a rabid dog, and Janey watched in horror, suddenly terrified that the mother had lied to her. But Janey knew now that the mother hadn't lied. Admetos was going to die. Because of her. She had killed him. She had walked into his lair and poisoned him, just as the scorpion had poisoned Orion.

Janey smiled grimly as she watched herself turn into Hawk. She was still Janey, but just like Wolf Heart had the wolf, the spirit of Hawk had surrounded her, and when Hawk moved, she moved as well.

She hadn't known exactly what she would do when she faced Admetos, but ever since that moment on the train, she had trusted that Hawk would help her whenever she had need of him. And he had.

She watched herself claw at Admetos's face. She watched Admetos heal almost before the blows had even fully struck.

She knew that the only other way to kill him was to tear his head from his body, then wrench out his beating heart and eat it before he could stop her.

She hadn't wanted to do such a thing because then Admetos would be tied to her for the rest of her life and she could think of nothing more horrible.

She had no choice though so she wrapped her talons around Admetos's neck and flew into the air, talons twisting into his flesh. She watched Admetos's expression shift from rage to surprise to fear, and she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. She was thrilled to see that Admetos had finally known fear.

Her talons dug deeper into his skin, but just then he began to cough, and blood spewed from his mouth. The poison was doing its work, and Janey cried out in victory, although it was the shriek of Hawk that echoed out over the rooftops.

Janey felt Admetos die. She watched his spirit rip from his body, and she watched the guardian spirit of the earth swoop down and collect it before Admetos could slither away and infect anything else.

At that moment, St. John entered the courtyard, and Janey turned to look at him. His face was completely unguarded and filled with such awe that it surprised her.

She released Admetos's body, and it fell into the garden below, but St. John's eyes didn't flicker from hers, not even for a second.

Unlike his brothers, he knew that Admetos's corpse was poisoned, but he could have still capitalized on the moment by attacking his brothers and eating their hearts instead. But he hadn't ever wanted to destroy, not really.

Janey watched herself stare up into St. John's eyes. She watched herself touch his face and kiss him, and she wondered what it was about St. John that had enticed her to love him the way she had. Or what it was about Two Stones and the others that she loved them so much more deeply but in such a different way.

She instinctively knew that it was more than just the kindnesses St. John had shown her. Brings the Rain had shown her many more kindnesses. It was something deeper; something rooted so deeply within that Janey could hardly see it. It was a kind of recognition. The recognizing of a mate, of a match, of a kindred soul.

St. John had witnessed Janey's capacity for destruction, and he had liked it. He had liked that she was a predator. She, on the other hand, had recognized the kindness in him, and she had known that he was more than a predator.

Ma and Pa had both been worthless. Neither of them had given any care whatsoever to their offspring, and neither of them had loved anything at all, not even themselves. They had recognized each other, just as if they had looked into a mirror.

From the moment Admetos had walked from the cave, the voice of discontentment had whispered in his ear. Ana hadn't had that discontentment; but like Admetos, she had been selfish enough to protect herself before protecting her children. Ana and Admetos had been very, very different; but deep down inside, they had been exactly the same.

And that, Janey thought, was the sum of it. That strange recognition of the self was what made someone a mate instead of merely a friend or a brother. It was the balance. Close enough to fit together, but different enough to create a new song.

She and St. John had fit, and their song had been just as perfect as the song of morning.

She watched St. John kiss her goodbye, and she felt his lips on hers, she felt his love and his desperation. She felt his fear.

She watched him pull away, she heard him tell her that he loved her, and then he chose death and turned from her.

She watched her brothers hold her back, and that should have been the end of it, but Hawk loaned her his eyes, and she saw St. John pick up the poisoned flesh of his father and study it with weary, sad eyes.

Then he turned to look at her, smiling slightly when he saw how she was fighting against her restraints.

"Thank you, Two Stones," St. John said softly before lifting the meat to his mouth and beginning to eat.

Janey was crying, but she was so proud of him. So proud that he had been so brave, so self-sacrificing. He had finally had everything he had ever wanted. He was free of Admetos, and he had a hawk by his side, but he had chosen death so he could free the meager handful of souls that were tied to him.

That wasn't the only reason he had chosen death though. He had worried that the lust for power would always be inside of him. He had told her so in one of the letters he had left inside of his desk. He wasn't a good man, he had said.

How foolish he had been. And how wrong.

Janey watched herself hold St. John as he died. She watched his spirit break free. The entire garden was full of spirits now, but she only had eyes for St. John. And when Brings the Rain began to sing, she only watched St. John. And because she was watching him, she saw the gentle breeze that stirred him and she heard the mother's lilting voice. The mother had been kind to him, just as Janey had asked.

"Thank you," Janey whispered. "Thank you for being kind to him. No one ever was."

She woke just then and saw that it was time for her watch. She didn't climb down right away though. Instead she closed her eyes and remembered the peace that had drifted over St. John's face at the end, and she knew he was happy.

