“Purdy much, on account’a ev’body either works in the mine, or needs miners’ money. Like the mercantile. An’ even iffen they don’t gotter, it don’t pay t’git acrost him, ’cause he’ll lay a man out with one punch, an’ swear t’other feller started it. Thet’s partly how he keeps th’ miners workin’. I knowed fer a fact thet he’s laid more’n a few out, an’ some was seein’ stars fer a week arter.” Josh shook his head. “He’s mean, he’s bad, an’ he’s a bully.”

“An’ he’s a magician,” Anna told him. “On’y his magic’s all twisted up wrong, somehow. I seed it ’round him when we was in Ducktown an’ he was a-plaguing yore Pa.”

“He is?” Josh scratched his head again. “Miz Jinny knows?”

“She knows. She says he c’n use thet magic t’git inside yore haid an’ make y’all do what he wants and thank it’s reasonable on top o’ thet.” What would Jolene want with a man like that? Did he “amuse” her too?

“Wall, thet ’splains a lot. Sure-e-ly ’splains why the mine owners ain’t fired him, an’ mebbe ’splains why they hired him in the fust place.”

She nodded, but she was still trying to think of reasons why Jolene would want anything to do with someone like McDaran. Surely his twisted form of the Glory revolted her the way it revolted Anna . . .

But she’s more powerful than he is. Mebbe it don’t bother her none.

This was leaving her head all of muddle, and she was no closer to sussing out Jolene than she had been when she first met the—what was she, anyway?

Now Anna was back to where she had begun. She was sure Jolene was no human woman, just as Aunt Jinny claimed, but what could she be? And what could Anna do if she decided she was interested in Josh?

When she reluctantly left Josh, it was with a mind full of doubt and fear and confusion. She trudged up the lane in a kind of fog, so much so that she almost didn’t hear the sound of hoofbeats on the sod behind her until it was too late.

And in fact, it wasn’t the sound of hoofbeats that alerted her. It was the sudden feeling of wrongness behind her that sent her scurrying into the bushes beneath the trees, throwing up a shield at the same time. Then she waited, crouching there, hidden, until she could see who it was that had given her that gut-twisting feeling.

As if merely thinking about him had somehow conjured him, to her horror, it was . . .

Billie McDaran.

Billie McDaran, riding in the sort of awkward, off-balance way that told her he really didn’t know how to ride, on a poor horse that was literally foaming with fear-sweat and clearly did not want to be carrying him. It was impossible to tell what color the poor beast was, it was so soaked with its own sweat.