The Stepmother: An Everland Ever After Tale (12 page)

She remembered the tremble of fear in his voice when he’d told her about Witcher. Maybe, if it’d been daylight, she wouldn’t have heard it. But there, curled up beside him with her head on his chest, she’d
felt
it. He was scared of Witcher, and that scared Meri.

“Where are you, boy?” The voice boomed out of the cabin, and Meri sucked in a startled gasp. Pressing her back to a tree, she looked around frantically. In her haste to get away from the cabin, away from
him
, she’d run further from the town. She didn’t have much hope of hiding in this grove of stumpy pines, but the creek—rushing now with the spring melt—might offer a place to hide, if the bank was tall enough. When the man repeated his call—this time with an insult—Meri took a lungful of crisp air and darted for the bank.

She wasn’t fast enough. Maybe he’d seen her, or maybe he’d just guessed well, but the moment after Meri had rolled over the edge of the bank to crouch ankle-deep in the water, she heard him again. Much closer.

“Come on out, lady. I know you’re down there, with the girl, too.”

She held her breath, hoping he was bluffing, hoping he didn’t really know where she was. Zelle whimpered softly against her neck, as if understanding the need for quiet. Her prayers were ignored.

“I’ve got a gun, and I’ll use it if you don’t come up here.” Her heart, which she figured couldn’t pound any harder than it already was, began to slam against her chest. She was sure Zelle could feel it. “Lady, I’m not asking politely again.” The cock of a revolver. “I’ll start shooting.”

Meri stood up hastily, desperate to keep him from firing. She’d do anything to protect Zelle, even if that meant keeping this threatening stranger talking. He was standing in the little clearing, an evil grin on his face, a scar across one eye, and a revolver pointed at the two of them.

Meri’s knees went weak, and she almost collapsed back into the water. But when the man gestured with the gun, she found a hidden strength somewhere. Ignoring her dripping skirt, she scrambled up the bank, trying her best to stay turned so that her body was between Zelle and the man.

When she stood there before him, breathing heavily in fear, she saw him nod approvingly. Her chin came up in response. “You’re Witcher, aren’t you?”

A dark chuckle. “I am. And you must be the delicious Mrs. Gothel.”

Meri’s eyes narrowed, and she backed up a step, careful to stay away from the bank. “I’m Mrs. Carpenter.” She wasn’t really, but this monster didn’t need to know that. The people of Everland considered her Jack’s wife, and
she
considered herself Jack’s wife… The only impediment was trying to convince Jack of that, and if she and Zelle got out of here alive, she swore that she would try three times as hard.

But he just laughed again at her defiance. “I don’t care what the gutter trash calls himself now. He’ll always be Jack ‘the Hammer’ Gothel.”

“Jack’s name is Carpenter.” Why was Witcher calling him these names?

“You mean the boy still hasn’t told you? Hasn’t even told you his real name?” He shook his head mournfully, but Meri could see right through the act. “Can you even be married, if it’s under the wrong name?”

“What do you want, Mr. Witcher?”

He lifted the gun, and pointed it right at her breast. Right at Zelle. Meri’s blood ran cold. “For starters, I’m tired of having to yell at you. Come closer.” She took a few cautious steps. “Closer.”

When she was just out of his arm’s reach, she stopped, lifting her chin defiantly. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“That kid you’ve got in your arms.” Meri’s arms instinctively tightened around Zelle, enough so that the little girl cried out a bit and burrowed against her chest once more. “And after that, I plan on killing Jack for taking her.
And
I’ll get back all the money he stole from me.”

“He didn’t steal her from you.” Her voice shook with the effort of maintaining her false bravado, when all she wanted to do was sink down to the ground and cradle Zelle, and pray for Jack’s safety. “He saved her from you.”

Witcher’s grim chuckle was enough to send chills down her spine. “Is that what he told you? Did he tell you why he was there? No?” Meri didn’t say anything, but was sure her fear showed in her face. “Jack was there to pick her up. It was his job to deliver her to her buyer.”

Her buyer
. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew until she was afraid she might throw up. That was all she could focus on; the depravity of men, that one of them would pay that much money for a
little girl
. “Is she really royalty?”

Witcher blinked, and his brow rose. Maybe he hadn’t expected questions. “Yeah. Her mother though, she said she was really craving the greens.” Meri didn’t understand, and he must’ve seen it in her face, because he made an exasperated noise and gestured with the gun. “Green, you know? Bills?
Money
! She sold the little brat to me.”

“I don’t believe you.” No mother could
possibly
be that heartless. Meri cradled the little girl closer.

Shrugging, he didn’t seem to care what she believed. “The lady needed money for something, that’s all I knew. And I paid her, because I knew that I could make
more
money—way more money—from a certain gentleman who liked the way royal girls—”

“Stop.” She was going to be sick, and from his cruel smirk, he knew it. “Why would Jack have delivered her to…to…
him
?” She could say it aloud.

“I told you. It was his job.” He held the revolver casually in his left hand, pointed slightly at the sky while he regarded her. Meri decided that it didn’t matter, though; he was just as menacing with the thing pointed away from Zelle as he had been a moment before… And it was because he was saying such horrible things about Jack. “He’d worked for me for years before some stupid move landed him in Sing Sing, and when he got out, he came back. I knew he would. They always do.”

Her throat was dry. “He worked for you?”

