The mutters of the menfolk died down enough for Jessie to catch snippets of their conversation.
“...please...”
“...don’t defy me...”
“...I understand...”
The Darksome Gunman lowered his hand and turned his back on Ruby. Without another word or even a glance in Jessie’s direction, he stepped over Mozelle’s crumpled body, strode through the parlor on jingling spurs, and disappeared from sight.
Ruby was suddenly standing before Jessie, her face wan and drawn but still lovely. Jessie opened his mouth to shout, scream, screech—call the wrath of the heavens down because the goddamn Darksome Gunman was here—when Ruby put her finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh, petite. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Jessie frowned and shook his head at her ludicrously contradictory words.
Ruby lowered her lashes and breathed out. “You’re so confused. So addled. You need a lie-down.” She snapped her fingers and Viola scurried forward. With the menfolk firmly leading, and Viola steering, they managed to cajole Jessie to the base of the stairs. He twisted and turned to keep his gaze fixed on Ruby. She seemed so dissonant standing there in the middle of the parlor; extraneously she was every bit the confident madame, but beneath her painted exterior, she was something different entirely.
Viola touched Jessie’s cheek and drew his eyes back to hers.
“Come on now. I’ll look after you.”
Jessie shook his head, but Viola’s eyes flashed and there was something of Mozelle’s reptilian cold-bloodedness in them that made his head swim. Thoughts of fleeing for help, thoughts of Ruby, the Darksome Gunman, and even the ever-present thoughts of Grace vanished from his mind, and he couldn’t stop Viola and the menfolk from ushering him upstairs. From the landing, he made one last attempt to look down at the parlor, and he watched Ruby sink onto the loveseat and hold her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook.
“Come, bebette, let’s get you inside,” Viola whispered in his ear.
Jessie was ushered inside a dim room with rich velvet curtains that blocked out the night.
The door closed firmly behind him.
Jessie sat on a hard pew. In his hands, he held a leather-bound book. He traced the faded gold lettering on the front cover. Book of the Lamb. As his thumb passed over the last letter, he snatched his hand away. He turned his thumb over and saw blood.
“Right powerful that is.”
Jessie looked to his left. On the pew beside him, clothed in his father’s well-worn vestments, was Clinton Cottonmouth Cross.
Cottonmouth grinned.
Jessie turned the book over, and over again. The title said Notes. “It’s just my journal.”
Cottonmouth sniffed. “A journal is a man’s words.”
Jessie nodded. He turned and noticed a greasy black crow perched on the lectern. He eyed the bird, who did nothing but return his gaze.
“A man’s words is powerful.”
Jessie looked down at the leather-bound book. He frowned at the bloodstain on the front and remembered how he’d come to mar the cover. It had been when he’d first seen Grace and Kaga making love. “It’s all ’cause of them damned unearthly beasts. It’s always them making me look a fool in her eyes. Ina Maddox. Chupacabras. Undead things. Cannibals. And him. The wolf.”
Cottonmouth leaned back on the pew and rubbed his chin. “Might be. Might be something else too.”
Jessie frowned. “What do you mean, something else?”
“Who saved your hide in Sandycrag Creek? Who took you for a squalling woman and used you as a shield at the Sioux camp? Whose hand lies heavy on Temerity?”
Jessie’s fingers tightened on the journal. “The Darksome Gunman.”
Cottonmouth reached out and plucked one of Jessie’s hands. He turned it over and Jessie saw blood all over his fingers.
“There’s power in the blood, boy. Power in the book. The rulebook.” Cottonmouth loomed in and Jessie jerked backward.
He cried out and woke in a dark room. Thick velvet curtains were drawn across the window. Behind the curtains, gray pre-dawn gloom blanked out the landscape. Jessie sat up on a sumptuous bed laden with satin sheets. As his fingers grazed the gaudy material, he had a vivid memory of pounding a woman from behind, while another nibbled his neck and a third sucked his nipple. He shuddered at the memory and peeled the silks off his sweat-soaked body. Other memories assaulted him as he stood, all involving carnal sin, flesh and fornication. Jessie sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think of something—anything—other than wild debauchery. He frowned as he realized that beyond his own name, he couldn’t really think of anything.
