Evangeline gripped Brandi’s shoulder so tightly that she flinched and tried to pull away, to no avail.
“Run, Brandi,” Evangeline insisted in a hoarse voice, as if her breath had been knocked out of her.
She grabbed the poem from Brandi’s hands and threw it against the snow like a piece of hot coal she couldn’t bear to hold. Evangeline pointed a trembling finger at a set of peculiar hoof tracks near her wagon, which looked like a mysterious rider had visited briefly and then simply disappeared. When she returned her grip to Brandi’s shoulder, she gave her a hard shake.
“In the name of everythin’ you hold dear,” Evangeline urged, “run Brandi, for your ever lovin’ life.”
Evangeline released her and ripped open the cuff from the sleeve of her black velvet dress, threads dangling in the moonlight. An old scar was visible on the inside of her pale forearm that read Virgil, followed by hash marks beneath it, tracking some kind of score.
“Go, I said!” Evangeline repeated to Brandi, who seemed scared witless, her feet immobile in the snow. “Go before he marks yer soul.”
Chapter 2
Evangeline ground her cigar onto the note in the snow, where it burned a hole in the poem and snuffed out with a hiss. She hoisted up her velvet dress and began to race, leaving Brandi, her wagon, her friends at Bender Lake and her whole life behind. Clutching her turquoise pouch with a death grip, her eyes were focused on a narrow, snowy path that was barely visible in the woods, which wove past scraggly, leafless honeysuckle bushes. Branches whipped at her legs, arms, and cheeks as she tore through the forest, glancing up every few strides at the position of the moon like it was her compass. Her muscles groaned and her lungs felt as if they were ready to melt, yet she lunged forward, faster and faster, like a woman who believed time was running out.
Because it was...
Searching desperately for a small creek on the west side of the lake, she finally spied the white domes of snow that capped the rocks along the banks, making them look like a row of mushrooms in the moonlight. Beside them was a shadow, standing nearly as tall as her wagon and darker than anything in the forest.
She knew the outline of that silhouette. That soul–
Evangeline halted in her tracks.
“Heard the call, did ya, darlin’?”
The shadow turned to peer at the old trailers and cabins behind her, deep in the woods of Bender Lake, sparkling with blinking holiday lights.
“Merry Christmas–”
Evangeline thrust her pouch up high, the way some vampire seekers raise a silver cross. She fumbled to open the pouch and dug her fingers inside, withdrawing a pinch of dark herbs. Spinning on her heels, she sprinkled them around her until the snow looked like it had been peppered with gunpowder.
“Ain’t no magic on this earth can keep me away from what’s mine,” the shadow merely laughed.
With every word he spoke, his outline became more three-dimensional, as if every beat of Evangeline’s racing heart only served to make him more real. Soon, before her stood a man over six feet tall in a long black duster, flanked at the shoulders with buffalo hide, his rugged features framed by silver hair. All around him were horse prints that had trampled in the snow, but led nowhere, as if the horse had somehow dropped from the sky and then vanished.
“I let Spook go back,” he smiled, nodding at the way Evangeline’s eyes searched the tracks in confusion. “You remember my dappled gray mare? Finest getaway horse in the West–”
“Y-You’re old, Virgil Hollow. Y-You sh-should be dead.”
Virgil fingered the silver stubble on his chin and smiled, making him appear even more handsome and distinguished than Evangeline had dared to remember. Hot prickles skittered along her cheeks and neck, seeping down her back toward places she’d rather not name. This was the only man on earth who’d ever touched—no, stroked and set afire—every inch of her, igniting her whole body with a desire that would gladly pursue her for centuries. But the only problem was, he should have passed away a hundred years ago.
“H-how, can you be here, Virgil?”
“How could you go there, to Colorado way back then? These things are mysterious, ain’t they, darlin’?”
Virgil pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette from his duster and struck a match, cupping his hand to light it and tossing the match into the trickling creek beside him. Rather than smolder as it hit the water, a plume of fire rose up, as though ignited by vapors. It illuminated Virgil’s sharp, weathered features, toughened by years of living outdoors on the frontier—and on the run.