She exhaled deeply, then scrambled down the tree and snapped, "You didn't wake me. You should have woken me for Wolf Heart's watch."

"I do not have to hunt tomorrow," Two Stones shrugged. "You do."

"Go to sleep," Janey ordered. "We ride at dawn."

"I think the horses like it better when I lead," Two Stones chuckled.

"No one asked you," Janey retorted. "Sleep."

Two Stones lay down, and Janey stood beside him, eyes constantly scanning the darkness beyond. She heard every creak and hiss, but there were no threats; and when she knew dawn was near, she said, "Wake up. It's time to ride."

They rode away from the sun now, chasing their own shadows as they went, and before many hours had passed, Janey pulled Helly to a halt and said, "I'm going to ride into that town just up ahead."

"I'm going to stay here," Two Stones replied.

Janey didn't respond. She already had the scent. Her eyes had sharpened, and she felt as if she could hear the faintest noise. In fact, she knew she could.

"I'll be right back," she said as she nudged Helly forward once more.

She rode towards the town, senses noticing everything. She could feel the breeze on her skin, and she could feel the slight ripple of heat drifting from the laundry on the other side of the town.

She could hear the tinkle of glasses from the saloon; she could hear the shuffling of cards; she could hear a dozen different voices. But she didn't care about any of that.

It was the cry of pain that interested her.

She wasn't sure if she turned Helly or if Helly turned on her own, but Janey suddenly found herself in front of a cabin just on the outskirts of the town. It looked nice enough if she ignored all the little signs of neglect, but she knew there was a monster inside. Her neck hairs were screaming, her fingers were tingling, and Hawk's mark was burning.

She dismounted and strode lazily towards the front door. She could hear the sounds of yelling from behind the door, and it was so familiar to her that she felt as if she was little again and walking up to her own door. Only she wasn't little. Not anymore. She didn't hide, and she had nothing to fear.

She knocked loudly with her left hand and eased Saint Killer from its sheath with her right hand. And then she waited, a small smile on her face.

An ugly red-faced man threw open the door. When he saw Janey, his eyes narrowed and he sneered, "What do you want?"

"Just to introduce myself," Janey said evenly. "I'm Janey Falke. Creep killer." She grinned widely and said, "And you're a creep."

With that statement, she stepped forward and thrust Saint Killer into the bottom of the man's jaw.

His eyes widened in surprise, and she pushed him backwards into the house as blood gurgled from his lips. He was clawing at her hand, but she was stronger than he was, and when they reached the kitchen, she popped the knife up just a little farther, then yanked it free as the man dropped to the floor.

Janey cleaned off Saint Killer on the man's shirt before shifting her attention to the woman and three children staring at her.

The children had that familiar cowed look, the look of the beaten and the unloved. The woman had the same look, but there was a pinched hardness to her eyes that Janey recognized.

In truth, Janey thought it might be a kindness to kill them all. But it was spring, and she was in the mood to see if they could be reborn, just like the thyme and the lilies.

"You," she said, pointing at the woman. "You brought these children into the world. You called for them. You took them from the mother's bosom, and then you turned your back on them and allowed them to be beaten and starved of affection and love. It is your duty to protect them, to shelter them, to care for them, and you have failed. I suggest you learn to be a mother, or the next corpse I drag through that door will be yours."

The woman was trembling with fear now, and Janey took a step towards her and said, tone just a little softer, "You don't have to be weak, and you shouldn't be."

Janey turned to look at the children now. All three of them were boys, and they already had the mean look, but they were still young. 

"You," she said, stepping towards them. "I suggest you don't follow in your father's footsteps. If you do, you'll find me at your door someday. If you have strength, you should use it to help others, not hurt them. And if you don't have strength, figure out what you do have."

She grinned at them, although she was sure it wasn't a comforting grin, and then she grabbed the dead man's hair and dragged him from the house after her. She cinched a rope under his arms before attaching the other end to her saddle horn, and then she rode into the town, dragging the body behind her.

When she reached the main street, she yelled loudly, "I'm looking for the sheriff!"

No one quite seemed to know what to do, but a tall, broad man suddenly stepped off the boardwalk and approached her warily.

"I'm the sheriff," he said.

"This man tried to steal my horse," Janey said easily. "Among other things," she added.

She dismounted and removed the rope from the body before facing the sheriff again.

"I didn't want to leave his body to the coyotes," she said with a smirk.

The sheriff still didn't know what to do.

"Anyway," Janey said. "He's yours now. Except," she murmured as she paused and turned back towards the body. "Just one more thing."

She was Janey Falke. Creep killer. Hawk. Who was going to stop her?

She lifted the body by its hair, pulled Saint Killer, and scalped him.

"This part's mine," she stated as she passed the sheriff and mounted Helly.

She nodded politely to the sheriff, cast a smile over the group of astonished onlookers, and rode from town, slow and sedately, like she didn't have a care in the world. Because she didn't.