A derisive snort. “You got dirt in your ears? Yeah, that’s what I said.” Zelle whimpered again, and Meri rubbed the girl’s back, pretending an ease she didn’t feel for Zelle’s sake. “He used to be my muscle. Him and the others—oh, I had dozens of ‘em—would make sure my name kept the respect it deserved, if you know what I mean.”

Jack would hurt people? For this man? “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.” She took a step back, but the revolver dropped to point directly at her chest again, and she froze, her heart in her throat.

“Now, why would I lie about something like that? Seems to me that the
boy’s
been lying to you. Probably thinks his time in Sing Sing changed him, but I know better. Someone like him—someone like
me
—we don’t change. He’ll be a cutthroat all his life. Until he dies.” Another dark chuckle. “Which will be soon, if I have anything to say about it.”

Oh God. Oh God.
He was going to kill Jack, and take Zelle back. Meri’s heart couldn’t beat any faster, and her breaths were coming in great heaving pants. She was desperate to distract him, to keep him talking. “What’s Sing Sing?”

“
What’s Sing Sing
? Did that boy not tell you a damn truth about himself?” Witcher took a step towards her, and then another, but Meri couldn’t move. “It’s a prison. Jackie boy spent nine years in a hellish prison, Mrs. Gothel, all because he thought that he could change his ways.”

Maybe he saw her eyes widen in surprise, or her face drain of blood, but whatever the reason, Witcher threw his head back and began to laugh, great big booming bursts of mocking laughter. Meri closed her eyes and prayed.

Jack had frozen when he’d stepped into the small grove and heard Witcher’s voice. Stealthily, he crept from tree to tree, trying to see his old boss—his nightmare—and Meri. Was she there? Did he have her already?

When he finally saw them, his heart stopped for a moment. Witcher’s back was to Jack, but he could clearly see Meri—clutching Zelle in her arms—facing the evil man. She kept her chin up bravely, her hand splayed across his princess’s back as if to offer an extra piece of protection, her eyes on the man in front of her. But the gun Witcher held, pointed right at her, was the reason Jack stopped still.

He willed his breathing to quiet, his heartbeat to calm…nothing to let Witcher know that he was there, creeping up behind. Jack had seen his old boss kill men without blinking. Witcher was partial to the old Colt revolver he held, and was known for shooting men in the gut just to watch them squirm in pain before they died. But not today; Jack had no plans to let his evil man shoot either of the ladies he loved.

But he couldn’t just rush in. Instead, he had to crouch there, the handle of the kitchen knife gripped tightly in his sweat-slick palm, and listen to his old boss tell Meri...well,
everything
. Everything that Jack should’ve told her. Two months ago he’d confessed that he wasn’t a real doctor, but hadn’t told her how or why he’d acquired what little medical training he had. Last night he’d told her that he wasn’t really Zelle’s father, but hadn’t explained how he’d known that Lefty had the little girl. He squeezed his eyes shut, and silently cursed himself for being a damn fool.

He’d worked for Witcher since he was a kid, doing things that he wasn’t proud of now. He hadn’t known anything different, then, but his years in prison—years with Osbourne—had taught him to be ashamed of who he used to be. Last night, when he was trying to ruin her faith in him;
then
would’ve been the time to tell her all of this.

But he’d taken the coward’s way out, telling her only half, and now she was finding out in the worst way possible. Eyes still closed, he winced to hear Witcher explain what Sing Sing was, and what Jack had been doing there. He opened his eyes to see her face pale alarmingly, and Witcher throw his head back in cruel laughter.

Jack had had enough. With the other man distracted, he might not get a better opportunity. He shook his right hand—the one still gripping the knife—to make sure that he was ready to use it. Stalking forward, he was intent only on reaching his old boss and shutting him up. Whatever he had to do to make sure Witcher wasn’t going to spill any more of Jack’s secrets.

But halfway across the clearing, his attention flickered to Meri. Beautiful, strong Meri, whose back was ramrod-straight as she clutched his princess, keeping Zelle safe. Compassionate, trusting Meri, who thought that he was a good man. Who made him want to
be
a good man. She wasn’t staring at Witcher in fear, oh no; her gaze was locked on Jack.

He paused, straining to understand what she was trying to tell him. He watched her dark eye flick between his face and the knife in his hand, and then she smiled, a little sadly. And although the moment seemed to stretch between the heartbeats, not once did the love in her expression waver.

She thought he was a good man, but he was about to kill another here in cold blood. She loved him, and he wasn’t worth her love.

But dammit, he wanted to be. He
could
be.

He’d killed Lefty—not on purpose, but he had meant to seriously hurt the man—to defend Zelle. And when he’d arrived in Everland, he’d known,
known
that he’d have to kill Witcher if he wanted to keep Zelle safe. He hadn’t wanted to, even then, but he’d been ready for it.

But now, after two months of knowing Meri, of seeing her belief and her trust and her support, of knowing what he knew about her and admiring her so greatly…he couldn’t let her down. Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love not just with
her,
but with the man she believed him to be.

In the time it took to listen to Witcher’s cruel laughter, Jack knew. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Witcher in cold blood, couldn’t betray Meri’s belief in his own goodness.

Exhaling, Jack lowered his hand—the hand that had raised the kitchen knife to strike at his old nightmare—and then tossed the blade aside. He didn’t need it now. He was more than he’d used to be. Mari had made him more.

He had no idea how to proceed, but it’d be without the knife. He met Meri’s gaze over Witcher’s shoulder, saw the pride in her expression, and nearly smiled. He was moving towards her when the old man suddenly stopped laughing and took a step forward. Jack froze.