“You know, you never told me when you reclined on my Indian blankets and buffalo hides at night, running your fingers over my skin by moonlight in my hideout, that you were from another century. One from the future.” He glanced her up and down with a glint in his eye. “The way you dress, Evangeline, you could pass as a Victorian lady any day. And you’re every bit as beautiful as I remember. Maybe more so–”
Virgil’s sly smile, with a grin that flashed mischievous in the moonlight, was enough to send Evangeline’s heart aflutter all over again. She hated that feeling—the loss of control, the vulnerability that had no bottom to it. The way every pulse of her being might start to crave him once more, enough to drive any sane woman batty. No one with a lick o’ sense loses her heart to a highwayman who robs trains an’ stagecoaches, she thought, even if he does claim to do it for noble reasons.
Shaking her head, Evangeline closed her shawl around herself tightly as though trying to seal off her heart as well. She dipped her chin to nod at him out of courtesy and faked a smile, gazing into those blue eyes of his that could drown a woman’s heart faster than the depths of Bender Lake. Then she gathered her dress at the hips to give him a polite curtsy, the way she figured Victorian ladies do, while secretly fishing out the switchblade from her dress pocket and hiding it in her palm. Evangeline smiled, revealing the familiar gold front tooth that he recognized and secretly loved her for. Virgil always said it made her look like a pirate’s woman, befitting an outlaw like him. Then quick as a flash, she dashed deeper into the woods, coursing down hidden deer paths that only she knew, and out of Virgil’s sight.
Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that swiftness was the very reason Virgil succeeded so wildly as a bandit. Within a few strides, he easily caught up with her and scooped her into his arms so fast that it made her head spin.
And in his fist, he had a hold of her switchblade, too.
“You gonna cut me?” Virgil hissed bitterly. “Any deeper than you already have?”
His lips were mere inches away from Evangeline’s, so close that she could smell the hand-grown tobacco on his breath from the cigarette he’d dropped by the gaseous creek. “You made me love you, woman,” he whispered. “And then you bolted, taking my heart with you...for centuries. That’s what I call stealin’, Evangeline. And where I come from, it’s a crime. A crime that has to be paid for–”
“It warn’t my fault!” Evangeline fought back, kicking and wriggling fiercely to grab at her switchblade. “I couldn’t help it you fell fer me. You’re crazy–”
The irony of that word was not lost on her. As soon as she uttered it, she sank in regret, watching the way it made Virgil tilt his head back and laugh.
“No,” he replied in a low tone that sounded like it came straight from his soul, “I’m not crazy.” He smiled, clutching her body tighter to his chest and relishing the feel of her warmth and weight in his arms, along with the fight in her eyes. “And you hate that all to hell about me,” he observed, eyes dancing. “That’s exactly what you never betted on. That somewhere in this old world, there might actually be some cowboy strong enough to withstand the Tinker curse that drives men mad. Even if I did live over a hundred years ago. But you were never a very good fit for this century, now were you, darlin’?”
Virgil absorbed Evangeline in a kiss, and in spite of her struggle, the scent of pinyon pine, gunpowder, and campfire smoke from his life on the run enveloped her, m
aking memories of her dalliance with him in the wilderness of Colorado come rushing back. Thoughts Evangeline had tried to get rid of for decades, to numb with spells, potions, alcohol—anything that might help her release the lingering allure of Virgil Hollow. She’d buried herself in the demanding problems of her customers at Bender Lake for ages, but then that damn owl beneath a Cold Moon had called to her outside her wagon, just like it did all those years ago when she’d gone herb hunting and fell back in time into Virgil’s arms. What special magic had been used to draw her? She gripped the turquoise pouch fiercely in her hand.
She knew the answer...
Inside that pouch was the medicine of a man who was even more powerful than her Irish ancestors.
Iron Feather.
He was a Native American friend of Virgil’s. Part Ute, part Apache, and part nobody knew what. He belonged to no tribe but was welcomed by many, except for the Comanche, and he sometimes ran with the Bandits Hollow Gang. Whenever he felt like it.
