Railroad! Collection 1 (The Three Volume Omnibus)

by Tonia Brown

  Fangs? Well, yes, that they were.

  And they were the last thing Dodger saw before someone delivered a strong blow to the back of his head. Granted, it was enough to knock him for a loop, but not quite enough to put him all the way out, which was probably the intended effect. Dodger decided it might be best to play possum for a bit. Lay low, as it were. He went limp in his captor’s arms and allowed them to drag his heavy ass up the steps and inside.

  Dodger kept his body limp and his eyes closed while someone propped him in a chair and proceeded to tie him in place. Again. Twice in as many days. (Would every job for the Doc wind up with him cold cocked and tied down?) Dodger kept his muscles flexed, allowing for a little play in the binding should talking his way out of this not work to his advantage. Speaking of talking, the room was alive with the chatter and natter of a variety of female voices.

  With the trill of a French accent, a woman suggested, “I say we drain him now and dump his husk in zee pit. Let zee Jackals have what is left of him.”

  A decisively British woman said, “No. Why gorge when we can make a month’s worth of meals out of the chap? I say we should enjoy him nice and slow. Let the bugger suffer long for what he’s done.”

  A down home southern woman said, “Girls, girls. Let’s not get out of hand with this. We don’t rightly know what he’s done. Now, do we?”

  Dodger recognized her as the shadow from the porch.

  The one who rushed him.

  All eyes and mouth and … something else. Even though it only happened moments ago, he couldn’t seem to remember now.

  “But he has the guns,” the Frenchy said.

  “Boon would never willingly part with his girls,” the Brit added.

  A chorus of women agreed with this simple truth.

  “Yes,” said the Southerner. “But I say we talk to him a little bit first. Find out what’s going on. Get a little information.”

  Ah, the voice of reason. Dodger could almost kiss her, whoever she was.

  Then the southern gal went and ruined by adding, “Then we kill him.”

  The sea of feminine voices approved.

  “You should just kill me now,” Dodger said. “Save us the trouble of arguing.”

  Gasps rose from his audience and he lifted his head to lay eyes on a bevy of beauties. From pleasantly plump to bone thin, from blonde to redhead to brunette, from delicate to dangerous to delicious, every possible form of feminine glory lay spread around the room in front of Dodger. Some of the women lounged across the few couches, while others perched on benches, with the remaining sprawled on the floor. A quick count gave him twenty heads, and not male among them, though more than one was a bit masculine than Dodger’s tastes cared for. He was pleased to see he had been correct in his assumption. Either the Desert Rose was a bordello or a lingerie shop, because every little filly wore nothing more than a corset, panties and stockings.

  And to his randy delight, some wore even less.

  “If one of you ladies would be kind enough to set me free,” Dodger said, “then we can talk like civilized folks.”

  “Where did you get these?” the southerner asked.

  Dodger turned to her, and was taken aback by her beauty; a short but buxom blonde, with bright blue eyes and ruby red lips. A crimson, silky, knee length nightie was all she wore. The kind that one could see everything through if the light was just right.

  And the light was oh so right.

  She pushed Boon’s guns, as well as her bosom, into Dodger’s face and asked again, “Where did you get these?”

  Funny thing was, Dodger didn’t remember being disarmed. He even peeked at his naked waist, just to make sure they were indeed Boon’s guns. Whoever took the guns had the deftest touch of anyone he had ever met. “I told you before. They came with the job.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “What would I gain by lying?”

  “Your life.” The woman smiled, and with her grin something seemed wrong.

  Dodger glanced around the room at the women, whom were all smiling now. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something seemed odd about their collective grins. Aside from the fact that their smiles were the sexiest things he had ever seen, the blonde’s the sexiest of all, something was just not quite right with them.

  “My life?” Dodger asked. “Surely you don’t mean to kill me?”

  “Surely we do,” the southerner said.

  The other women, who had spent the last few minutes chattering like a house of nervous hens, had now grown quiet. As quiet as the grave.

  “Over what?” Dodger asked.

  “Let’s start with the crime of trespassing.” She lowered the guns and pushed her chest to him again.

  He could sense the swell of each breast resting against his shoulder. His pace quickened. His pants suddenly seemed far too tight. “Is it hot in here? It seems awful hot in here.”

  She lowered her voice to a sultry purr. “How did you find us?”

  “I was sent here.” Dodger swallowed hard, trying to work down the dry lump in his throat, and will away the growing lump in his lap.

  “By who?” The blonde smiled again, and the sight of it tore at Dodger’s subconscious.

  What was so wrong with her smile? Her sexy, seductive, scintillating smile. He blinked, slowly, trying to flush the image of her grin from his tired mind. It was getting hard to concentrate with the weight of her body against him. She smelled so good too; sweet but cold. Like a rose at the heart of a snow drift. And he wanted her. More than anything else, he wanted to have her. Wanted to touch her. To taste her. To give his life to her.

  “I told you already,” he said.

  “What do you want with us?” she asked.

  He heard his own voice as if through a wall, muffled and miles away. “I told you, I was sent here on an errand.”

