Chapter 2

Mid morning, Buck returned to the hotel, whistling. He was a little surprised to find the room's door ajar; it swung inward at his touch. "Bet you thought I'd be late, but –" Buck stopped short.

JD was still in bed, sprawled under a wad of covers, his clothing strewn across the floor. A chair had been knocked on its side. On the bedside stand, a cracked pitcher lay tipped over, pooled water dripping to the floor among shards of broken glass.

"What the hell?" Buck snatched at the covers. "What've you been doing here?"

JD barely moved.

"You sick?"

"Nuh-mm." Rolling onto his back, JD stared with glazed eyes at the ceiling and trailed one hand slowly over his bare chest.

Buck waved a hand in front of his face. "You in there? Wake up!" When JD didn't move any more, Buck prodded his shoulder. "Hey!" He swiped his hand through the water on the table and flicked it in his face. JD blinked.

"Looks like somebody barely stumbled home." Chris stood in the doorway, shoulder to the frame. He gazed about with amusement.

Straightening, Buck glanced back. "JD don't drink himself to this state. Something's wrong with him. He's sick." He felt JD's forehead.

"Ain't sick." JD gave Buck a shove. "Just – headache. Need ta sleep." He licked his lips. " 'm thirsty."

"Well, you broke the drinkin' glass, we got a mess to clean up and a train to catch, so get up."

"Bird," JD mumbled. "In here." He waved an arm in a slow loop. "Swwoooop! Bird broke it."

Buck and Chris traded glances and both raised their eyebrows. "Quite a dream," Chris drawled.

JD's eyes fell shut, but Buck grabbed him and jerked him up. "I don't know what you got into last night, but it's time to – What's that smell?" He leaned in, sniffing JD's hair. "Strong perfume."

Slumped among the bedding, JD scowled up at Buck. He ran a hand through his hair, then scratched at his chest. Stopped. Looked down. "Where's my – ? Where's – ?" Clumsily, he fumbled with the covers.

"What? That doo-dad charm you wear?" Buck kicked all the clothes on the floor into one heap and pointed. "Probably in there."

With a groan, JD slid from the bed and dropped heavily to the floor. He rummaged through the clothing, shaking each thing and growing frantic as the pile dwindled. "It can't be gone." His voice took on a wailing quality. "It can't." He peered into a boot and threw it in frustration.

"Check the pockets," said Chris. He was still leaning on the door frame. "Money gone?"

"Uh-uh, no. Money's here."

Buck had checked the bedding, searched beneath the bed, and was picking pieces of broken glass from the floor.

"Ohhh." JD flopped onto his back, clutching his head. "Bird foll'd me here. Took my medal."

Chris had had enough – he strode into the room with harsh words. "There was no bird in here, kid. You were stupid and brought the wrong woman to your room. She took it." He plucked up a shirt. Threw it at him with an order. "Get dressed."

In a daze, JD sat up and began to pull the shirt on.

It wasn't fast enough to suit Chris. Swearing, he scooped up an armload of clothes, and as his hand swept the floor, it scraped over a thick chunk of glass. A stinging scarlet streak rose on his hand. "Damn." He pulled his arm in close to examine it. Fragrance wafted up from the clothing.

For a second, he couldn't breathe.

In his mind, something flashed. Something remembered. Chris stumbled back, felt himself reeling, falling into a memory. Incense. Blood on fingers. The image of a bird – Suddenly, his face contorted, twisted into a mask of rage. Furiously, he lunged, the clothes tumbling away as his knees hit the floor. He gripped JD by the shoulders, shaking him. "Where were you!" His face was inches from JD's. "Last night!" he roared. "Where did you go?"

JD's eyes were huge. "I – I –"

"Chris!" Stunned, Buck scrambled to his feet, but Chris had already released JD and, still glaring, wild-eyed, was groping blindly behind him for something.

Buck saw the blood on Chris's hand. "What the – "

JD had not yet recovered. "This lady, a fortune teller," he babbled, and gasped as Chris's hand shot up at the words, clamping onto JD's wrist, pulling and painfully twisting his arm.

