Hellfire

by Lisa Manifold

  I could tell Deirdre was as pissed as I was about whoever this was making problems in our town. Which was good. Deirdre was the bulldog of the three of us. This joker, whoever he or she was, didn’t stand a chance. Not in the long term.

  Feeling better, I said, “All right. I’m off.”

  “Be careful,” DeAnna said.

  “Try not to die!” Deirdre yelled as I left. “You have a date tonight!”

  “Well, if I’m gonna die, I get to be first,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’ll try to stay alive.” I laughed, revving up the 911’s engine in response. I knew they could hear me as I roared out of the alley.

  There were some benefits to being able to live long enough to get the things you love. My Porsche 911 was one of them. Gunmetal gray, glossy, and fast as hell, it helped me burn off anger and frustration.

  But as I was still in downtown Deadwood, I kept it under the speed limit. The current sheriff, named Everett Beauregard, loved giving me a ticket. I was, in his words, “an unrepentant repeat offender.”

  Whatevs. I had a 911 and he didn’t. If I had to drive their cars, I’d be bitter about other peoples’ 911s, too. I’d made it through two months with no tickets, however, and I wanted to see how long I could keep the law-abiding streak going.

  As I headed down the CanAm again, I kept my eyes open for any other shufflers while I debated where to stop so I could hike in. Hmmm. There was a campground along the gulch just north of Deadwood Gulch, and a little lodge or something at the head of the gulch. There was nothing that would make this easy for me.

  I sighed. Pulling into the parking lot for the campground, I parked and grabbed the backpack I always kept in my car. I was wearing decent shoes for hiking, and I set out. I stopped at the lodge office, and asked the clerk, a woman named Marnie who was a regular customer at the tea shop, if I could hike down into the gulch.

  “Are you looking for herbs?” Marnie asked, looking up from the book she was reading.

  I nodded. “Maybe. One of our customers told me she saw a plant that I’ve been looking for.” This would give me a good cover story should anyone ask.

  After so many years of chasing shit in and around Deadwood, I was always prepared. I didn’t keep only a stocked backpack in the car—I’d also grabbed my trekking poles. In addition to keeping me from falling on my ass, they had a wicked sharp end that was perfect for poking things that were coming at one. This worked even better as I’d filed them a bit to sharpen them further.

  You know, the whole being prepared thing.

  “Well, go on. Good luck!” Marnie smiled, clearly eager to return to her book. I waved and walked across the parking lot, intending to hike over the hill and down into Deadwood Gulch.

  As I stepped into the trees, I stopped, letting myself take several deep breaths, enjoying the scent of the trees. I let my magic go free, washing over me like a cool breeze, feeling it coil in my fingertips, and ready itself in my body. We Nightingales tended to be pretty all or nothing with our spells, but it had worked well for the past hundred years. If it wasn’t broke, don’t fix it, was my motto.

  Although I’d be interested in talking with Zane about how he did spells, since he studied with—no! I shook my head. I wasn’t interested in doing anything with Zane for the time being. I’d already noodled on that too much. No. I pushed the thought of Zane away. Thinking about him meant I’d start thinking about what he wasn’t telling me.

  Magic at the ready, I started hiking up the hill. According to the map, I’d need to get over this hill, and I’d be down in Deadwood Gulch, and see if my gut instinct was right, or if it was completely off base. It felt good to be up in the hills, surrounded by trees, with no people.

  I crested the hill and began the descent into the gulch. There was no development here, no houses, no nothing. Not now, anyway. Around the time we were born, there had been mining here, as there was everywhere in Deadwood that people could make a claim. The town had changed

  As I got to the bottom of the gulch, and headed south along the bottom, I walked past a heap of old, weathered timbers.

  My fingers tingled, and I felt a shift in my stomach. Like that feeling before you drop down an elevator, like you felt when you were a kid on a slide. Stopping, I all but held my breath.

  Then I heard it.

