THIS IS THE LAST TIME we trust anything Bernice tells us,” Hetty whispered as they watched the fifth wagon of white landowners flee over the rough terrain.
On the tree branch across from her, Benjy placed a finger on his lips, gently chiding her. Hetty ignored him.
Her spells to muffle noise were still well in place, and even if they weren’t, no one was likely to even hear her. The white folks below were too busy trying to get away from the war that was swiftly marching its way onto their land. When it wasn’t wagonfuls of people carting with them everything they considered precious, it was people making their way on foot, worried about the sounds of gunfire and sight of Sorcery flashing in the air.
Hetty didn’t blame them. Armies moved slowly, but when they got moving they trampled over everything in their path, ransacking homes and farmhouses looking for supplies, and always setting up camp in the best home in the area.
With the wagon out of sight, Benjy lifted a small spyglass to his eye. He tapped his shoulder to signal it was clear. Although Hetty dropped down first, he still landed before she did, making his way to the bushes for cover and protection.
They headed to Petersburg with the information that Hetty’s sister was still enslaved on a small farm nearby. However, once they were there, instead of talking about Esther, the contact spoke about Union generals, a riverboat meeting with Lincoln, plans to disrupt Confederate supply lines, and prisoners goaded to use their magic to protect the retreating Confederates.
Information that was the last thing Hetty expected. But not Benjy.
“Bernice is a spy.”
Benjy’s words came as they crouched in the bushes near a farmhouse.
Hetty, ready to step out of the protective shadows, crouched back down next to him. “A spy?” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
“We were always sent places where no one had even heard about your sister, but they were places of some importance to the war.”
Hetty grunted. “Why not say anything before?”
“Would you be out here if you knew otherwise?”
Hetty gazed at the sky. Plumes of smoke floated from the fighting several miles away, the same plumes they had been seeing no matter what direction they turned on this trip. Benjy knew her well enough to know her answer. He was asking a different question entirely. “The North Wind wants us here, to do something no one else can.”
“Exactly.” Benjy pointed to the farmhouse. “This place isn’t abandoned.”
Hetty had to agree. No signs of a hasty retreat could be seen from a distance. But that wasn’t what Benjy noticed. Hetty stared at the home for a bit longer, and then saw the shimmer across the window.
“It’s warded,” Hetty said.
“Are you willing to bet the magic protections extend further than the home?”
Hetty should have taken that bet, for it turned out to be an easy one. The protections stretched out only as far as the shadows that surrounded the structure. Even those went away the moment Hetty prodded them. So easily were they taken care of that Hetty wasn’t expecting any sign of resistance, especially not the woman who stood there at the back door with a rolling pin in her hands.
“Get out of here, if you know what’s good for you,” growled the woman. “You tell whatever army you’re with that nobody’s home!”
“We’re not with the army,” Hetty said, even though they had used that lie more than once to get access to a home. “We’re just trying to get out of here, and we’re looking for anyone who might want to come along.”
The rolling pin lowered a tad bit. “You’d be looking awfully hard. Most folk left with their masters.”
“But not you,” Benjy said.
The woman lifted up her chin. “Didn’t have much of a choice. I go with them, I lose my chance to slip away.”
“You left a lot of spells on the house for someone planning to leave,” Benjy said.
Hetty could kick him for opening his mouth. Once he started asking questions, people usually stopped being helpful.
This woman, however, looked at them closely. “You two aren’t from around here. You talk too easily about magic,” she said.
There wasn’t a collar around the woman’s neck, or any scars for that matter. The woman, noticing Hetty’s glance, grunted. “Out here you don’t talk about what spells you can do if you don’t want to be dragged off. I do what they call kitchen magic. Not useful for fighting, although my man told those soldiers I could do nothing.”
“Where is he now?” Hetty asked.
“Took him,” the woman said, devoid of any emotion. “After the fighting at the bridge ended, the Grays took Lionel and a few others.”
“What bridge?” Benjy asked.
“The only one that’ll cross the river. Up top the trains cross, and just below is the one wagons and people can make their way across.”
Later that night, it was the second bridge that Hetty and Benjy made their way across under the cover of darkness. The way across was not easy, both sides of the bridges guarded by soldiers.