"Fortune teller," Chris spat out. "Witches! You know what they do?" Cruelly, he gripped JD's arm like a vise. "They cut you. Steal your blood." JD, trembled, wide-eyed, chest heaving with uneven breaths as Chris ranted on. "They tell you terrible things. How your loved ones will die. Is that what you wanted to know, JD?" Chris held the sharp glass to JD's palm. "They – "

Buck's fist slammed into his jaw.

-o-

Chris lay on the bed, awake, a grimace distorting his face. Buck offered a wet handkerchief and leaned in to speak softly. "If I'd had rope, you'd be tied up right now. As it is, I got the kid outta here, and you're gettin' a chance to explain."

Eyes slitted, Chris slurred out, "Wha' ya talkin' 'bout."

Buck managed to suppress anger to answer without emotion. "You attacked JD."

"What!" Chris sprang up, but immediately fell dizzily back with a groan. "Agh, God! What'd you do to me?"

"You attacked JD, Chris. I took you out." Buck's face was grim, bordering on dangerous. "Kid looked like a kicked pup when I pulled you offa him."

Chris sat up again, slowly. He curled into himself, the handkerchief held to his sore jaw. Wincing, he took deep breaths and rasped, "Why would I go after JD?"

"You tell me."

"Buck, I don't remember it. Last I remember is trying to find the kid's necklace, picking up clothes." Chris raked fingers through his hair, stopping in mid motion when he thought of something more. "That smell?" He sat up straighter. "In his hair? His clothes. That ain't perfume. It's incense."

"So what?" Buck lifted his hands, exasperated. "Sometimes the kid thinks too hard about stuff. Comin' from a bawdy house – probably went to a church. Confession."

"No," Chris breathed out. "There's different kinds, different scents. This one, it hit me. Something – I dunno." Scowling, he snorted with dissatisfaction. "Can't catch it in my mind."

"Well, you went kinda crazy." Buck watched Chris closely as he added, "Started carryin' on about witches."

"Witches?" Chris almost laughed, but sobered when Buck said, "What did you have to drink this morning?"

"Nothing." Chris was still for a moment, then raised eyes to his friend. "Ever had a scent bring back a memory?" He cringed inside even as he said it. To this day, Chris struggled with the odor of any smoking, burned out building. He'd learned to push the nightmare aside when he had to, though. He blew out a harsh breath. "Where are JD's clothes?"

"Sent 'em to be brushed and sponged. Kid's in a bath, trying to wake up. Just seems like he ain't all there." Buck crossed his arms over his chest. "Pretty sure he was drugged. There's no way we'll be on any train for home today."

Chris got to his feet. He swayed a little, but steadied himself. "We're going back to the Palace."

"For what?"

"Find out who did this and get JD's necklace. Someone there took advantage of him and stole it."

Buck took a step back, stern and defensive. "No. Now, I've known Miss Peony a long time. She runs a good house and welcomed us to her place for free. There's no way I'm gonna accuse her of stealing from us." He glowered at Chris. "Besides, why would JD bring some girl from the Palace over here? It wouldn't make sense. Looks to me like he found someone else."

"Guess you're right." Chris looked around for his hat. "Let's go have us a talk."

-o-

"What happened to me?" JD was still heavy lidded, pale. Listlessly, he poked a fork at the food on his plate. He had a sore wrist and Chris had made an apology, but truth be told, JD barely remembered the attack or what provoked it.

"Drugged probably. Don't know how yet." Buck patted JD's shoulder. "The bath helped, didn't it? Here, try to eat."

JD shrugged Buck's hand away. "What happened to Chris?"

Across the table, a bruised and subdued Chris Larabee toyed with an empty cup. Buck signaled a waitress. "Could we have more coffee over here, darlin'?" He turned back to JD and said softly, "He remembered somethin' he didn't want to."

"Oh." JD slid down in his chair a little. Chris usually got stinking drunk when that happened. Instead, right now, he was sitting in a diner with a plateful of food in front of him, and he'd eaten even less than JD had.

Chris lifted his eyes and spoke in a quiet way. "Did you take a woman to your room?"