Yet they were soul brothers, Iron Feather and Virgil Hollow. Knotted hearts, coming from different ways of life and people entirely, after Virgil had saved Iron Feather’s life in a shoot out. Nothing seemed to scare those two, no law could rein them in—and they’d do anything for each other.
Even call forth the one woman who was strong enough to be Virgil’s lover from a future century?
Virgil drowned Evangeline in another kiss. As she felt herself falling, falling into the pursuit of his lips, all at once she realized he had more than her trusty switchblade in his hand. He’d snagged her turquoise pouch as well. Or rather, his pouch—the one Iron Feather used to give him to protect him whenever he was away.
“Iron Feather’s gone now, Evangeline,” Virgil said in a solemn tone as his lips broke from hers. He held up the old pouch to her face, swinging like a pendulum on a chain, and pulled it away from her each time she tried to seize it. “His spirit’s calling his medicine back to him. This medicine that protected me and you, and everyone it was passed to.” He studied its turquoise color for a moment. “It must go back to his side.”
Virgil gazed into Evangeline’s eyes like she was the real medicine he’d been searching for all this time. “But as long as I have you,” he glanced up at the Cold Moon for a few seconds as if for courage, “I’m willing to give luck another try.” He began to walk with her in his arms back to the creek of vapors. “We’re going now, Evangeline.”
“No!” cried Evangeline, attempting to wrestle her fists from the strength of his bear grip. But Virgil’s strides were long and lanky, and they were beside the creek in no time. Waiting for them in the shadows, however, was something Virgil hadn’t counted on–
It was subtle, a mere click in the darkness that piqued Virgil’s and Evangeline’s attention. But both of them heard it as loud as a blast from a cannon. There was no mistaking the sound of cocking a revolver.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, mister!” a voice cut through shadows. “And you can put Granny Tinker down this instant.”
Brandi emerged from the darkness, her trembling gun aimed straight at Virgil Hollow’s head. “Forgive me, Granny,” she said. “I know you don’t allow firearms nowhere near Turtle Shores, but I’ve had this one in secret from a long time ago, just in case one of your potions fails, if you know what I mean. And from the looks of it,” Brandi glared at the handsome, weathered face of Virgil with Evangeline’s pouch in his hand, “this might be one of those moments.”
Virgil grinned, infuriating Brandi.
“You take one more step, mister, and I swear I’ll blow your head clean off,” Brandi hissed, both hands on the weapon now. She closed one eye and stared down the barrel. “Evangeline’s the best goddamn friend I ever had in this world—the best most anybody’s ever had—and I’ll die before I’ll let anything happen to her.”
Though her heart was racing a mile a minute, it was the first time Evangeline had ever heard such cold words coming from Brandi’s glossy purple lips. Brandi’s eyes squinted into thin lines, and Evangeline could tell she meant business. Nevertheless, despite Evangeline’s efforts to kick madly and elbow Virgil in the face, his big arms clutched her thin frame harder as he stepped closer to the creek.
“Stop! Stop, I said!” Brandi demanded. “Duck, Granny!”
Brandi pulled the trigger and fired at Virgil–
The bullet sailed through the apparition of his head, which had become hazy the moment he stepped into the creek, ricocheting off a tree behind him.
Lowering her weapon in shock, Brandi watched in horror as Virgil and Evangeline became wavy, as though lost in a vapor, and then disappeared.
Chapter 3
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Brandi moaned, burying her head in her hands.
She was sitting in her friend Lorraine’s trailer as Lorraine was whipping up a breakfast of hot cakes for her neighbors at the Turtles Shores Trailer Park. She’d dyed the batter green with food coloring, and each hot cake was in the shape of a Christmas tree that she created by ladling the batter onto her griddle just right. Then she stacked them in neat piles on a plate at the side of her stove, until her neighbors’ noses made them follow the heavenly scent of bacon and hand-harvested maple syrup to her door.
“Are you tryin’ to tell me that Granny up an’ disappeared?” Lorraine shook her head, pausing with a spatula in her hand. “Honey, I’ve heard a hell of a lot of strange things about Bender Lake in my day. Sasquatch sightings, alien abductions, fairy troops on the warpath, not to mention a few dark personages who take revenge by dumping bodies here. But I gotta say, this one takes the damn cake.”