He rose to his feet and stumbled through the darkness until he found his way to a table. He fumbled in the darkness and managed to strike a match and light a kerosene lamp. With a soft, warm glow to guide him, Jessie gazed helplessly around the room. There was little in the room to suggest his character if indeed it even was his room. He crossed the floor and stopped to pick up a frilly piece of lace lingerie. He frowned as he looked at the pale pink piece. It was marred with a brown spot. Jessie jerked and dropped the material as he realized it was blood. He turned and wandered to the large armoire and opened the brass-handled door. When the door swung open Jessie cried out in alarm as the mirror inside the door spooked him. With his heart thumping madly against his ribs, Jessie gave the young man in the mirror a wry smile. He ran a hand through his damp straw-blond hair and was about to turn away when his gaze caught something in the reflection. Jessie leaned closer to the mirror and tilted his head. He peered at his neck and frowned. A smear of dried blood marred his tanned skin. He rubbed the smear with his fingertip and the dried blood brushed off.
Power in the blood, boy.
Jessie drew in a deep breath as the words ran through his mind. He staggered back to the table, leaned down, and looked into the lantern flame. He shook his head to try to clear it. By his fingertips, a silver letter opener caught the light and flickered in his eyes. Jessie stared at the letter opener, hypnotized by the dancing reflection on its blade. His fingers curled around the silver handle, and the cold metal soothed his tumultuous mind. He ran a finger along the sharp edge of the letter opener and raised his left hand. He held it out before him, palm up.
There’s power in the blood, Jessie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Raised voices drew Jessie to the mezzanine. He clutched one hand in the other and fought the urge to puke as an angry clamor filled the house.
“Alright, you filthy whore. Where’s Jessie, and what’s going on here?”
Jessie stumbled to the banister and looked down. His head swam and his knuckles tightened on the rail as he swallowed his bile.
“Oo ye yi, but what a tone! Such venom. Such vitriol. What have I done to deserve such treatment?”
Jessie gritted his teeth and focused on the fracas below. Grace and Tokota stood before Ruby, who lounged on a velvet loveseat, a brandy balloon balanced on her knee. Grace hadn’t drawn Justice or Mercy, but her hands hovered only inches from the equalizers.
“You know damn well what. Where’s Jessie? I won’t ask again.”
Ruby slid from the loveseat effortlessly and popped the brandy balloon on a nearby table. She drew herself to her full height and stared at Grace, unflinching.
“You’ve no idea what you’ve wandered into, saloppe. I’ll give you this one chance to leave. I suggest you take it.”
Grace shook her head and drew Justice. “Wrong answer.”
“Grace, wait!”
Grace spun as Jessie stomped down the great staircase. He was barefoot and wore only his breeches and an open shirt. He slipped on a step and crashed against the wall, righted himself, and carried on at a breakneck pace. Tokota moved to intercept the lad, and Jessie held up his hands in submission. One palm bled from a long, deep wound. Tokota glanced back at Grace.
“Grace, please. I know I done you wrong, but let me explain.” Jessie licked his dry lips and implored
Grace with his earnest gaze. His heart raced and sweat trickled down his back as he watched Grace grit her teeth and adjust her grip on Justice. She was so fast Jessie knew he’d never see her aim and fire. She was also so accurate he knew she wouldn’t miss. He had one chance, and he silently prayed to God she’d give him two minutes to explain. After a tense few seconds, Grace inclined her head.
Jessie let loose a lungful of air. “Don’t hurt Ruby. It ain’t her fault.”
Grace’s expression darkened, and she clicked the hammer down on Justice.
Jessie raised his hands again. “Wait a minute! It ain’t her fault and it ain’t mine neither. Hurting you, I mean...and...what I did to Kaga.”
Jessie knew the moment Kaga’s name slipped from his lips it was a mistake. Grace raised Justice and fired. Jessie felt the wind as the bullet roared over his shoulder. He ducked as Grace clicked the hammer down again. “Jesus H! Just wait a minute! It’s the girls, Grace! The girls are some kinda demons. Like Ina Maddox. They juice fellas up on coney then feed on their blood when they’re out of it. Look, they did it to me!” Jessie tilted his head and tapped a bruise blooming across his neck.
