V.
Enoch reined his horse to a stop. The hawk watched him idly, then scratched the side of its head with one bright yellow foot.
“Rafael?” he asked uncertainly. At least only his horse was here to see him talking to what might be a wild animal like some kind of fool.
The hawk bobbed his head. Then he spread his wings and flapped to another perch not far ahead. Once he landed, he looked back over his shoulder, as if to ask Enoch if he was coming or not.
Enoch hesitated. If Rafael hadn’t lied, if Enoch was his witch…it didn’t matter. They couldn’t bond; they were on opposite sides of the law. He had a warrant in his pocket for the man’s arrest, for heaven’s sake.
Of course, if he didn’t follow Rafael, he’d end up riding around blindly hoping to stumble across water and shelter, which didn’t seem like much in the way of a plan. At least Rafael could fly up and take a look around, see where they were going. Right now, Enoch didn’t see much of anything but the narrow stone walls of the canyon, and a strip of darkening sky above.
Enoch nudged his horse to follow.
Rafael led the way deeper into the knot of hills. The westering sun cast purple shadows across the rock. Eventually, the canyon grew shallower and wider. The sound of running water echoed off the worn sandstone. Enoch’s horse perked up its ears and began to step more quickly.
They came out into a small bowl-shaped hollow. A narrow thread of water ran through it, and a small pile of mine tailings rose up on the other side. A weathered shack, looking about to fall down, stood beside the entrance to what might have been a one- or two-man mining operation at some time in the past. Rafael landed in front of the shack, taking back his human form on the way down, so boots and not talons touched the ground.
Enoch dismounted while his horse drank thirstily from the stream. “Taking up prospecting?” he asked. His voice rasped in his dry throat, so he scooped up some of the stream water in his hands and drank too. The wound on his arm pulled, dried blood breaking free, and he winced.
“This place was abandoned long before I found it,” Rafael said. He crossed the stream and began to unbuckle the saddle bags. When Enoch made a sound of objection, he said, “You’re hurt, brujo. Go sit inside, and let me take care of the horse. When I’m done, I’ll see to your wound.”
Enoch felt as though he should object on principle. He ought to be arresting Rafael, not accepting his hospitality. But his arm ached, and now that the immediate danger was past, his body craved nothing more than a safe place to lie down and rest. So he only nodded and let himself into the shack.
The interior was slightly better than the exterior. If nothing else, the structure was sounder than it looked from the outside, sealed against wind and water alike. There was only one small room, containing a stove, a rickety table, two chairs, a trunk, and a narrow bed. A shelf on the wall held a collection of well-worn books: Austen, Poe, a few names he didn’t recognize.
Enoch sat in one of the chairs and did his best not to doze off sitting up. Rafael came in shortly, holding a bucket of water from the stream. “Here.” He dipped a cup into the bucket and offered it to Enoch. Enoch drank gladly, while Rafael heated the rest of the water on the stove. “Take off your coat, and whatever you can that’s not stuck to the wound. We’ll soak those layers free.”
Enoch gritted his teeth against the pain as he struggled out of his duster and vest. When he was done, Rafael soaked a rag in warm water and carefully applied it to the blood-encrusted shirt above the wound. The water stung, but Enoch remained stoic.
“This is going to hurt a bit,” Rafael advised. There came a tugging sensation, and he carefully peeled the sleeve free of Enoch’s skin. Scabs broke, and fresh blood began to soak the shirt. “All right, let’s get this off of you.”
Rafael reached to undo the buttons. Even though it was purely practical, the gesture brought a flush of heat to Enoch’s face. The only times he’d been undressed by another man had been before a good round of fucking, and he already had too many lecherous thoughts about Rafael.
“I’ve still got one hand,” he said hurriedly.
Rafael arched a brow, but only said, “Have it your way.” He sat back a little, but his orange-brown eyes followed Enoch’s progress as he clumsily undid each button on his shirt. Rafael bit his lower lip, gaze growing hot as the cloth sagged open. Enoch’s own breathing grew rougher, cock swelling under that hungry regard.