When she reached Two Stones, his eyebrow arched in surprise, and he frowned at the scalp on her saddle.

"What?" she shrugged. "Those scalps were for Roaring Waters; this one's for me."

"Did you bury the body?" he pressed.

"No need. I scalped him in front of half the town."

"You did what?" Two Stones demanded.

"You heard me," Janey said with a smile. "That was fun," she added. "Thank you. Now let's go home."

And they did. They rode home, the wind whipping around them, the earth moving to accommodate them.

She was free. They were all free. They had land to live on, a house if they wanted it, enough money to live however they wanted forever, and Janey had the mother and Hawk.

She could ride into town, kill someone, and ride right back out again. Who was going to stop her? No one. They might have the white chief on their side, but she served a power more ancient and powerful than any president, chief, or king. She served the mother. She had been knighted, and she wasn't afraid.

It wasn't about revenge anymore. It wasn't about hatred. It was about balance. Man needed a predator, and Janey Falke was it.

Epilogue

"Hell and damnation!" Janey snapped as she rolled to her feet and chased after the small giggling figure who had just disappeared into the undergrowth.

"Asohave!" she shouted. "Get back here! Now, you little brat!"

She dived into the bracken, and a moment later the two of them came rolling out, Asohave laughing as Janey wrested her coffee pot from his hands.

"What have I told you about stealing my coffee pot?" Janey growled.

"Don't," Asohave replied with a grin.

"Well, what part of 'don't' means 'do' to you?" she snarled.

"The first part," he giggled.

"Damn brat," Janey said as she slung the small boy over her shoulder and carried him back to camp.

"Your child's spoiled," she stated as she deposited Asohave onto Emonah's lap. "And naughty."

"I wonder why," Emonah murmured, her dark eyes twinkling.

"I hope you're not blaming me," Janey grumbled. "He was already a brat when I got a hold of him."

Janey passed Asohave a piece of chocolate and yanked his long hair before leaning back against a tree and saying, "I hated it back East. Let's never go again."

"Never is a long time," Two Stones stated.

"Fine, let's not go for a while," Janey revised. "It was loud."

"I liked the place with the red leaves," Emonah said.

"They were all kind of like that," Janey shrugged. "You mean New York though?" 

"Yes," Emonah said with a smile. "I've never seen such a bright red. And you had fun; don't act as if you didn't."

"Did I like killing that group of murdering thieves?" Janey asked. "Yes. And did I enjoy killing that one sailor? Certainly."

"What about that woman?" Wolf Heart asked.

"What a creep she was," Janey agreed, throwing another stick onto the fire. "You've completely forgotten about the policeman, that butler, the maid, the barkeep, my first lawyer, and that little boy who killed his brother."

She shuddered at the memory of the boy's empty eyes, then sighed heavily, as if she was being put out, and said, "If you insist, we can go back. The creep ratio was a little higher; so, you're right, it was fun."

Asohave was on her lap now, and he was looking at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes and gave him another piece of chocolate.

"Spoiled," she stated. "That's what you are."

"I love you," Asohave said, gazing up at her innocently.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed.

"And you forgot about the hat maker," he said.

"I did, didn't I?" she agreed. "He was a nasty piece of work. I'm glad we met him."

She hugged the boy while he ate his chocolate, and then she said, "Shall we fight?"

"You always win," Asohave complained.

"That's why we need to fight," Janey told him. "I still haven't beaten Two Stones, but you don't see me giving up, do you? After you lose, I'll lose to Two Stones, and then we can go sulk in a tree together."

"Deal," Asohave said.

Janey kissed his head before shoving him off of her lap and tackling him.

"Move!" Emonah ordered.

"Yes, mother," Janey mocked as she grabbed Asohave and carried him to a little spot of grass beyond the others.

The rest of the evening went just as Janey had predicted. Asohave lost, she lost, they both sat in a tree and grumbled for a while, and then Asohave climbed down so he could curl up next to Emonah and go to sleep.

Janey stayed in the tree, looking out at the western horizon. They were getting close to home now. She could feel it waiting for them. Two more days, three at most.

She had missed it. She had missed her books and her cozy parlor. She had missed her garden. But she knew that in a week, she would be ready to ride again. She didn't like to stay still, but no one else seemed to mind her need to always be hunting.

It turned out that she had been silly all those years ago, always trying to make herself be just one thing. She had never had to choose. She could be Janey who enjoyed her copper tub and her books and her cake, but she was also Janey who enjoyed bathing in cold streams and loved the endless sky up above. She was a blend of contradictions, and she liked that just fine.

Janey sighed with satisfaction and turned her head slightly towards the south. She was ready to go home, but she wouldn't just yet. The breeze feathered gently across her cheeks, and she closed her eyes and truly felt it. There were creeps that way, she could sense them, and she had no intention of letting them get away from her.