  She ran her hands through his hair, letting his wild locks slip between her dainty, pale fingers. “You’ve told us nothing but lies. I don’t know how you got those guns, but I think Marguerite has the right idea. We should drain you and toss what’s left to those Jackals in the pit. But, then again …” The blonde traced a line from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, across his lips and down the length of his throat, stopping to press her fingertips against his throbbing artery, then lower still to grope the area over his racing heart.

  Dodger hoped she would keep on going.

  She didn’t.

  “You know,” she said, “in a way I am glad you stumbled across us. It’s been far too long between meals, and we were getting so very, very thirsty.”

  She forced her smile wider. Very wide. Too wide. Much wider than Dodger really thought any woman had a right to smile. Any person, for that matter. It struck him in that instant, the thing that was wrong. The wrongness of her smile. Of her mouth. Or more specifically, of her teeth. No, not her teeth.

  It was the wrongness of her fangs.

  Of all their fangs, for each woman turned on him now, mouth agape and overfilled with sharp teeth. They hissed and spat at him as they came closer, hunger and rage burning from their very eyes. Anger and appetite for the man who had stolen Washington Boon’s weapons. And there was little he could do to resist.

  Aside from the fact that he was their captive meal, he couldn’t help but find the whole scenario highly erotic. He gulped in excited breaths, pleased to make contact, any kind of contact, with these beautiful creatures. Let them have him. Let them suck him dry. If this is how he should meet his maker, by the seduction of these sexy ladies, then he was all too satisfied to oblige. He always knew he would die at the hands of a professional, just never knew what profession would get him in the end.

  The southern belle leaned into him, lowering her cold mouth to his neck, the point of her delicate but dangerous fangs pushing against his leathery, sun worn skin. Just before she could sink into him, just before she could make a meal of him or drain him or whatever other horrible plan they had for Dodger, a familiar voic
e and presence filled the room.

  ****

  back to top

  ****

  Chapter Seven

  The Forsaken

  In which Dodger learns the truth of Waxford.

  “Stop, Rebecca,” Boon said. “Don’t hurt him.”

  At the voice of the spirit, the women reverted. Just like that, the fangs were gone, the women were flawless beauties again, and Dodger trembled and sweated and wondered what in the hell just happened. One moment he was all too happy to die by their hands, or rather mouths, and now? Now the idea horrified him. Which is to say, he returned to normal on the matter.

  Boon stood in the center of the ladies, holding his hat in his hands and pleading with the blonde. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”

  “Wash?” the southern belle asked. She furrowed her pert brow as the corners of her lips curved ever so slightly down.

  “Zee meal was lying,” the Frenchy said. “Boon is alive after all.”

  The women cooed and clapped, glad to see Boon was unharmed. All save for the blonde belle. She silenced the others with a quick hiss and crossed the room, approaching Boon. His spirit towered over her as she stood beneath him, craning her neck to look him in the eyes.

  “He wasn’t lying,” she said. “Was he?”

  Boon shook his shaggy head. “I’m afraid not, Becky.”

  The southern gal reached up and caressed his ghostly face. Static sparked from her palm, crackling as she ran her fingers through his beard. Quite literally. “What happened to you?”

  “I guess I just danced a little to close with lady death. You know she always loved me for a partner.”

  “She isn’t the only one.” A few tears rolled down her pale face, tracing the curve of her cheek on their way to do gravity’s biding. “Then it is true. Washington Boon is dead?”

  “Yes. He is.”

  The room itself seemed to gasp in astonishment. Several women covered their mouths. Some started to weep along with the blonde. Others looked away, as if the sight of his ghost was too much to bear.

  “Why are you still here?” the belle asked as she wiped at her damp eyes.

  Boon shot a glance to Dodger, who sat slack jawed and shocked into silence, then looked back to Rebecca. “I don’t rightly know.”

  “I do.” The woman smiled, but this time it was an honest to goodness smirk. No fangs. No danger. “You linger for her.”

  Boon gave a soft sigh. “Perhaps. Time will tell I suppose. Speaking of which, we ain’t got a lot of time on our side right now. Can one of you pretty ladies please untie my partner?”

  “This cretin is with you after all?”

  “He sure is. And we are both in a bit of a rush, so … if you don’t mind?” Boon motioned to the bonds.

  “Always in a hurry to get back to her.” Rebecca clapped her hands and the two burly women closest to Dodger began to undo the knots that held him fast.

  Only they weren’t women. Were they? Well, they were women now. All bosom and rump and lips. But what were they just a few minutes ago? All fangs and thirst and anger? And seduction. Loads and loads of seduction. Dodger knew what they were, but at the same time he didn’t want to know. Still, the analytical part of his mind reached for a name to describe them, but it sounded wrong. Wrong because it was impossible.

  “For a partner of yours he was quite ill prepared,” Rebecca said.

  “The Doc reckoned trial by fire was the best method for this one,” Boon said. “He’s a little on the skeptical side. Has to see it and touch it and taste it to believe it.”

  “He was almost on the dead side. Your side of dead of course, not ours. You should have warned him. Or us, at the very least.”

  Boon rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I would’ve spoken up sooner, but I wasn’t sure you would be able to talk to me, much less see me.”