Damn it.
Rafael helped him maneuver the shirt off. Enoch felt strangely vulnerable, sitting there with so much skin exposed. But after a last, lingering glance, Rafael turned his attention firmly to cleaning Enoch’s wound.
Enoch looked away. “Is it true what you said?” he asked. “Am I your witch? Or did you just say it in hopes of convincing me not to arrest you?”
Rafael sighed. “No lie. I’m not exactly thrilled with it myself, you know.”
“So why tell me? Seems like quite the risk.” Witches were only conduits; it was familiars who held all the magic. And in theory, they controlled whether or not they bonded with a witch.
But the more society relied on hexes, the more money was to be made by witch-familiar pairs, even the less powerful ones. Which meant unscrupulous men sometimes captured familiars, forced them into animal form, then caged and starved them until they gave in and bonded. It was against the law, but the burden of proof was on the familiar, and few went to jail for it.
It would have been simplicity itself for Enoch to arrest Rafael, chain him up, and force him to bond before they got back to civilization. The very thought turned Enoch’s stomach, but how was Rafael to know that?
“I’ve heard tell of you,” Rafael said. “Enoch Bright, the only black Hexas Ranger in this part of the territories. I recognized you the second I laid eyes on you. They say you’re a good man. That you treat prisoners well, and common folk with respect. Plenty of lawmen don’t.” He rinsed out the cloth in the bucket. “Do you have bandages in your saddlebags, or shall I tear up what’s left of your shirt?”
“I’ve a simple medical kit in the saddlebags. Pain hexes, bandages, and the like.” He paused while Rafael rummaged about. “And I don’t think you’re telling the whole story.”
“You’re right.” Rafael began to wrap a length of soft bandage around the wound. “The Bone Gang are bad news. I’ve had trouble with them in the past. Back in Texas. I can’t say I was happy to find them here.”
“You from Texas?”
“Sí. Born and raised.” Rafael deftly tucked the end of the bandage in. “There you go.” His hand trailed down Enoch’s arm, copper fingers against dark brown skin.
Enoch swallowed against the things that touch did to him. He didn’t want to pull away…but he had to. “So why become a very mannerly bandit?”
Rafael fetched a bottle of whiskey from a shelf, along with two glasses, and returned to the table. “My family used to have a ranch. It had been in our hands since the land it sat on was part of Mexico.” He let out a wistful sigh. “Then we had a series of bad years. Drought, wildfire, you name it. We lost everything. I’ll never forget how it felt, when the bank foreclosed and the sheriff came to escort us out of the house my grandfather had been born in. It was bought up by a rich man from Boston, looking to get into ranching. My father ended up working for him. Saying sí, señor, to a man who lived in what should have been our house, lining his pockets with the yield of what should have been our land.”
Rafael splashed whiskey in the glasses and shoved one across to Enoch. Enoch took the glass but didn’t lift it to his lips. “So you started stealing money and giving it away to people who otherwise would end up in the same situation?” he asked.
“Something like that.” Rafael toyed with his glass. “Those blackleg hexes made all the difference to those ranchers. There wasn’t a local brujo—they needed the things drawn up and charged with magic, which gets expensive damn fast. They couldn’t afford it, not for more than one or two animals. And they certainly couldn’t afford to lose a good portion of their herd.” He shrugged unapologetically. “It might not be the ideal solution, but it’s something I can do.”
“And the Bone Gang?”
“As I said, I ran across them before.” Rafael’s eyes took on a faraway look. “The teller they killed in Texas was a friend of mine. I never thought I’d have a chance to pay them back for his death. And now here you are, and maybe I can do something after all.”
Enoch shifted uneasily. “Such as?”
“I have a proposition.” Rafael turned his gaze fully on Enoch. The sunset through the window seemed to bring out the orange in his irises, until they almost glowed. “Help me take down the Bone Gang, and I’ll bond with you as your familiar.”