  A shuffling in the trees, in the leaves and pine needles that had fallen. I looked around, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. I heard it again, and it was coming from my left. I crouched down, looking for something to hide behind. There wasn’t much.

  I ducked back behind a tree, hoping that the person wouldn’t look too closely.

  From my semi-hiding place, I watched as the steps got closer, and louder. A zombie came past me, looking neither left nor right, intent on whatever was in front of him.

  All I needed to do now was follow him.

  I let him shuffle by, trying hold as still as possible. This poor schlub didn’t have a chance against me, but I didn’t want to have to fight with him. The only people I picked fight with were my family and demons. The thought made me smile.

  The zombie headed off further south, his clothes catching on trees. The small tugs at his sleeves and pants—an outfit that looked like it came from the forties, and my man was pretty skeletal looking, which made me wonder how no one had called the cops on this dude—made no difference to him. He was intent on wherever it was he was headed. After I waited a minute—I counted to sixty—I went after him.

  He wasn’t being quiet, wasn’t even trying to be quiet.

  I followed along, looking to either side of me as I walked. I tried to step carefully. Thank Goddess this zombie wasn’t fast.

  But he was focused, and he kept going. Getting back up the hill to my car was going to be a bitch.

  Without warning, the air in front of the zombie shimmered. I stopped and crouched down again.

  The zombie walked on through the shimmer. OK, that was weird. And suspect. No damn zombie set that whatever it was. But normal air didn’t shimmer.

  Watching the zombie, he kept on in the same direction, like that shimmer wasn’t even there.

  Well, all right then. I stood up, and walked to the shimmer. Taking a breath, I made to walk through it.

  And got knocked on my ass, about five feet backward from the shimmer.

  “Shit,” I swore, scrambling backwards like a crab, my trekking poles splayed out, trying to get into the cover of a tree or shrub. If the person who set this was smart, and I had to think they were, they’d have some kind of alarm when someone non-zombie hit their shimmer wall. I didn’t want to be seen.

  When I peeked out around from the tree where I’d backed up to, I couldn’t see the zombie anymore. Damn it all to hell. I’d lost him. But I knew where he was.

  I wasn’t ready to move, though. I wanted to make sure that no one came looking to see who had tried to get through their wall.

  My magic tingled, and I sent a shot of light from my right hand, wanting to see what happened. The golden light hit the shimmer. There was a ripple across the shimmer. The magic from my little light dart kept on going, and I could see that the shimmer went across the length of the gulch.

  This was not good.

  Someone had decided to squat in my city, and that shit didn’t fly. The anger at the nerve of whoever this was flared up again, and I could feel my magic swirling, ready for another go.

  But that wasn’t the smart idea. I needed to get back to the house, talk with my sisters and nieces, and tackle this as a family.

  I sighed, taking breaths and forcing my magic to stand down.

  After thirty minutes, and having seen no one, not even another zombie, I pushed myself backwards more, and then moved back toward the head of the gulch and the road. I kept looking over my shoulder, letting my magic hang at the ready, so to speak. If some joker came after me, I’d show him or her what it felt like to be knocked on your ass.

  But my preparation was for nothing. I hiked back
up the hill, and down to the RV campground where I’d left my car, remembering to shove some herbs into my bag in case Marnie saw me again.

  Sometimes it was tough to always have to have a cover story, but that was part of being a Nightingale.

  I tossed my backpack and poles into the car, and headed home, waving at the office as I drove away in case anyone was looking.

  I needed to get home and tell my sisters about this.

  Someone was on our turf, and they’d gone to some trouble to hide themselves. And that was before we even got to the subject of the zombies that passed through with no problem. It was a barrier designed to keep out the living.

  And that shit didn’t fly in Deadwood.

  Chapter Eight

  I didn’t really want to go to the shop, because I hated to bring bad news.

  Parking out back, I saw that the work truck and the Jeep were still there. That was good—nothing had happened to make Deirdre close up. I came through the back to see Deirdre and DeAnna at the front counter, talking to two women. Dealing with customers was not what I wanted, so I changed course and veered left into our small office.

