Read Online The Damnation Affair by Lilith Saintcrow - Free Book Online

mancy. Her charing-charm had gone chill against her throat, again.
    Danger, Catherine.
    Robbie’s locket winked knowingly at her. He would never have pawned it, would he? The chain was broken. How had that happened? He wore his charing on the same chain— double the safety , he had always joked. For if Mother found out bad mancy had been lodged near an heirloom, there would be an Incident of Temper.
    His charing was not in evidence—of course, if some dire fate had befallen him, it would be broken. Or perhaps he had found another means of securing his charing to his person, and had been forced to sell the locket? And yet that was ridiculous; he had left with plenty of money. What would make him give up an heirloom, especially one he had worn since childhood?
    If she could hold the locket in her bare hand, perhaps she could find Robbie. Her Practicality would certainly stretch that far. Further, indeed, if she pricked her finger, for blood always told—though blood-work was bad mancy, and not something a respectable lady would dare.
    I have already done something no respectable young lady would do, coming here. She sought to collect her wits, failed, tried again.
    There were too many people about. She was hardly discreet, and who was to say Mr. Gabriel was not still watching her?
    The pawnshop’s door had a bell attached. It tinkled, and a man stumbled out onto the raw-lumber walkway. He was unshaven, bleary-eyed, and smelled powerfully of rancid liquor. His hat was askew, and he held guns in both callused, dirty hands.
    Cat turned and walked briskly away. Her skirts snapped, her parasol fluttered, and she hardly remembered retracing her steps to the tiny cottage behind its freshly painted gate.
    She was, as Robbie would have no doubt recognized were he present, far too occupied with scheming.

Chapter 7
    T hose with true business didn’t visit the shop by day.
    Every once in a while, Gabe would settle in a patch of shadow near the mouth of a dusty alley, and watch the chartershadow’s back door. It was useful to see who was visiting Salt. It was also useful to see how they approached—swaggering or creeping, desperate or slinking.
    Very rarely, Gabe found himself collaring one of the desperate and telling them to go elsewhere. It wasn’t his business, and Salt didn’t need to know how closely he was watched. In fact, the less Salt knew about anything involving the sheriff, the better.
    But sometimes, some nights, he couldn’t stop himself.
    Tonight was not one of those nights. He watched, noting who came creeping down the alley. And while he waited, he thought things over.
    Here came thin, dried-up Mandy Carrick, keeping to the shadows and paying who knew what for protection when he decided to jump another claim out in the hills, stealing some other man’s rightful work. That was outside Gabe’s jurisdiction, certainly, but he still took note of it. Struthers slithered down the alley, a blur of fawn coat and stickpin flashing, looking for cheat-card mancy. A Chinois man was closeted inside the back of the pawnshop for quite a while, and Gabe didn’t like the looks of that. Their mancy was different, even if it lived comfortably within charter, and he wondered just what one of them would want with Salt.
    It was late by the time the trickle to the chartershadow’s door dried up. The saloons would be rollicking, and there had been a few crackling gunshots. Nothing out of the ordinary here in Damnation. He’d made sure the schoolteacher’s house was in a quieter part of town. Respectable, almost.
    As respectable as you could get, out here.
    Will you stop? Irritated with himself, he took a deep breath and slid out of concealment. She’s just a Boston miss a long way from home, and you’re a goddamn idiot.
    He smacked the unlocked door open without even a courtesy Fmpeut lo knock, almost allowing himself to grin with satisfaction when it banged and Freedman Salt, his lean scarecrow body seeming put together from