XVIII.
The second class car was empty, save for the abandoned belongings of the passengers: hats, parasols, a few toys. Enoch frowned, but Rafael said, “I’m guessing they herded everyone into the first class car to make it easier to keep an eye on them all at once. And to make it easier to rob the passengers—Mason holds them at gunpoint, while Garcia and her familiar gather the loot.”
“And Jackson comes back to take care of me,” Enoch said grimly. “All right. Can you go out a window to the roof again?”
“I can. Why?”
“You go to the front of the first class car. I’ll come in through the rear.”
“And we’ll catch them in between.” Rafael nodded. “It’s not a bad idea. Not a good idea, mind you, just not a bad one in the circumstances.”
Enoch stepped up to Rafael, pulled him close, and kissed him softly. “Be careful.”
“You too, querido. I haven’t found you just to lose you now.” Rafael gave his hand a squeeze, then stepped away. A moment later, he was gone.
Enoch took a deep breath and forced himself to put aside all fear. The Bone Gang wouldn’t hesitate so close to their goal, which meant he couldn’t afford to either.
He slipped through the second class car as quietly as possible. Then, taking a deep breath, he flung open the door to the first class car.
“Hexas Rangers!” he shouted. “Put your hands up.”
The car was packed with bodies, most of them pressed to either side, leaving an aisle in the center. A silver serving tray, engraved with the railroad’s logo, lay on the floor just inside. The conductor and a porter stood hostage among the passengers. The witch Garcia and her familiar both held bags in front of them, into which the passengers were dropping their valuables.
And directly across from Enoch, his back to the door in the front of the car, stood Bone, gun in hand.
Enoch dove to one side, even as the look on Bone’s face registered as murderous. The gunshot was painfully loud inside the car, as were the screams of the panicked passengers. Enoch flattened himself into the porter’s station, though its cover was scant indeed.
The familiar dropped her bag and shifted into dog shape. Her lips drew back, revealing sharp white teeth, and she charged at Enoch. He couldn’t shoot, not without risking the very people he was here to save.
He dropped the gun and snatched up the silver platter. Bringing it around with all his strength, he slammed it into the side of the dog’s head. The familiar staggered. He hit her again, then dropped the tray and slapped a sleeping hex to her brindled hide. She collapsed on the last word of the long activation phrase.
“Polly!” Garcia cried, and fired.
Bone shot, as well. Enoch pressed himself back into the station, the thin wall separating it from the passengers splintering under the impact of the bullets. Where the devil was Rafael?
The door at the front of the car opened, and Rafael threw himself bodily on Bone, locking his arms around the gang leader’s neck. Bone tried to twist his arm back with the obvious intention of shooting Rafael off him. Rafael took advantage and sank his teeth into Bone’s wrist.
Bone let out a strangled cry and staggered backward, out the open door. The wind whipped in, past the back of the coal car and onto the platform at the front of the passenger car. Bone’s gun fell from his hand to the exposed platform, only to be kicked off as the two men struggled.
Their battle distracted the witch, and she turned to help Bone, putting her back momentarily to Enoch. He tackled her from behind, slamming into her legs just as she started to turn toward him. Her gun went flying—and a moment later, other bodies piled on as the nearest passengers joined in their own rescue.
“Use this,” Enoch said, thrusting out the last sleeping hex toward a burly miner. He stumbled to his feet—then froze.
Bone had freed himself from Rafael’s grip. Maybe if Rafael had been at his full strength, he would have been able to evade his former lover. Instead, one of Bone’s hands wrapped around Rafael’s neck, holding him pinned against the iron rail, while the other yanked Rafael’s pistol free.
“Drop the gun, lawman,” Bone ordered, pressing the bore of the gun to Rafael’s head. “Or I’ll splatter his brains all over the landscape.”
Enoch’s hands went cold. The train was still in motion; if Bone took it into his head to throw Rafael over the side, he’d be killed beneath the wheels. The thought made the breath seize in Enoch’s chest, turned his blood to ice.
Enoch carefully held up his gun, pointing it skyward, even as he stepped closer to Bone. Not too fast, though. If he spooked Bone too soon, it would all be over for Rafael. “Let’s talk this out like rational men.”
“Maybe I’ll be doing you a favor by shooting him.” Bone cocked the hammer back. “I know Rafael, and he’s a sneaky coward if there ever was one. He stabbed me in the back, and he’ll do the same to you.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Mason,” Rafael gasped past the hand pressed against this throat. “If you did, you’d know my gun isn’t loaded.”
“But mine is,” Enoch said, and fired.
The bullet took Bone through the shoulder. He yelled in pain, stepped back—and tripped over Rafael’s long legs. He hit the rail hard—then toppled over with a scream. Something thumped loudly beneath the train. Then there was only silence.
Rafael slumped, rubbing his throat and coughing. Enoch ran to him. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” He swallowed and reached for Enoch.
Enoch caught him up. They clung together even as the train began to slow. “We did it, sweetheart,” Enoch whispered in his ear. “It’s over.”
Rafael pulled back and offered Enoch a tentative smile. “I’d like to think it’s just beginning.”
Enoch laughed and kissed him. “That it is.”