With a happy grin, Janey leaned against the tree and drifted off to sleep. She spent the night dreaming, first of the old man on the mountain, then of fighting St. John, then she sat with Mohkave and spoke of nothing serious. She watched Emonah gape in horror and awe at the sprawling city of New York. She chased Asohave through a maze on their estate in Connecticut. She hunted with Pecos. She ate cake with Ahanu. And then because she wasn't sure how Asohave kept getting a hold of the coffee pot before she noticed it, she watched him filch it and figured it out.

"Sneaky little brat," she chuckled as she watched him run into the bushes.

Janey pulled herself from her memories just in time to take her watch. Sometimes it was more difficult to leave them behind than others, but she always did. She always returned to the real world, no matter what, because that was where her family was.

She climbed down from the tree, took over for Wolf Heart, and when Brings the Rain joined her at dawn, she closed her eyes and listened while he sang.

When he was finished, Janey and he talked about what they saw using Brings the Rain's tongue.

"You've improved," Brings the Rain praised her.

"I should have," she grumbled. "I've been with you nearly eight years now. Emonah and Asohave are already fluent in English; I don't know why I'm so damn slow."

"It's your ears," Brings the Rain said, face serious. "They're too white."

Janey glared at him, rolled her eyes, and walked away with a huff, ignoring the rumble of his laughter.

"I'm going hunting," Janey said as they all ate breakfast together.

"Spirits say large group," Two Stones replied. "Suggest you not scalp."

This was a running argument between Janey and the spirits. They said not to scalp, but she scalped anyway. Only one at a time, and only every now and then. But she still did it, and she did it with pleasure.

"We'll see," she said with a shrug.

Two Stones rolled his eyes, and Asohave said, "Can I have this one?"

"That's up to your momma," Janey said.

Asohave and Emonah began to talk in their own language, and Janey caught about half the words before Asohave said in English, "She says I can."

"Then you can," Janey agreed.

"I thought you said 'we'll see'," Two Stones protested.

"I did," Janey replied. "But Asohave wants a scalp, so I'll bring him a scalp. Seriously, Two Stones, what did you expect?"

Janey didn't wait for an answer, just stood and saddled Helly. She was the only one who used a saddle, and the only reason she used it was because she liked to hang her scalps from it.

The scalps caused comment whenever Janey rode into a town or a city. A few lawmen had even tried to arrest her; but it never went well for them.

"You'll catch up?" Janey asked as she mounted.

"We'll catch up," Wolf Heart replied.

She winked at him, then she turned Helly towards the south and started riding.

She wondered vaguely what kind of creeps she would find, but she didn't think about it overly long. She already knew they were creeps, and even if she hadn't known, she had learned to tell the difference between a creep and a non-creep, and she knew within three seconds if she was going to kill someone or not. People could lie to each other; they could hide from each other; but they could never hide from Hawk.

Janey's anticipation grew as she rode closer and closer. She had long ago stopped questioning how exactly she knew when she was close to a creep; she just did.

It was mid-morning when she rode out into a ramshackle camp. It was clear to her that the men had been holed up here for a couple days at least; and at a glance, she guessed they were outlaws of some sort. She usually didn't trouble herself with robbers, but these men weren't just robbers. She knew because the hairs on her neck were standing straight up.

A few of the men had lurched to their feet when she had ridden into the camp, pulling guns as they did; but they had immediately relaxed when they had seen her.

Fools, Janey thought. But she didn't mind. She had learned to utilize men's disregard of her years ago; in fact, it was one of her favorite things to do.

She dismounted and whispered to Helly to go wait for her. Helly immediately trotted out of the camp, and Janey turned to the men and smiled brightly.

"You got any coffee?" she asked. "I would kill for some coffee."

"We got lots of coffee, girl," a filthy man replied as he stood and studied her. "What're you prepared to give for it?" he added with a leer.

Janey pretended to think as she walked nearer to him. When she was quite close, she shook her head and said, "Nothing. But if you recall, I did say I'd kill for it."

And then she pulled Saint Killer and slashed his throat wide open.

She moved with the swiftness of Hawk, dashing between them and stabbing and slicing with an ease that young Janey wouldn't have understood. She had already killed five of them before the other men had recovered their wits enough to pull their guns.

A bullet whizzed past her head, and Janey aimed her next attack at the man who had fired it. She stabbed him in the heart, ripped Saint Killer free, leapt to the side as his body fell towards her, then jumped onto another man's back and stabbed him in the side of his neck.

Bullets were shredding the air around her, but none of them made contact with her. When she was killing creeps, which was always, she didn't get shot.

She dashed towards another of them, snarling as she did. The man's eyes widened with horror; and in his terror, he kept pulling the trigger of his empty gun while she bore down on him. Janey slammed his gun to the side before stabbing Saint Killer up under his throat. Then she ripped Saint Killer free, spun, and stabbed the man who had been trying to grab her from behind.

The five remaining men were backing away from her now, guns trembling in their hands, and Janey took a moment to stretch her neck before running towards them, her knife flashing in the sunlight.

