“I have part-time help, and friends help out with some of the heavy lifting,” Jesse replied.

“That’s everything,” the second man said, bringing a box to the counter. He looked sheepish when the first man stared at the two bags of chocolates and the bag of caramels resting on top of the box. “Got a sweet tooth,” he told Jesse. “Haven’t seen bags like this in a while. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Better to have someone buy them and enjoy them than have them go stale,” Jesse replied. She rang up the purchases and hoped Rachel would stay quiet in the back room a little while longer.

“Noticed you have a bank, but it wasn’t open,” the first man said.

“It opens late on Windsdays,” Jesse replied. In truth, she had no idea why the bank wasn’t open.

He removed a money clip from the front pocket of his jeans and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“Then my cash drawer won’t balance.”

He shrugged. “Then put it in a charity jar as thanks for satisfying my cousin’s sweet tooth.”

Jesse hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I’ll do that. Appreciate it.”

The phone rang.

He looked at her, waiting. The cousin with the sweet tooth also waited.

“You take care, ma’am,” the first one said. He lifted the second box, and the men walked out.

Jesse grabbed the phone. “Walker’s General Store, Jesse speaking.”

“Mom? You okay?”

Tobias. “Had a couple of visitors just now.”

“Are you okay? Is Rachel?”

“We’re fine. Well, I told Rachel to stay in the back and be quiet, and she and the puppy are a little too quiet—”

A low growl told her Rachel’s opinion of that.

“But they’re fine.” She looked back at the young Wolf, who was standing to one side of the doorway, peering at her with one eye. Jesse pictured Rachel peering from behind a rock or tree in much the same way as she watched her prey.

As she listened to her son relay the information he’d received from Jana, she tucked the phone against her shoulder and watched, as if it were connected to someone else, her right hand close over her left wrist.

You take care, ma’am.

It had sounded like something anyone would say when leaving, but it had been a warning—and Jesse suddenly knew why the bank wasn’t open. Stanley Weeks, who ran Prairie Gold’s tiny bank, must have had a feeling that the bank needed to be closed today.

And she had a sudden feeling that …

“Tobias, we have to go.”

“Mom?”

“Rachel and I have to leave the store. Right now. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

She hung up, grabbed the shotgun, and put out the Back in 10 Minutes sign on the counter. Small town like this, it wouldn’t look strange for the store to be empty when the lone person running it needed to take a break.

“Rachel, honey, we have to go. Put Cory on her leash. We’ll go out the back.” Jesse went into the back room, grabbed her daypack, then hesitated, inexplicably resistant to leaving when she knew they needed to go.

She opened her gun safe and swapped the shotgun for her rifle—and felt the resistance vanish. Closing the gun safe, she headed out the back door, grabbing the red flag out of the umbrella stand as she left.

Rachel followed at her heels, carrying the puppy.

She walked swiftly, holding up the red flag—the signal to the terra indigene that there was trouble in Prairie Gold.

“Should I howl for Morgan and Chase?” Rachel whispered.

Wolves. Men with guns.

Jesse shook her head and wished Tolya was there. She didn’t know if the Sanguinati were impervious to bullets, but she thought there wasn’t much that could hurt one in his smoke form.

She dropped the red flag, chambered a round in the rifle, and looked at Rachel. “I’m going to take a look around. If the street is clear, we’re going to cross to the other side and run into the library.” She doubted whoever was producing this feeling would be interested in walking off with a bag of books.

She heard the car before she reached the front of the building. She heard it slow down and swore at herself for not paying attention. She’d crept up along the side of the damn bank! But after that moment’s hesitation, the car continued a few more yards and stopped in front of her store.

Made sense. Money was all well and good, but even bank robbers needed to eat, and supplies were now a different kind of wealth.

Jesse risked a look around the corner. Car still running for a quick getaway. She was about to retreat and tell Rachel to stay put when she spotted Phil Mailer—and he spotted her. Before he could raise a hand or shout a greeting, she shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

Phil looked at her, then looked at her store. He retreated inside the post office. She hoped he was calling other businesses to tell folks to stay inside and not trying to gather a posse.

Maybe it was because Rachel sensed something. More likely, it was because the memory of what had happened the last time human enemies had come to Prairie Gold was still too sharp, too raw. Whatever the reason, the young Wolf howled. Jesse didn’t know if it was a warning or a cry for help. Either way, whoever was inside her store and waiting in the car had to have heard it. They might ignore a single howl, might not react with alarm—or something worse.

Then they all heard a howl that couldn’t have come from anything as small as a terra indigene Wolf—a deep, savage sound that was much too close for comfort. That howl raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck—and taught her what the word “bloodcurdling” meant.

