Always make a backup plan. Never leave the first option the only one.
—PA ABNER
They lost sight of Cutter around the bend. Keech kept his ears open for sounds of a skirmish, but with the constant crack of musket fire, the roar of the Rattlebrook, and the war cries of the thrall army, there was no way to hear anything clearly. Each step was hard won as they continued their climb, but they shuffled along with confidence.
As the gang neared the top of Sam’s makeshift trail, Keech glanced down at the riverside conflict. Because of their height and the encroaching stone spires, much of the battlefield lay hidden from sight. Keech could see a rabble of thralls firing muskets and revolvers across the channel, aiming at O’Brien’s wood insects that swarmed the sandy banks. A few Weavers barked orders, and the nightmarish woman who led them, Lost Tucker, squatted atop a jagged pillar. One of the Reverend’s crows rested on the desperado’s shoulder and appeared to speak in her ear—likely the Reverend himself, tucked somewhere safe inside the Palace, issuing strategy.
Across the Rattlebrook, a brigade of thralls emerged from the waters and started a swift charge toward O’Brien’s flank. The squad rushed forward, firing pistols. O’Brien dipped into her saddlebag and tossed something at the soldiers. A giant explosion rocked the canyon, decimating a third of the brigade, and Keech realized she’d thrown one of the whistle bombs she’d made at Skeleton Peak. A second later, O’Brien and Turner broke cover and dashed downriver for a new position. They appeared to be holding up, but Keech wondered for how much longer.
He turned his attention back to the climb. But as they crested the top of the wall, Quinn’s voice gave out, and with it their protective spell. “I’m sorry!” he rasped. “I can’t!” He held his hand to his throat and coughed.
A murderous flock of crows circled above the group. The Lost Causes were exposed.
Suddenly, a new column of crows burst from a small hole in the ground not twenty feet away, joining the rest of their flock in the air with malicious squawks and cackles.
Strong Heart pointed to the hole. “The Chimney!” she shouted.
The moment he saw it, Keech formed their next plan. “Sam, Quinn, get the rope ready to lower somebody. Find a place to tie it off. Me and the girls will keep these crows off your backs.” He didn’t wait for a response. They would get the job done. Dropping to one knee, Keech took a breath, allowing his focus energy to pool in his gut, then pointed his finger at a crow plummeting straight toward him. “Bang!” he yelled.
But this time nothing happened.
Keech dived away, but the crow’s talons raked his shoulder, sending hot sparks of pain across his back. He tumbled onto his side as a second crow buzzed past a few inches away.
Nearby, Duck clutched a large rock the size of her head, but when she tried to lift it, the stone remained firmly in place. “My strength ain’t working!” she cried.
“My focus isn’t, either!” Keech returned. “Something’s blocking our powers!”
Hoping to shield Sam from the flurry of talons and beaks, Keech pushed to his feet and ran toward his brother, but one of the skybound fiends smashed into Keech’s back. The blow sent his bowler hat flying, and he careened into the dirt. He felt the beast descend upon him and begin shredding his coat, leaving long, shallow cuts down his spine. The weight of the bird held Keech facedown, and he screamed his pain and frustration.
“Get off him!” Sam screamed, kicking at the crow.
Then the weight fell away as the creature erupted into a slurry of mud, spraying viscous goo across Keech and the rocky ground.
Strong Heart appeared over him, holding out her hand. Her silver shard pulsed energy upon her palm. “The amulet pieces still work,” she said, looking weary but determined. Before he could say thanks, the girl dashed onward, leaping at more crows.
As a new batch of crows erupted from the Chimney, Duck cried, “There’s too many! We’ll never get down the hole this way!” Keech’s body felt on fire, as if his skin had been cut a thousand times. Glancing up, he saw a crow diving for his face, talons extended.
Cutter appeared out of nowhere and jumped in front of him, and with a fierce cry, slashed at the bird. The moment the Prime-infused blade grazed the thing’s stomach, the creature burst into a ball of red flame.
A terrible gash ran across Cutter’s face, a wound that appeared to have taken his left eye. “That Weaver got me good,” Cutter said. “But I finally sent him over.”
Keech’s heart tumbled. “Your eye!”
Cutter shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a goner.” His knee buckled, and he stumbled forward. More crows flew overhead, squawking, but they pulled away, perhaps at the sight of Cutter’s deadly blade.
“You’re banged up something awful,” moaned Duck.
“Don’t matter. Finish the mission. Get inside and stop Rose.”
Keech grabbed Cutter’s left arm, supporting him. Together with Duck, they led him over to the others. Strong Heart examined Cutter’s eye, then she dropped her gaze in sadness.
Cutter pulled out his blue bandana and covered the devastated eye, tying off the cloth behind his head. His face turning haggard and gray, he glanced down at a terrible gash running across his stomach. “That Weaver got me worse than I thought.” He tumbled onto his side.
