Page 23 of Borrowed Time

“I’m not sure who, though,” I replied. “Except, judging by the scowl he’s wearing, I have a feeling it must be Samuel.”

Exactly the last Wilcox I had any desire to meet. Maybe it had been naïve of me to hope we’d manage to avoid crossing paths with the man, considering the size of the town and the way Jeremiah wanted to work with Seth and me.

But even though it had all been okay in the end…even though my father had survived and gone on to thrive in the modern world…I didn’t think I could ever forgive Samuel Wilcox for shooting him in cold blood.

After all, if it hadn’t been for my mother — and Jeremiah — then Robert Rowe would have died in front of the Wilcox family cabin, and neither I nor my brother or sister would have ever been born.

However, I knew there was no way out of this, not with Samuel Wilcox bearing down on us with the inexorable locomotion of a freight train.

Instead, I sat there with what I hoped was a pleasant expression on my face, and reached for a roll to butter it with an air of utter unconcern. Seth did the same — or at least, he continued to cut a piece of his steak as if he had no idea that the one Wilcox who really did live up to the clan’s bad reputation was approaching our table.

Once Samuel was close enough, however, I knew it would be impossible to ignore him. “Can I help you?” I asked politely as he paused by the empty chair to my left.

“You’re new in town,” he said, and his mouth formed the word “witch,” even though he knew better than to say such a thing aloud in a room full of civilians.

“We are,” I replied calmly, even though my heart rate had begun to speed up and the wonderful roast beef I’d been eating seemed to flip-flop in my stomach. This whole time, I hadn’t worried about hiding my witch nature, mostly because Jeremiah obviously knew who I was, and I assumed he would give his relatives whatever story he deemed appropriate.

Besides, what would be the point in making everyone believe I was a civilian when I couldn’t do the same for Seth?

“I’m Louis Prewitt, and this is my sister Deborah,” he added. He, too, looked outwardly relaxed, but a certain tension to his grip on his knife and fork told a different story.

I just had to hope Samuel Wilcox wasn’t perceptive enough to notice such things.

“And you are…?” I prompted, and he scowled.

“Samuel Wilcox,” he said in grudging tones.

“Well, then,” I said, somehow managing to smile. “Did your brother tell you we had come to town to learn something of what happened to our sister Eliza?”

Something in Samuel’s angry expression shifted then. I wouldn’t call it exactly guilt, not when he clearly had no compunction about shooting an innocent man at point-blank range, but still, he knew he was mostly responsible for Eliza’s disappearance.

What had Jeremiah told his brother about all that, anyway? It seemed clear that the townspeople believed Robert Rowe and Eliza Prewitt had run off together, but according to my mother’s account of the incident, Samuel had used his teleportation power to flee the scene, leaving her and Jeremiah to deal with the mortally wounded man, so he wouldn’t have been around to see my parents vanish from the spot.

Something I’d have to ask Jeremiah about the next time I saw him.

But of course, the people whom Seth and I were pretending to be wouldn’t have known any of that. All they would know was that their sister had fled to the Arizona territories and never been heard from again.

“He didn’t mention it,” Samuel said, and something in the way he drawled those words told me he wasn’t too happy with his older brother right then. “No, it was his boy. He said a couple of strangers had come to visit his pa, and that they weren’t the type you’d expect to encounter here in Flagstaff.”

Meaning anyone of witch-kind who wasn’t a Wilcox, I guessed. So much for my assumption that a child that young wouldn’t be able to detect our witch natures.

Which meant he must have also known my mother was a witch. Had Jeremiah given his son just enough information tosee why she had come to Flagstaff, and also to understand that he must never say a word about it?

Not too hard an ask, probably. Jacob Wilcox wasn’t the kind of kid to go around blabbing secrets indiscriminately, even though he seemed to make a habit of collecting them.

“Well, I’m sure your brother would have told you soon enough,” I said, still doing my best to sound unconcerned about the situation. “He’s been quite helpful — let us know who we should speak with, gave us some information about the town.”

“Oh, he’s the soul of courtesy,” Samuel responded, irony thick in his tone. “I suppose I’ll just be another member of the family to welcome you to Flagstaff. I hope you find what you’re looking for…quickly.”

A tip of the broad-brimmed black felt hat he wore, and then he turned and walked away from us, heading to the lobby. The people at the table sitting nearby sent Seth and me a curious look, but I only lifted my shoulders and reached for my wine.

I had to hope there hadn’t been enough meat in that exchange to make them ask too many questions…and to hope like hell that the well-dressed couple would be on the next train out of town in the morning. Maybe on the surface, nothing we’d discussed had seemed too remarkable, but I knew if anyone started looking too close, they’d turn up a bunch of contradictions that would be hard to explain.

Seth also sent me a significant glance, but I only answered with the barest shake of my head.

“After dinner,” I murmured.

We wrapped things up quickly, and soon enough, we were mounting the stairs to our rooms. He unlocked his door first, and we went inside, with him quickly shutting it behind us.

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