Peering around the corner again, she watched a man run out of her store and race around the hood of the car to the passenger side. He yanked the door open, threw a sack on the floor—and looked up. Smiling fiercely, he drew his revolver, aimed skyward, and shot twice. Then he jumped into the car and the driver burned rubber as the car raced down the street, heading out of town.

The Eagle fell out of the sky and hit the street right in front of her.

“No!” Jesse shouted as she rushed over to help. Falling to her knees, she dropped her rifle in order to reach for the bird, knowing it was too late.

“Jesse?” Phil Mailer crouched beside her. “Is it … ?”

“Dead? Yes. Fetch one of the flat bedsheets from the store.”

As soon as Phil hurried to the store, Rachel, in Wolf form, rushed to her side and licked her face. Jesse thought the gesture was as much to receive reassurance as to offer it.

Had the Eagle been flying over the town for a reason, or had this been plain old bad luck? Would the man have taken those shots if the howl of something that was so much more—and worse—than a Wolf hadn’t given him a reason to flee at just that moment?

“Rachel, honey, I’d like you to call for Morgan and Chase so they can tell me what needs to be done now.”

Rachel howled again. Jesse didn’t know if a Wolf howling in Prairie Gold could be heard in the terra indigene settlement, or how far the Others could communicate using their special form of communication. She just hoped that Morgan and Chase would respond so that other forms of terra indigene wouldn’t.

When Phil returned, she wrapped the Eagle in the bedsheet, took it back to the store, and set it in a laundry basket. Phil picked up her rifle and followed her, sucking in a breath when he saw the store. It wasn’t the open register and empty cash drawer that had him swearing. It wasn’t seeing how many boxes of ammunition were missing that had her own temper simmering. It was the gratuitous destruction of supplies. The thief had taken what he’d wanted; then he’d thrown bags of flour and rice and noodles on the floor, breaking the packages open by stomping on them, leaving a mess for her to clean up. Leaving the people of the town with a little less to eat.

She had plenty stored in the back room. She’d bought supplies because she’d had a feeling the town would need them—and Tolya had bankrolled those expenditures because he’d agreed with her. But that meant …

Jesse hurried behind the counter, jerking to a stop when she saw the box of kitchen matches on top of a wad of paper towels from the roll she kept near the counter to wipe up spills of all kinds. She stared at three spent matches and the partially burned towels.

“The paper towels and the rest of the matches didn’t burn,” she said softly. They should have. A burning building would have distracted everyone on the street from paying any attention to the strangers who had robbed the store.

“Did you want it to burn?”

Phil cried out and staggered into a shelf, knocking over a jar of dill pickles.

Jesse stared at the male whose red hair was tipped with yellow and blue. She knew about the Elementals. She had seen Air. So she understood that the creature standing on the other side of the counter was far more dangerous than a man with a gun.

“Did you … quiet … the fire?” she asked.

“Yes. Should I have let it burn?”

“No. Saving the store was a kindness to all of us, and I thank you for doing that.”

Fire looked around the store. “You have many things that can burn.”

“That is true.” What else could she say? There wasn’t much in the store that wouldn’t burn. “I should call Sheriff Wolfgard and tell him about this.”

“Why?”

“Because those men are probably on their way to Bennett.”

Fire smiled—and Jesse’s bowels turned to water. It took every drop of courage to stay on her feet and not mess herself. She’d faced down an Elder when she’d taken the young humans and terra indigene into the hills to hide them from the men who belonged to the Humans First and Last movement, but she hadn’t been as terrified of that unseen threat as she was right now.

“We know what the car looks like.” Fire turned away from the counter. Just before he vanished, he said, “Cars can burn too.”

* * *

* * *

Jana deleted an e-mail advertising a product that promised to increase the size of her penis and wondered how whoever had sent that out had survived when so many legitimate businesses hadn’t. Then she deleted an e-mail for a special cream that would plump up and firm your breasts to your partner’s delight.

Gods, it was tempting to print that one out and give it to Virgil.

Nothing urgent in the rest of the e-mails. Some of the sheriffs in other towns had sent her additional information about the men they considered outlaws even if the law had no proof of wrongdoing that would hold up in court. She, in turn, promised to keep them updated when those men left town—and what direction they were heading.

As she closed the e-mail program, her phone rang. “Sheriff’s office.”

“We need help. Please, we need help.”

“Who is this? Where are you?”

“Truman Skye. Skye Ranch. We saw the fire and went to investigate. Found the woman. She’s in a bad way.”