Grace didn’t lower the equalizer.
“I’d no mind of what I was doing after yesterday’s visit.” He paused for a moment, gulped, and went on hurriedly. “See, I came in during the day while you and Tokota and Kaga was out looking for skinny. I was mad at you for... Well, I came in and, uh, got seen to. From then on everything I did was like... I don’t know, like it was me, but it wasn’t me. I remember bits of it. I remember going back to the bunkhouse in the evening, and I remember what I tried to do to you.” Jessie looked down at the floor.
“And Kaga? You remember gutting him like a fish?” Grace growled.
Tears slid down Jessie’s cheeks as he nodded. Cold fingers danced down his spine and clutched his stomach in an icy fist.
Grace squared her shoulders and visibly quivered with suppressed emotion.
Jessie swallowed away the lump in his throat. When he found his voice, it was plaintive and thin. “It wasn’t me, Grace! It’s something in their fangs, like poison.”
“Venom,” Tokota grunted.
Grace snorted. “You ain’t buying this shecoonery, are you?”
Tokota shrugged. “After everything I have seen, I do not doubt it is possible. It explains why Jessie would do such a thing.”
“Horseshit. He’s hated Kaga since day dot,” Grace swore.
Tokota shook his head. “I do not mean the attack on Kaga. It explains why he tried to force you, Grace. The boy is enamored with you, but he would never willingly do something so base, so despicable.”
Grace opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. She shifted her eyes to Jessie, and he reeled at the hurt—the betrayal—in their depths. Grace’s unspoken rage and grief smacked into him like a steam-powered locomotive, sending him to his knees.
“Please, Grace. You gotta believe me. It wasn’t me!”
Grace’s eyes were flat, her expression forbidding. She gave away nothing—certainly no reprieve for the guilt thundering through Jessie’s insides. He squirmed beneath her penetrating stare until his own grief and guilt overcame him and he broke off with a sob and looked down at the ground.
Grace’s jaw tensed at Jessie’s reaction. Whether she was relieved by his show of emotion or completely nonplussed, was anyone’s guess. She turned her cold, dead eyes on Ruby and swung her equalizer on the woman.
“Then if it weren’t you to blame, it was this slit here.” Her voice was raw and betrayed some of the hurt she hid behind her mirror-like eyes. She clicked the hammer down on Justice.
Jessie’s head snapped up and a rope of snot swung across his lips. “No! Grace, stop! Ruby’s as much a victim as me!” he cried.
Grace’s expression was incredulous when she turned back to him. “What the hell, Jessie? You saying this slattern had no idea all this was going on under the roof of her own establishment? P’shaw, boy!”
“She knew! But she ain’t got the power to stop it. She cain’t stand up to...to him.”
Grace frowned. “To who?”
Jessie swallowed and his fingers played with the rich rug beneath his knees. He raised his head and swallowed again. “The Darksome Gunman.”
Grace made a small sound as she sucked in a fast breath. Tokota stirred and frowned at Jessie.
Jessie wiped his nose with his sleeve as he held up his wounded hand. “The power is in the blood. I was overcome with the venom, fighting the corruption, and it suddenly came to me to cut my hand open. When I did, this filthy black sludge oozed out of my skin. I squeezed and squeezed until the black finally stopped and my own blood ran free. And then it all came back to me. I remembered everything. Being seduced by the girls, what I did to you, Grace, what I did to Kaga,” Jessie’s voice cracked, “and I remember seeing him here—the Gunman, talking to her...killing...” Jessie trailed off as Mozelle’s twisted body flashed before his eyes.
Tokota and Grace turned to Ruby. The Cajun madame stood still, her back ramrod straight, and stared at Jessie with wide eyes.
Jessie nodded at her as he slowly approached Grace and Tokota. “She stood before him and begged. I saw her plead and cry, and he just looked down all ornery. And then he walked right on past her and out the doors, and she just sat there crying. Like a broken thing.”
Grace turned to Ruby. She drew a deep breath as though to steady herself. “That true?”