She tore into them like a whirlwind, slashing and stabbing and leaping from one to the other, and when she was done, they were all dead, and she was covered in blood.

She cast a quick glance over the campsite to make sure she hadn't missed anyone, and then she grinned widely.

"Welcome home," she said happily.

Easterners were all right, but nothing quite compared to a Western creep.

She studied the bodies at her feet, chose the cleanest of them, and lifted him by his hair before scalping him.

She was standing there, knife in one hand, scalp in the other, when she realized someone was coming. She hadn't noticed earlier because whoever it was wasn't a creep. But she didn't recognize the approaching hoof beats, so she stared into the trees, waiting for the rider to emerge, and startled slightly when a humongous black horse suddenly galloped into the clearing.

A second later, Janey grinned widely and whispered, "Widow Maker."

She had forgotten how big he was and how majestic. She couldn't believe she had ever been frightened of him; now she wanted nothing more than to touch him.

"That's weird," the man riding Widow Maker suddenly said.

Janey looked up at him and frowned. If this was Widow Maker, she was certain the man who had just spoken must be the boy, but he didn't look like the boy, at least not the boy Widow Maker had once shown her.

"Ahanu said someone needed help, but he must be going senile," the man grumbled.

"Are you the boy?" Janey asked incredulously as she glanced behind him, searching eagerly for the cowboys.

The man laughed loudly and said, "I usually go by Andrew."

"You are the boy," Janey said, still not convinced.

He was much taller than the boy Widow Maker had shown her. His face was leaner and sharper. But his eyes were just the same, a warm chocolaty brown and full of mischief and amusement.

Andrew leaned on his saddle and put his chin on his fist as he looked her over. His eyes went from her face, to the hand holding Saint Killer, to the hand holding the scalp, and then he said easily, "And you must be the girl."

"Janey," she snarled.

"Janey," he replied. "Anyway, looks like you've got this under control," he shrugged. "I'm gonna go yell at Ahanu."

"Wait," Janey protested as he started to turn away from her. "You're just going to leave?"

Andrew cast her an amused glance and said, "Can't say you much strike me as the type of chick who needs a dude to ride in on a white charger and save the day. It just doesn't seem like your thing."

Janey blinked in confusion, then turned to Two Stones, who had just ridden up behind her, and said, "What the hell did he just say?"

"I have no idea," Two Stones replied.

"What the hell did you just say?" Janey asked Andrew.

"I said it looks like you've got this under control," Andrew replied, speaking very slowly.

And then he nickered softly, and he and Widow Maker started to turn away once more.

"Wait!" Janey yelled. "What the hell?" she grumbled under her breath. "The nerve. Are you like Pecos?" she asked loudly.

"How do you mean?"

"Can you dig really fast? Because I'm not really in the mood to spend all day digging, so if you can, I wouldn't mind if you did."

"You scalped him," Andrew shrugged. "You bury him."

"He wanted me to scalp him," Janey insisted.

"He said that, did he?"

"Yes!" Janey said. "He looked right at me and said, 'Janey, it would be an honor for you to scalp me.' I had to."

Andrew started laughing, and Janey stared at him in surprise. She had never heard anyone laugh quite like he did. It was robust and full of life, like the roar of the ocean.

"I'll do you a favor," Andrew chuckled. "But just this once."

He winked at her, and a golden burst of power speared off of his hand. The power split into arrows, and each of the arrows pierced one of the bodies. And then, without any warning whatsoever, the bodies were gone. Not burned, not buried, just gone.

"What the hell?" Janey gasped.

"There you go," Andrew said, brushing his hands together casually. "Now I have to go find Ahanu and yell at him. He stole Doyle's coffee again, and you've no idea how much that pisses Doyle off, and then I have to deal with a pissed-off Doyle all day. Not cool," he muttered. "See you around," he added as Widow Maker turned and they pranced off the other way.

"He's different than I thought he'd be," Janey said as she watched him ride away. "I think I kind of like him," she added.

"Spirits protect us," Two Stones sighed.

"What the hell does that mean?" Janey demanded.

Two Stones shook his head and turned his horse away from her.

"Two Stones!" Janey yelled. "Two Stones! Get back here!"

She followed after him, taking her scalp with her and only pausing to release the creeps' horses; but Two Stones had already disappeared into the forest when Janey mounted Helly.

Janey rode quickly after him, and when she reached him she said, "You don't just get to ride off like that. Storming off is my thing."

"So it is," Two Stones said.

He didn't say anything else, and Janey stopped trying to talk to him and remembered her meeting with Andrew instead.

She had been so distracted by Widow Maker that she hadn't noticed it right away, but now that she was remembering she could see that Andrew was not like Pecos at all.

If Pecos was a force of nature, then Andrew was the hand that controlled the force. Power had oozed from him, spilling over into the world at large.

She was so caught up thinking about him that she didn't speak at all until after they had settled in for the night and Wolf Heart said, "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" Janey replied.

"You've been staring off into the distance all day with the oddest expression on your face," Wolf Heart said.