Not wanting to risk using magic to pass by undetected, they used a favorite mundane trick of Hetty’s that involved Benjy throwing a rock to make a noise far from their current position, drawing the soldiers’ attention away. They hurried across the bridge to the other side and set about following the remnants of the army.
The army camp was a couple miles out. A little bit of moonlight was the only real illumination, with the exception of a few tiny fires. This made it easy for them to spot the coldest and darkest part of the camp.
There were no guards, as the thick chains kept the group of prisoners linked together, unable to run without making noise.
Benjy moved to the group, then dropped down so he was on level with them and whispered, “Lionel?”
A man across from Benjy lifted up his head. “Who are you?”
“Someone here to help,” Benjy whispered. “Is this all of you? The ones that work magic?”
Hetty counted seven people. More than they’d originally expected, and slightly fewer than what the woman at the farmhouse had said.
“Yes,” another said. A young woman by the timbre of her voice. “How can you help?”
“We’ll get you out of here,” Benjy said. “Is there a guard?”
Nobody had seen one so far, and most of the soldiers had ignored them. Even some of the laborers in the camp did as well, since being magic users meant they were marked for death.
Benjy made short work of picking the locks. Once they were freed, Benjy led the group away, retracing their steps back to the bridge.
Hetty stayed behind, crafting shadows that would take the shape of the seven newly freed people. It wouldn’t last past dawn, but by then they should be well away.
Hetty pulled out one of the coins Benjy made. The moon being just a sliver in the sky, it wasn’t strong enough to fully charge the invisibility charm in the coin. But it could deepen shadows already there. She was still pondering that when she heard footsteps somewhere ahead of her.
“Aren’t you coming?” a man asked. It was one of the seven. Hetty relaxed, putting her gun back in its holster.
“I’m the rear guard.” She walked past him. “Come, we don’t want to fall behind.”
“Don’t look like much of a soldier to me,” the man said.
She stopped, the skin prickling at her neck. There was something familiar about his voice.
“You got good eyes to see in all this darkness.”
“Good memory.”
Hetty turned with her pistol in hand as she recognized the voice as Nathan Payne’s.
The sliver of moonlight illuminated his twisted smile. “We meet again, Sparrow.”
“We must stop doing that,” she said.
“This was no accident. I made sure the rumors of your sister would bring you in this direction. Why chase after you when I can bring you to me?”
Hetty’s hand twitched against the trigger. She should have known he’d used her sister against her this way. Used those scraps and whispers about Esther’s whereabouts to lure Hetty. It was amazing he hadn’t done it before or that he hadn’t drawn up a better trap. Even now he underestimated her, because for some reason he thought by facing her alone he had an advantage.
Still a fool after all this time.
“Make this easy on yourself and come quietly,” Payne demanded.
“Never.”
“You won’t shoot me, Sparrow. It’ll draw too much attention. They might not get you alive, but they’ll get your friend, and I know that’s the last thing you want.”
“What do you want, Payne?”
“The only thing I ever wanted,” he said. “Vengeance for the death of my son.”
Payne rushed at her.
Hetty dodged, but he was coming at her furiously. Payne was right about one thing. Her gun going off would draw attention. But she had other ways to deal with him.
Exchanging her pistol for the sewing needle in her pocket, she ran the needle through a scrap of cloth, sewing the quickest star sigil she could. She didn’t even bother yanking the needle out as she pressed it against Payne’s face.
He was still reaching for her throat when the sleep spell went into effect. His arms fell to his side, and he slumped to the ground.
Panting, she looked down at him and felt the weight of the pistol in her pocket.
One shot.
One single shot and she would never have to see his face again. Never fear his whisper finding her when she least expected it. Never worry that he was going to squeeze the life out of her someday.
But if she shot him, she’d wake up the Confederate camp. She might be able to escape, but she might not. There was a river. There were all the people they were attempting to save. They were in an unfamiliar area rife with danger. And there was no one around to save them.
One gunshot now, and it wouldn’t be just Payne who died. It would be her. It would be Benjy. It would be the handful of souls trusting them.
She couldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t do it.
Payne deserved to be shot, but the cost would be too high.
Hetty spat on the ground, cursing Payne’s name. Let the stars take this man, because their next meeting will not end well.