  Within minutes, they both came in.

  “Well?” Deirdre asked.

  “You look sweaty and hot,” DeAnna said.

  “I am,” I pulled the hair off my neck, twisting it into a messy bun and sticking a pencil from the desk through it. “I could really use water, too.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Fine,” I muttered, heading out of the office to get water from the fridge. I walked back to the office, drinking right from the bottle.

  “What did you find?” DeAnna asked.

  “Well, someone with good magical warding skills has set up shop in our backyard,” I said. “Whoever they are, they are good.”

  “What the hell?” Deirdre asked, her eyebrows raised. “That’s some balls. Everyone knows we’re here.”

  “It’s like they’re asking for trouble,” DeAnna said.

  “Or they need to be here and are just trying to fly under the Nightingale radar,” I said.

  “What kind of ward?” Deirdre got down to business.

  “I don’t know what kind of spell, but it makes a shimmer.”

  “What do you mean, a shimmer?” DeAnna asked.

  “It’s a ward, but it wasn’t invisible,” I said.

  “Amateur,” Deirdre sniffed.

  “Yeah, but it was strong,” I said. “I tried to get through, and it knocked me backwards.”

  “Like, on your ass?” Deirdre looked like she was trying to hide a grin.

  “I would have liked to have seen that,” DeAnna added.

  “Yes, on my ass,” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever it was, it was strong.”

  “And you could see it?” DeAnna moved right from teasing to thoughtful. “That’s interesting. Either he or she didn’t even try to hide it, or they couldn’t.”

  We had a lot of experience with hiding wards. DeAnna had cause to have seen them in action, what with Ashlar trying to off us all. In the past month, we’d had to do a couple over the town. Demons showing up on your front lawn had that affect.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Was it to stop you?”

  “The zombie I was following—”

  “You didn’t mention a zombie!” Deirdre interrupted.

  “I didn’t?” I pushed my hair away from my face. I was still hot. “Well, I hiked over into Deadwood Gulch from the RV place, you know the one?” I looked at them, and Deirdre nodded. “And when I got down into the gulch, I just walked along the bottom. I heard some kind of shuffling, and big as day, there was a zombie, heading on down the gulch like he was out for a stroll.”

  “Anyone we recognize?” Deirdre asked.

  “No. He was old, like from the forties. There was bone showing. I don’t know how no one called that in,” I said.

  “And then?” DeAnna asked.

  “He walked through the shimmer. I tried to follow him and was blocked.”

  “On your ass,” Deirdre smiled briefly.

  “Yes. We’ve established that. Who would have the balls to set up shop here?”

  “Well, Deadwood Gulch down there is a good place. There’s no one there. No trails, no nothing.” Deirdre was tapping her lip.

  “Is there anything there anymore?” I asked.

  Deirdre shook her head.

  “Old cabins? Mine sites? Abandoned houses? Caves?” I persisted. “I can’t believe we don’t know!” We knew Deadwood in and out. Or at least, I thought we did.

  “That’s been unused or occupied for a long time. No need for us to know,” Deirdre replied. “Not worth beating ourselves up for.”

  I sighed, leaning back in the chair. “You’re right. I hate not knowing.”

  “Well, we still need to be here for a couple more hours,” DeAnna said.

  I looked at my watch. She was right. It was long after lunch.

  “Is there anything to eat?”

  “You could get us a burger,” Deirdre said.

  “Saloon No. 10 it is,” I said, getting up. I would never say no to a Crab Hollandaise burger. Not ever. Not even were I close to death. That was one of those things that was a fixed point for me. If they ever went out of business, I think a part of me might shrivel up and die.

  Even as I knew I’d be there later tonight. Well, I’d be in the restaurant. Not the bar, where I normally went.

  I went down to the saloon and ordered lunch, taking the time to talk with Duffy, the bartender. While we made small talk, I saw some of the ghosts lingering around.