"Have I?" Janey asked.

"Yes!"

"Hum," Janey shrugged. "He is really powerful," she murmured thoughtfully. "And tall. And I liked his smile."

"Who?" Wolf Heart demanded.

"She met Pale Raven," Two Stones said, his tone somewhat indifferent.

"That's not anything so impressive," Wolf Heart said.

"He's grown," Two Stones replied.

"You think I could trap him?" Janey asked.

"Trap him?" Wolf Heart snapped.

"Isn't that what you do when you want to keep someone?" she replied. "Trap them?"

"No!" Wolf Heart exclaimed.

"Are you certain?" Janey asked, snatching the coffee pot from Asohave before he could make off with it.

"Damn," Asohave muttered.

"Janey," Emonah chastised.

"Sorry," Janey murmured. "We don't say damn, Asohave. Not when your momma can hear us."

"Janey!" Emonah laughed.

"I don't understand," Janey said. "That's what Victor did to me. He set a trap, and I walked into it. And isn't that what you did to Emonah?"

"What? No!" Wolf Heart stuttered, face turning a deep red. "I didn't do anything."

Janey rolled her eyes and said, "Please. I'm not blind."

"I'm not… Emonah…" Wolf Heart cast a panicked glance Emonah's way, but she just crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

"Hush, children," Two Stones said. "Janey, if you want the boy, go get him. He's probably the only man who could put up with you. And Wolf Heart, you have not deceived anyone, and I don't know why you feel you have to."

Wolf Heart began to stutter again, and he finally managed to say, "Because of St. John."

Janey didn't understand that, and she told him so.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Wolf Heart confessed. "I didn't want you to see…"

He trailed off once more, and Janey finally understood. He hadn't wanted her to see them being happy together when she was all alone.

"Thank you," she said gently. "But I'm fine. I have been fine. Be happy, Wolf Heart. Please. And no more hiding behind trees. There really aren't any trees big enough to hide the both of you. If you really want to hide, you need to find a thicket or something." Janey's cheeks started to heat up, and she muttered, "Oh, never mind. Just be," she said. "Both of you. For my sake."

Emonah grinned at her, and Janey returned her smile before saying, "Can we get back to my thing though? If I can't trap him, how do I go about it?"  

"We're going to need more than the spirits," Two Stones sighed, and then he started laughing.

The others started laughing as well, and Janey glared at them before standing and holding out her hand. Asohave immediately took a hold of it, and Janey said, "Come on, Asohave. Let's go find a tree."

Peals of laughter followed them as they walked off into the forest, and Janey grumbled angrily to herself as she and Asohave climbed the nearest pine tree.

"They think they're so clever," Janey complained. "How the hell should I know? It's not as if anyone ever told me. And Wolf Heart did all of his trapping in secret, so how the hell am I supposed to know anything?"

"I don't know," Asohave answered. "But I have an idea," he added.

"What?"

"If he's anything like you, all we have to do is put out a bar of chocolate and a pot coffee, and when he comes sniffing, we throw a rope over him."

"Hum," Janey murmured softly. "Actually, I think that could work. You're pretty smart for a brat."

"Thanks," Asohave said proudly. "Will he split the chocolate with me do you think? Since it was my idea?"

"We'll just have to see," Janey shrugged. "If he doesn't, I don't suppose I want anything to do with him after all."

They were both silent for a long time, but after a while Asohave said, "Will you tell me the story of my people?"

Janey hugged the boy close, took off Mohkave's bracelet and handed it to Asohave before saying, "Once upon a time, the mother birthed a brave and wise people. She birthed them with the bison and the antelope and the rabbits. They ran across the plains with the coyotes and flew with the crows. They swam with the trout and the beaver."

The story went on and on, and it weaved through years and years until they reached Janey's favorite part.

"There was a boy born to them, and his name was Asohave, which means born in happiness. He was the most beautiful boy ever born, and all the people in the tribe loved him."

She never lied to Asohave. She never told him that the story ended happily ever after. He knew exactly what happened to his people, and he knew why. He knew what greed was; he had seen it first hand, and Janey was glad that he had because she knew that he would never grow up to be the kind of man who took from others.

When she finished the story, Asohave hugged her and scrambled down from the tree. She watched him go with a smile before turning to look up at the sky. Her eyes were sharp, and they quickly located the constellation called Virgo.

Janey studied the stars for a long moment, considering the look she had seen in Andrew's eyes. His eyes hadn't contained horror like Pecos's had. They hadn't contained hunger like St. John's. They hadn't had derision like Pa's had.

Janey had the strangest suspicion that the look in Andrew's eyes had been one of respect. Respect and recognition.

She smiled thoughtfully before drifting off to sleep, and she dreamed of Andrew's laugh.

Not far from where Janey slept in her tree and dreamed of the man she wanted to trap, the man himself sat beside his fire and drank his coffee thoughtfully.

"What a woman," he occasionally muttered, smiling slightly.

