All the Dead Shall Weep (Gunnie Rose #5) by Charlaine Harris EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Charlaine Harris
- Language: English
- Genre: Witch & Wizard Thrillers
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- Size: 2 MB
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Lizbeth
Eli was working, so I met the train at Sweetwater by myself. I’d just returned
from guarding a shipment of farm implements on a leg of its journey between
Canada and Mexico; I’d had to travel to take the job, but it had been ten days of
work, and lucrative. And it had gotten me out of the house.
All of which meant I could aord to rent the old car from the Segundo Mexia
stables and drive to Sweetwater to meet the train.
The station at Sweetwater was little more than a shack clinging to a platform,
but at least there were a couple of benches under a roof. I was grateful for the
shade. It was June, and June in Texoma is hot and dry… unless it rains. Then it’s
hot and steamy. Today was a dry day.
The stationmaster, a sprightly sixty-ish woman named Molly Lerma, came
out of the shack to sit with me. I expect she was glad of the company.
“You’re Jackson and Candle’s daughter, ain’t you?” she asked, and spat into
an old can positioned at her feet.
“Candle’s daughter and Jackson’s stepdaughter. Lizbeth Rose. Lizbeth Rose
Savarova, now.” My outlandish married name still got a lot of stares in Texoma,
which used to be Texas and Oklahoma, more or less.
Molly Lerma gave me the expected long stare. “You the one married that
wizard?”
I wasn’t going to tell her that Eli was a grigori, not a wizard, especially since I
wasn’t sure there was a big dierence. “Eli Savarov,” I said. I didn’t tack the
“Prince” on rst because it just sounded silly.
“And he wanted to live in Texoma?”
I wasn’t surprised Molly sounded incredulous. Texoma was poor, remote,
and the smallest of the ve countries created when the United States had fallen
apart.
“He did,” I said, and left it at that.
“How’s Jackson doing? I knew him from school,” the stationmaster said. She
spat again.
“He’s doing well.” Jackson had worked hard and carved himself out a
position of power in Segundo Mexia, our little town.
Molly smiled. She was missing some important teeth. “Jackson always was a
go-getter.”
I nodded and smiled back, hoping the conversation was at an end. Not that I
minded talking about my stepfather. I was real fond of Jackson Skidder. He’d
taught me how to shoot and given me my Colts. Couldn’t ask for anything
better than my Colt 1911s. I had to stop myself from reaching down to pat
them. Jackson had been way more of a dad to me than my actual father, whom
I’d only met once, the day I killed him.
After a pleasant few minutes of silence, I asked Molly if the train was on time.
She said, “I reckon.” That was the end of our conversation. Which suited me. I
had a lot to think about.
I was waiting at the train station to pick up my half sister Felicia, who was
coming in from San Diego (capital of the Holy Russian Empire) with Eli’s
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