  Normally, I ignored them, and they ignored me. I’d known some of them when they were alive, and apparently, there had been a lot of gossip because of Doc. All reasons to keep a polite distance. Today, however, I could feel them hovering.

  “Duffy, I’ll be right back,” I said.

  She nodded from down the bar, and I made my way to the bathrooms. They were down a long, narrow, dark hallway. I also knew there was a supply closet back there, and bypassing the restrooms, I went into the closet, closing the door behind me as I turned on the light.

  “All right, what is it? I can feel you guys.”

  Two ghosts appeared. I was right. They’d wanted to talk. A man named Gordie and a woman named Nadine. Both were from the late 1800s, as their clothing showed.

  “I’m so glad you came in,” Nadine said. “It’s been a while, and we’ve been keeping a look out.”

  “What’s up?” I asked. This wasn’t good.

  “There’s trouble,” Gordie said.

  “All kinds,” I replied. “What do you know?”

  “There’s someone bringing back the dead. But not our dead,” Nadine said.

  “You’re sure about that?” I asked.

  “You don’t look surprised,” Gordie said, crossing his arms.

  “We’ve been dealing with the zombies,” I said shortly.

  Nadine crossed herself. “May they rest in peace.”

  “There’s someone bad here who’s bringing them in,” Gordie said, repeating what Nadine had said. “They’re not from around here, and whoever he is—”

  “You know it’s a he?” I asked.

  “That’s what we hear,” Gordie said.

  “From who?” I asked.

  “Some of those poor people have their spirits with them still,” Nadine said.

  “Can I talk to one of them?” I asked. This could solve a lot of problems.

  Gordie shook his head. “We haven’t really talked to them. They move in passing. It’s different,” he said, seeing me getting ready to ask more questions. “We’re at peace in some ways. We choose to be here. But these poor bastards—they aren’t at peace, and are being used against their will.”

  “For what?”

  Nadine said, “They’re very scattered, all over the place,” her hands fluttered. “But they are digging.”

  “Digging?” That made no sense. “Like mining?” We had a s
trong mining history here, but other than the Wharf mine west of here, there was no active mining. Even the Homestake mine, which had operated for over one hundred years, had shut down.

  “They’re digging for something,” Gordie said. “They don’t know what. They dig, and they rest.”

  “That makes no sense, but it’s something I didn’t know. Thank you,” I said.

  “We don’t need this here,” Nadine said, sounding very prim.

  “You’re right. We don’t. Thank you,” I said again. “Is there anything else you know?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “We don’t really see many of them,” Nadine said. “But a few have drifted through here, and then they leave. I don’t think they wanted to,” she said, looking away from me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It’s as though they are taken away,” Gordie said. “They’re not in control of their spirits, either.”

  “None of that points to someone with good intentions,” I said.

  “No, ma’am, it does not,” Gordie said. “We’ll send word if we hear more.”

  “Get word to Doc if I don’t come in,” I said, opening the door. “I appreciate you telling me this. You can let the others know we’re on it.”

  Both the ghosts faded away. I slipped out of the room, bumping into two women.

  “Are you all right, honey?” The older one asked.

  “Went in the wrong door,” I pasted a smile on my face. “I thought this was the bathroom.”

  They both smiled, and I moved past them and back to the bar.

  “It’s all ready,” Duffy smiled at me. She pushed a bag across the bar.

  I signed the check and got myself out of there. Back at the shop, after I shared the message from the Saloon No. 10 ghosts, the three of us ate and everyone ignored the zombie in the middle of the room, so to speak, choosing to talk about the spray for Deana.

  Which, had this been a normal early summer day, would have been a fun way to spend the next couple of days. I loved creating. I wondered how we could market this. We couldn’t say it kept vampires away—but would it work on other beings? Humans? Something to think about. We had the shop, and all of us had invested, so we did well financially, but I was always on the lookout to find things that would keep income flowing for us.