"How long are we gonna have to listen to this?" Doyle grumbled.

"A long time if he keeps riding the other way," Joe stated.

"Then first thing in the mornin', we're goin' back," Doyle said firmly.

"Not gonna happen," Andrew broke in.

"I am not gonna keep watchin' you moon into the fire," Doyle growled. "It's pathetic."

"You don't understand," Andrew said with a shrug. "You should have seen her, Doyle. She was coated from head to foot in blood, and she was standing there with that scalp like it was most natural thing in the world."

"And you like that?" Doyle asked in disbelief.

"She ranks a hundred on the hot scale," Andrew stated. "And it only goes to ten."

"Hot scale?" Doyle demanded.

"It's one of his strange terms," Joe sighed. "I believe it means he thinks she's pretty."

"And then some," Andrew said, grinning widely.

"Then why're we sittin' over here?" Doyle demanded. "Just go get her so we can be done with it."

"Nah," Andrew said. "A woman like that, you gotta let her come to you. It has to be her idea. Even Widow Maker gets that."

"You're not makin' sense, boy," Doyle grumbled.

Andrew just shrugged and went back to staring at the fire. He hadn't known he was looking, and maybe he hadn't been. He was looking now, but he only had eyes for one woman. Janey Falke. The girl who scalped.  

"God," he muttered softly, remembering the way her hair had swept past her face as she had stared up at him, her strange eyes flashing with irritation. "What a woman," he sighed.

***

Doyle leaned against a tree, glared out at the darkness, and waited. It was as dark as the inside of a barrel, but he could still see, and he could hear perfectly well too.

The old coot was quiet, but they had an agreement. Ahanu always zapped in, as the boy called it, at least twenty feet away. If he zapped any closer, he got shot. And apparently today, he wasn't in the mood to get shot.

Ahanu walked silently over to Doyle and leaned on the other side of the tree. Doyle continued to wait; he was never the first to speak.

Ahanu silently lit his pipe and puffed a few lazy rings into the dark of night before saying, "Well, what do you think? Shall we leave them to it?"

"Risky," Doyle stated.

"How so?"

"The boy's idea of courtship is to ride the other way and wait for her to come to him."

"A very modern concept to be sure," Ahanu chuckled.

"A stupid concept," Doyle snorted. "He's gotta make his interest known. Don't he?"

"I truly have no idea. Given Janey's unusual upbringing, I doubt she has much knowledge of normal courtship rituals."

"Hell," Doyle muttered. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Trust me," Ahanu replied.

"Those words have never and will never leave my mouth," Doyle ground out. "Not in regards to you."

"In that case, trust yourself. You and I both know that Andrew is unique. Too unique for just any woman," Ahanu said firmly.

Doyle knew Ahanu was right, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

"And Janey… Well, she's Janey," Ahanu said.

Oddly enough, that pretty well summed it up.

Doyle had thought of Janey often during the last few years, and although he would never admit that he had missed her, he had; and Andrew's blatant refusal to go anywhere near Janey was testing Doyle's patience.

"How is she?" Doyle asked.

It was a regular question, and Ahanu always answered it the same way.

"She's Janey."

"Damn it, you old coot!"

Ahanu chuckled softly before saying, "She is well. She is happy. She has healed."

"Good," Doyle said. "I say we let 'em figure it out," he added.

"Not my usual method," Ahanu mused.  

"You've meddled enough," Doyle stated. "They've laid eyes on each other, and if I know the two of 'em, they'll be irritatin' each other before the week's out."

Ahanu made a humming noise and puffed another ring of smoke into the air.

"But unlike the boy, I don't need to wait," Doyle said. "I stayed away like you asked me to, but if he can see her, so can I."

"That is a very round about way of meddling," Ahanu said. "I like it."

"I don't know why I put up with you," Doyle grumbled.

"No one ever does."

"If I see you hangin' around, I'll shoot you."

"We'll try it your way," Ahanu agreed. "For a time."

"No," Doyle snapped. "Not for a time…"

He trailed off, irritation filling him. They didn't have any agreement about zapping away, and he had just realized that Ahanu was gone. Doyle shook his head with disgust; but instead of returning to camp, he stayed where he was, staring out at the hidden horizon.

As far as he was concerned, throwing two people like Janey and Andrew together was just asking for trouble. Ahanu seemed to like trouble though, which was probably why he had conceived of such a ridiculous notion in the first place.

Doyle didn't generally bother to meddle. It was a dangerous occupation, after all; and people needed to find their own way. That was why he wasn't going to say a damn thing to the boy one way or the other, but as soon as the light began to spread, Doyle was going to ride over and see the girl for himself.

He really had missed her, and he wanted to see her grown up. He wanted to see if the hard glint of her eyes had softened. And he wanted to know if she had finally found what she was looking for.

... Thank you for reading the final installment of Janey Falke Saint Killer; please keep scrolling for more.