Quickly, JD shook his head. "I didn't want to be there. At the Palace, I mean. I wanted – I was missing Casey. I wouldn't have –"

Chris raised a hand. "Buck said you mentioned a fortune teller. Did she come to your room?"

There was a window near their table. JD turned his face to the light and gazed at the street. All he understood was, Chris believed a woman had taken his medallion. Memories of the last twelve hours slid near and away in his mind. He remembered Calla, how she pulled at the silver chain, and the covetous gleam in her eyes. Except, she hadn't taken it. He'd walked out, taken his time returning to the hotel. Now he realized he hadn't gone directly back. Slowly, he said, "There was a teashop."

For half a minute, he worked at picturing the little shop. "It's not far," he said at last. "The sign was bright, I think red and yellow. It said fortunes and such. The lady knew a lot of things, like my name and where I was from, even my job. I thought she'd give me advice. Only, the stuff she said, it didn't help, mostly didn't make sense." JD looked down at his hands, twisting them together, concentrating, and found another fragment of memory. "She said I have to send – " He looked up sharply, eyes latching with surprise onto Chris's face. "You." Chris flinched, glancing at Buck as JD went on. "She's the one who took my necklace. Said she'll give it back when I send a man who –" He stopped.

"What?" Chris prompted. "A man who what?"

JD could barely say it. "A man who has lost at love."

-o-

Chris dropped onto the bed, fully clothed.

Buck was right about the train – they hadn't even tried to make it. His head pounded, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He didn't blame Buck for what he'd done, but damn, this better not last. Nauseated, he lay there staring at a blank wall, and swept cold sweat from his face. Outside, a spindly tree grew in the space between the buildings, the motion of its leaves making sunlight dance on the wall. With every flicker between light and shadow, Chris's mind took another turn.

Nothing made sense. He had literally attacked JD and tried to slice him with a piece of glass – all the while babbling about witches and blood! Thank God Buck had been there to stop him. Chris rubbed his aching head. What the hell was wrong with him? Buck had decked him before, when he was out of control drunk, but this was entirely different. He wasn't drunk. What had gotten into him? Was he finally going crazy?

The flickering light was hypnotic. Chris fell into sleep. A gray type of sleep, a sleep so light he thought he was still conscious. He believed his eyes were still open, that the sunlight had gone and been replaced by twilight. He raised a shaky hand, saw a crimson line of blood. "Chris! What'd she do?" Boyish shouts surrounded him, echoed through the room, bounced off the walls. "What'd she say? What'd she do? Chris!"

He bolted upright.

It was not twilight. It was early afternoon and daylight streamed through the window. The room was utterly silent, but now there was something in there with Chris. A memory.

It was only a lark. In the gathering shadows of a winter afternoon, four boys approached the tumbledown house where an old hag lived. She was said to be a witch, and Chris's friend wanted to buy a love spell. Except, the friend backed out before they ever got there. He ran away and the rest of them followed, laughing, pelting each other with snowballs all the way home.

That was how it happened, wasn't it? The silly errand amounted to nothing, and afterward, Chris rarely thought of it. He was fourteen. In the years to come, he was more concerned with his studies and the ever growing talk of unrest in the country, talk of war. Then not just talk – the real thing. He went off to fight in that war, and boyish adventures faded into memories fragile as dreams.

Chris looked at his hand, turning it. In his dream, there was a deep scratch, blood seeping along the "life line". Now came another fleeting image. Blood on a coin, and a shout. "There won't be a next time!"

"There will."

Frustrated, Chris swung up from the bed. The dream meant nothing. It was only a disturbing product of the foul mood that had simmered in him for days. He needed to move, do something. Work off whatever this was. He thought of the young man he'd assaulted, and his temper rose. Some bitch had stolen from JD, taken something he valued. Chris seethed, let his anger spike. Then, just as quickly, the spike flattened. Chris relaxed into the cold comfort of calculation. His breath steadied. He wouldn't leave this alone. If this woman was so keen on seeing him, another "lovelorn" man, then so be it.

He would find her.