“He’s bleeding!” Duck cried. Dropping to her knees, she pressed a hand to Cutter’s wound, but nothing she could do stopped the flow. “We can heal him with the Fang, but it’s inside the Palace with Coward.”
“Then we have to fetch it,” Keech said.
“No.” Cutter’s voice was difficult to hear beneath the rolling thunder, the cackling of the crows, and the din of gunfire. “Y’all know better than I do. I ain’t gonna make it. I’m a goner.”
Duck tore off her hat and threw it to the ground. “Stop that fool talk! You’ll be fine!”
With a quivering hand, Cutter reached for the girl’s hat and offered it back. “We both know that ain’t true, hermana.”
Tears welled up in Duck’s eyes as she snatched the hat. “You can’t leave us, Cut. We just got you back.”
Cutter said, “I’m sorry, Duck. For everything.”
“No need to be sorry for nothing. We know the Devil’s mark bound you to Coward.”
“You don’t know the whole story,” Cutter wheezed. “I’m the one. The one who got your folks killed.”
Bewilderment cascaded over Duck’s features. “Big Ben Loving killed them, Cut.”
Through gritted teeth, Cutter said, “Me and my partner, Bishop, we used to run caballos out of Missouri. Rustled them off ranches and traded them down to Arkansas. Back in July, we snuck onto your ranch and stole your Fox Trotters.”
Duck shook her head. “You’re talking nonsense.”
Another one of O’Brien’s whistle bombs erupted below, echoing across Thunder Pass, as Cutter coughed with a grimace. “It was Bishop’s idea, but I went along. We had just crossed the state line when lawdogs bushwhacked our trail. They returned the Trotters to your folks and sent me and Bish off to do time at a cárcel called Barrenpoint.”
Keech placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Stop talking, Cut. You’ll make the wound worse.”
“No, Blackwood. I gotta say this while there’s time.” Cutter turned his attention back to Duck. “Coward was a prisoner there. He smelled your pa’s scent on me and knew the trail right back to your ranch.”
Duck cupped a hand over her mouth.
“The Big Snake showed up to bust Coward out of Barrenpoint. That’s when Bad Whiskey—El Ojo—killed my friend. I managed to get away, and not long after, I dug up the knife that Bish took from a brujo named Artemas Ward. I thought my blade would kill El Ojo. I hoofed it back to Sainte Genevieve to warn your folks but…” He trailed off for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. “Big Ben may have pulled the trigger, amiga, but I lit his path to your front door. I’m so sorry.” Cutter covered his bleeding face in his coat sleeve.
Duck’s hands trembled as she put her hat back on. “No, Cut. None of it was your fault. You never could’ve known about Coward’s nose or Rose’s dark ways. You got caught up in something too big for anyone. You’re the same as the rest of us. You’re a Lost Cause!” She rested a hand on his arm. “Now, hang on till we can find the Fang. We’ll fix you right up.”
Cutter opened his mouth to speak again, but more coughs overwhelmed him. When he quieted down, he fell still, and his right eye shut.
“No, Cut, no!” Duck murmured. “Please don’t go!”
Monstrous cackles of triumph roared out of the crows above. When Keech glanced up, he saw that the birds were once again plummeting toward them. Anger and despair swept over Keech like a prairie fire. “Just leave us alone!” he shouted.
A dark voice—the Reverend’s voice—bellowed out of the collective flock like an utterance from a wrathful, fallen god. “Never!”
Trembling with rage and fear, Keech reached for Cutter’s blade, lying in the dirt near Cut’s unmoving hand.
His fingers froze around the bone handle as inhuman growls tore across Thunder Pass. Except they sounded nearby, perhaps only a few steps down the curving path, and the Lost Causes spun to mark them.
“What in tarnation!” shouted Sam.
They quickly discovered the answer as two massive, wolf-like beasts erupted from the tree line. Keech recognized the creatures all too well.
Chamelia.
As the Shifters moved toward them, Keech searched for any sign of Devil’s marks, but they appeared to be free of the cursed brand. Howling ferociously, both Chamelia hunkered low on their haunches.
“Lost Causes,” Duck said, “run!”
But instead of attacking them, the Shifters bounded high into the air, soared over the young riders, and crashed midair into Rose’s diving crows.
Their claws flashing with impossible speed, the monsters snatched the twisted birds out of their flight. As soon as they landed, the Chamelia tore into the fiends, decimating feathers and bones.
After roaring up at the sky, the Chamelia swiveled back to face the Lost Causes. Their fangs gnashed in their bloodstained jowls as they approached the young riders.
Strong Heart reached for Duck’s hand. The two girls huddled closer.
“Keech,” muttered Sam, “what do we do?”
Keech lifted Cutter’s knife. “Get behind me.” The hand clutching the magic blade trembled, so he took a deep breath to steady his grip.
But then the smaller of the Chamelia stepped in front of the other and held up its blood-soaked paws.
“We won’t hurt ya,” the beast grumbled, its voice deep and menacing. “It’s me! It’s John Wesley.”