Devon Monk - Cold Copper

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he smiled, a dimple shadowed his cheek.

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

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

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

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

The mayor walked into the dining room, still talking.

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

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

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

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

It was a beautiful place. A plush place.

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

“Mr. Wicks,” Rose said. “How wonderful to see you here. I didn’t know you’d be traveling on the train. I thought you were staying in Hays City for some time.”

“That had been my plan. But an unexpected opportunity arose that requires my attendance in Des Moines.”

The train jostled over a rough spot in the tracks and Wicks grabbed the luggage rack to steady himself.

“Please,” Rose said, “sit with us.”

“Well, I…” He looked up and down the aisle as if just noticing where he had gotten to. “If it wouldn’t be too much bother, yes. Thank you.”

Captain Hink hadn’t moved an inch. “Nope.”

“Move over,” Rose said.

“There isn’t enough room on this seat for three.” He glanced up at Mr. Wicks again. “You’ll need to be moving on.”

“Captain Hink,” Rose said. “Please move aside.”

“I said there isn’t room for him.”

“There doesn’t have to be.” Rose stood. “Please let me by.”

“Where are you going?”

“For a stroll.”

“Why? Where?”

“Because I want to. And anywhere”—she leaned in a little closer—“anywhere away from your terrible manners, Captain.”

Hink shook his head slowly, then took a hard breath and pushed up onto his feet. He stood out into the aisle, face-to-face with Mr. Wicks. Rose hadn’t realized how tall and wide Captain Hink was when compared to the willowy Mr. Wicks.

But Thomas did not back down from the impressive man hulking over him.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said calmly. “Are you enjoying your travel?”

“This isn’t my first time on a train, Wicks.”

“It is mine,” Rose said, stepping away from the seats and trying to stand near Thomas, but unable to get around the looming Captain.

Mr. Wicks’s eyebrows shot up into the curls beneath his bowler hat. “Your first time on a train? Would you like to see a Pullman car?”

“I only bought second class,” Rose said. “I don’t think they’ll allow me into that kind of luxury.”

“Oh, I daresay they would. Please”—he offered his arm—“you will be my guest.”

“You have first class accommodations?” Rose asked. She was impressed and didn’t try to hide it.

“Of course.” He smiled. “Shall we?”

Hink was still in her way. She waited. Wicks waited.

Finally, Rose stepped on Hink’s foot. Hard.

He tipped his glare down at her. “You’re not really going with this bluestocking, are you?”

Calling a man a bookish old woman was fighting words from where Rose came from. She glanced quickly at Mr. Wicks, gauging if she’d have to try and stop a fistfight in the middle of a moving train.

But Mr. Wicks laughed. His arm was still extended for Rose. “Black, actually, if you so care to know. My stockings,” he said. “Now, let’s go see what we can see.”

Rose took Thomas’s arm. “Excuse me, Captain. But I will be going now.”

Hink leaned back, just the fraction of an inch, so Rose could step between them.

“Good day, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said.

Hink turned to the side and they moved past him and down the length of the car, managing the swaying of the rail rather well. Once at the door at the end, Mr. Wicks turned to her. “It’s a bit blustery between cars, and the shaking—”