Ruby drew herself up, her head held high.
Jessie glanced from Grace to Ruby. The tension was knife-edge taut between the two women. “Ruby. You got one chance. One chance to be shy of him. Don’t you want it? Don’t you need it?” Jessie asked quietly.
Ruby stood straight and tall for five full seconds before her shoulders slumped and she gripped the back of the chair. She swayed, exhaled, and closed her eyes. Tokota took her arm to support her. Jessie stepped forward and gestured to the chaise longue. Tokota helped Ruby sit down and hunkered beside her. Jessie squatted and gazed at Ruby. Without the gloss and glamor of her act, he could see she wasn’t much older than he. She just hid her tender years behind makeup and facade.
“You better reckon up, girl, and make it good. I’m in a right foul mood and Justice is itching to be done,” Grace growled.
Ruby’s gaze darted from Grace to Jessie and back again. She sighed and put her face in her hands. From behind her hands, her voice came out small and muffled. “My room. Come to my room and we’ll...talk.”
Tokota shot a look at Grace. She pressed her lips together, then finally nodded. The grim native set about helping Ruby to her feet and guiding her to the sweeping staircase.
Grace slowly holstered Justice and made to follow them when Jessie grabbed her arm. Grace’s jaw clenched as she swung her dark eyes on him. Jessie dropped her arm.
“I just... About Kaga...” Jessie’s voice broke on the last syllable as his throat tightened.
Grace glared at him for a long moment.
“He’s alive, Jessie.” She didn’t elaborate and pushed past him.
As she ascended the stairs Jessie sank to his knees on the parlor floor. A sickening wave of nausea washed over him, a dizzying mix of relief and regret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ruby’s private room was larger than the room Jessie had woken in. She had a small dining table, chairs, lounge suite, and a separate powder room. Although luxurious, Ruby’s room did not bear the trappings of a typical brothel boudoir. The bed linens were crisp cotton and the furniture designed for practicality over aesthetic value. Tokota hovered near the curtains and peered outside from time to time. Jessie sat opposite Ruby at the polished mahogany table, and Grace paced. It was obvious she was doing her best to give Ruby time to tell her story. It was also painfully obvious she was chafing to launch into action.
Ruby tipped back the last dregs of her bourbon. It was her third straight and her cheeks were flushed. Jessie was about to suggest she quit drinki
ng, but as she began her narrative, he understood her need to fortify herself and reached for his own glass of liquid courage.
“I was a bebette when he came for me. We lived in N’awlins. We were never wealthy but we survived, and we were happy. And then he came along. The gree gree man. He slaughtered my family. Butchered Mama and Papa. Shot my brothers and sisters. Smothered the beb in her cot...”
Ruby’s voice was matter of fact as though this old hurt no longer touched her. Jessie cleared his throat and glanced at Grace. The gunfighter’s expression was closed; he couldn’t read her.
“We rode for miles through the bayous. I didn’t know what he wanted or where he was taking me. My heart was broken with grief. Then we came to a small town—this town—a shanty town with a run-down general store and dilapidated brothel. And here his purpose was revealed. He purchased the brothel, brought in the girls, and set me to live and work among them. At first, I fought. Oh, how I fought and screamed. But I was beaten and starved until I obeyed. Over time I learned to hold my tongue and endure the depravity. Eventually, he offered me the position of madame. I would no longer faire l’amour but would instead keep order and see the girls were undisturbed in their...activities.”
“So you knew what they were doing?” Grace accused.
Ruby nodded. “Weh. I’ve seen their art of entrapment many times. They seduce a man, then feed on his blood. Once their venom is in his blood, he can’t help but come back again and again. The man, he gets nasty...aggressive...possessive.”
“The entire town’s menfolk are seduced, ain’t they?” Jessie asked.
Ruby nodded again. “Weh. Temerity is theirs. Temerity is his.”
“And you, the madame of this dang place, hold it in your pretty palm for him. Make sure the girls get their juice and ain’t disturbed. Well, ain’t that just swell? Bet the Gunman is right proud of his little whore,” Grace snarled.
Guns of Perdition Page 17