“It’s true!” Brandi lifted her fingers from her face, her expression sunken. “I watched with my own eyes as Granny and this handsome stranger stepped inside a creek in the woods. They plain vanished! You think Bender Lake has got some kind of sinkhole or mystical vortex going on? How could my bullet float right through that son of a bitch?”
Brandi reached toward Lorraine’s griddle to warm her hands, checking her glossy, leopard-print nails before searching her friend’s face.
Lorraine bit her lip. Her countenance appeared oddly blanched. “You know, folks back in the hollers used to call them things burnin’ springs. But I never knew whether to believe ’em or not.”
“Burnin’ what?”
“Springs,” Lorraine repeated. “Hot spots. Cracks in the earth where some kind of vapor gets released over a natural spring. They can make the air look real eerie at night. You heard the term great balls o’ fire?”
Brandi nodded slowly.
“Well, that’s where the sayin’ comes from. Burnin’ springs release gases they say, and in the moonlight they can make different colors hover over a creek or swampy spot in the woods. But then...”
“Then what?” pushed Brandi. She swiped a Christmas tree hot cake from the stove and bit off the top, chewing impatiently while she waited for Lorraine to answer.
“Well, you might think this is kind of crazy,” Lorraine said cautiously, “but Granny always told me that’s where haints like to linger. Maybe it’s magical somehow.”
Brandi ceased chewing. She laid her half-eaten hot cake next to the pile of Christmas trees at the edge of Lorraine’s stove and cleared her throat. “A-Are you tryin’ to tell me that the fella that grabbed Granny was a–”
“Ghost!”
The sound of little Dooley’s voice at the entrance to Lorraine’s trailer made the two women jump. A tow-headed, six-year-old boy grinned at their reaction and reached over to Lorraine’s stove to steal a Christmas tree hot cake, stuffing it greedily into his mouth. Beaming, he held up a square mirror with an antique frame that he’d brought over from Granny’s wagon, the one she always said came from her great-great grandmother in Ireland.
Brandi studied the mirror in his hands. “You been out tryin’ to catch badgers again?” she asked her sometimes foster child, who had a habit of being parented by virtually everyone in Turtle Shores Trailer Park ever sin
ce his mother Caroline passed away. Brandi rolled her eyes and glanced at Lorraine. “Granny told Dooley that badgers are vain and love to see their reflections, whether in a pond or a lake, so when you hold up a mirror to their holes, they come right out to take a look. Then ya nab ’em.”
“Me an’ Bixby caught two this month!” Dooley beamed. “Remember? You had ’em in Lorraine’s stew, an’ Bixby already sold the skins to a feller on Boxcar Road.”
A green pallor overcame Brandi’s face, and she turned to Lorraine with pursed lips. But rather than scold her for cooking up badger without telling anyone that’s what they’d been eating, she merely sighed.
“Listen, back to business,” Brandi pressed in a serious tone. “Dooley, did Granny ever tell you she could see haints in her mirror?”
Dooley was about to reply when Lorraine piped up. “Everybody knows you can’t see spooks in a mirror. They ain’t got no souls–”
“Granny can!” Dooley nodded with pride. “She can see everything. And she said haints do have souls—that’s why they’re so dang confused and still runnin’ around. When I was visiting her wagon once, she pointed ’em out to me. A couple a ghosts passed right by her mirror while we were playin’ checkers.”
The sound of an explosion rocked Lorraine’s trailer, making Brandi leap down the steps to where Dooley stood to grab the mirror in his hands before he could drop and break it.
“Dammit!” Brandi called out to the silhouettes of two men who dashed between the trees. Their round figures appeared to be wearing boulder costumes for camouflage. “How many times do I got to tell you TNT Twins not to blast out badgers from their holes? That ain’t no way to find a pet. Or meat, I reckon.”
When Brandi held up the mirror to check if it had gotten cracked, she saw something flitter past a corner of the glass.
“L-Lorraine,” she said to her friend. “D-didn’t you tell me once that your mama liked to wear a red coat around Christmas time?”
Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances Page 40