  “Congress with the deceased is one of our many gifts. You know that, Wash.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Where’s Ched?” a plump redhead asked.

  “Yuck,” the French gal said with a snort. “Trust zee mention of congressing with corpses to remind her of him.”

  “He’s back on the line, Lucy,” Boon said. “But he sends his love.”

  “Pooh,” the redhead said, sticking out her lower lip. “I don’t want his love. I want his body. As close to mine as possible.”

  The ropes gave way and Dodger slipped to the floor, just catching himself before he struck the ground. He still couldn’t manage words, the distress of what had almost happened and was happening now threatened to close his mental shop for good. A few ladies tried to help him to his feet, but he flinched from their touch—a touch he would have given his life to experience only moments before—and stared at them, still trying to make sense of what seemed so senseless.

  “What brings you to Waxford?” Rebecca asked.

  “You know why,” Boon said.

  “He needs more? So soon? Will he ever give up on his hope for her cure? I told him, Lelanea is cursed. Like us. There is no cure. Only death. Death and damnation.”

  “It’s not for her. It’s something different this time.”

  The blonde narrowed her eyes. “Tell me he isn’t trying to make more of us. He is well aware that’s forbidden.”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Boon launched into a brief explanation of the last two days, starting with Dodger’s employment and ending with their need for whatever it was they were here to gather.

  “That’s quite a story” Rebecca said. “You make me feel as if I should give you what you want for free.”

  “Is that an offer?” Boon raised an eyebrow.

  “You know me better than that, Washington-”

  “Vampires!” Dodger shouted over her, unable to contain the impossible idea any longer. He didn’t care who heard him, or what they thought of his insanity. For lack of a better thing to say, he repeated, “Vampires!”

  Rebecca stopped talking, and turned to Dodger, a cool calm crossing her beautiful face. “Must you use such vulgar language? There are women present.”

  “Women?” Dodger could all but feel his eyes trying to bulge their way out of their sockets, but he couldn’t help his heightened level of alarm. “You aren’t women! You’re a bunch of vampires! Lady vampires!”

  The ladies growled in unison, filling the room with feral anger.

  “Stop calling them that,” Boon whispered. “It only upsets them.”

  Dodger looked to Boon for help. “Upsets them? They tried to kill me! And you! You just let me waltz on in here like nothing was wrong. Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Warn you about what?” Boon asked. “About the women of this town and how they will suck the life from your cooling corpse just as soon as look at you?”

  “Well … yes.” Except, the way the ghost put it, the whole thing sounded silly. But it wasn’t silly! It was real! “They almost killed me. You could have given me some kind of idea.”

  Boon sighed in his wistful, ethereal exhale. “And if I came right out and explained the way of things would you have believed me?”

  “No,” Dodger was forced to admit. He also had to admit that just about every crewmember tried to talk him out of going it alone. Dodger dreaded facing Ched’s smug grin when they returned to the line. “But if you aren’t, you know what, then what was all that ‘sucking me dry’ about?”

  “If you need a label so desperately,” Rebecca said, “then you may refer to us as Forsaken.”

  “Forsaken,” Dodger echoed.

  “Yes. It was your employer’s idea. Much like you he wasn’t satisfied until he had a label for us. Though I must admit his word is fitting. We have been forsaken—by humanity, by divinity, by our own kind—so the label is effective, if not a little dramatic.”

  “The doc has a flare for the dramatic,” Boon said. “Just as my friend here can be a little over defensive. But we’re all friends here. Aren’t we, Dodger?”

  “Dodger?” Rebecca asked. “You’re not t
he Rodger Dodger?”

  The sound of his name on her lips simultaneously made Dodger ache with need while his skin crawled in disgust. It was an interesting effect. Nauseating, but interesting.

  “Depends on what ‘the’ stands for,” he said.

  Rebecca raked her blue eyes over him, in much the manner a hungry man measures up a side of beef hanging in a butcher’s window. “Oh yes, you’re him all right.”

  “How do you know of me?”

  “Let’s just say we hear a lot of rumors from our clients. And your name may have come up once. Or twice. Or three times.”

  “Clients? That’s a strange word for victims.”

  The women growled again, and for a moment Dodger worried he had crossed whatever line kept them from killing him. Rebecca snapped her fingers, calling her ladies to attention.

  “Leave us,” she demanded.

  Grumbling, the women filed out of the room, leaving the three of them alone. Dodger felt more than one pair of cold eyes weighing his worth as the women departed.

  “Was it something I said?” he teased.

  “Dodger,” Boon warned.

  “I obviously touched a nerve.” Dodger chuckled as his own humor. “I didn’t think vampires had nerves.”

  “Please be quiet. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Embarrassing you? These monsters tried to kill me!”

  “Becky,” Boon said aloud. “I apologize for his behavior. If I had known-”

  “No need to defend him,” Rebecca said as she scooped up the gun belt from the desk behind her. “It isn’t his fault. He bears the bias of his forefathers. Let him think what he wants. It matters not to us.” She held the guns out to Dodger. “Here, I’m sure you’ll feel less exposed with these on.”