Author's Note

My Dear Readers,

I don't have the words to express how much Janey's story means to me. It's a story I've wanted to finish for a long time, and it both thrills me and saddens me to reach the end. Thank you for loving Janey as much as I do. She will always have a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy we get to see snippets of her through Doc's eyes. I think she's the only person he's actually a little scared of (besides Jervis, of course), and now we know why. She's scary as hell.

I have this really beautiful image of Janey and Andrew drinking coffee together while they watch the sunset. Maybe Asohave is running around in the background trying to nick their coffee pot. And even further away, Helly and Widow Maker are rubbing shoulders, and we all know how that ends.

I feel like I should say something more poignant or sentimental, but this is an epic series, and I think it speaks for itself. Also I find that words are rather failing me. So I'll just say this. Thank you.

Sincerely,

M.M.  

Read Next: The Legend of Andrew Rufus...

"This series created new emotions..." 5-star review.

If you’re willing to follow a boy down the bloody road to manhood, fighting shoulder to shoulder with legends, then start reading Andrew Rufus today. You won’t regret it. And you'll also get to see more of the mysterious and elusive Ahanu, as well as, Pecos, Doyle, Joe, and Charlie! The entire seven-book series is available on Amazon; just type in The Legend of Andrew Rufus or Click Here to Read Today!

The Immortal Doc Holliday Series...

To see glimpses of Janey all grown up, check out the unforgettable and ongoing Immortal Doc Holliday Series. Just search for M.M. Crumley or Click Here to Read on Amazon 

"The storyline gets better and better and more addicting with each book!" 5-star review.

The House of Graves Series...

From the world of the Immortal Doc Holliday, follow three generations of Graves women as they work to untangle the secrets of their past.

This series has plenty of M.M. Crumley's trademarked action, intrigue, humor, and soul-crushing pain. Check it out today! The entire 6-book series is available on Amazon. Just type in The House of Graves Book 1 or Click Here to Read on Amazon

"You HAVE to read this book. My warning... Do not drink your coffee while reading; drink it before. Ms. Crumley has a gift of sneaking hysterically funny parts in. My eReader got a coffee bath!"  5-star review

"The end (Book 1) caught me by surprise! So much intrigue! It's great to see actual relationships develop. And it still had plenty of action." 5-star review

Psych Thrillers...

And if you need even more, also read all five of M.M. Crumley's psych thrillers, writing as M.M. Boulder. Just type in M.M. Boulder or Click Here to Read Today!

"Deliciously dark..." 5-star review.

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M.M. Crumley Book List

Urban Fantasy

THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY SERIES

BOOK 1: HIDDEN

BOOK 2: COUP D'ÉTAT

BOOK 3: RUTHLESS

BOOK 4: INSTINCT

BOOK 5: ROGUES

BOOK 6: EMPIRE

BOOK 7: OMENS

BOOK 8: CHASM

BOOK 9: FERAL

BOOK 10: OBLIVION

BOOK 11: RELENTLESS

BOOK 12: REQUIEM

BOOK 13: HELLION

BOOK 14: SHADOWS

BOOK 15: INDEBTED

BOOK 16: FATHOM

BOOK 17: FEROCITY

BOOK 18: ONSLAUGHT

JANEY FALKE SAINT KILLER SERIES

BOOK 1: BLOOD OATH

BOOK 2: BLOOD TIES

BOOK 3: BLOOD FEUD

BOOK 4: BLOOD LUST

THE HOUSE OF GRAVES SERIES

BOOK 1: THREE LITTLE GRAVES & THE BIG BAD WOLF

BOOK 2: OVER THE RIVER & THROUGH THE WOOD

BOOK 3: FIRE BURN & CAULDRON BUBBLE

BOOK 4: A HUNTING, A HUNTING WE WILL GO

BOOK 5: AND HE WALKED A CROOKED MILE

BOOK 6: HOLIDAY SPECIAL: DECK THE HALLS

THE LEGEND OF ANDREW RUFUS SERIES

BOOK 1: DARK AWAKENING

BOOK 2: BONE DEEP

BOOK 3: BLOOD STAINED

BOOK 4: BURIAL GROUND

BOOK 5: DEATH SONG

BOOK 6: FUNERAL MARCH

BOOK 7: WARPATH

Writing as M.M. Boulder

Psych Thrillers

THE LAST DOOR

MY BETTER HALF

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

MY ONE AND ONLY

WE ALL FALL DOWN

To find me on Facebook, just search for M.M. Crumley

Visit my website at www.mmcrumley.com

About the Author

M.M. Crumley grew up in the woods of Colorado. She spent most of her time outside weaving stories in her mind while she explored.

About her writing, she has this to say:

"My characters are real to me, and on the page they become three dimensional. They are not stagnant. They change; they screw up; they conquer their fears. Sometimes they're unlikable. Sometimes they're broken. Sometimes they're on top of it all. Sometimes trouble finds them, sometimes they go looking for it, and sometimes that trouble defies explanation."

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