Drovers and Demons

by Scott Langrel

  He needed to get control of himself. There was already a round chambered in his gun, but the magic symbols would have lost their power by now. It would be useless against Lilith, or whatever the woman-thing’s name was, but he wasn’t capable of turning the weapon towards her, anyway. He vaguely realized that he was under some type of spell, but he had no idea how to break it. He needed a distraction, and it was probably too much to hope that another hat might come sailing out of nowhere.

  As he remembered the hat and the stick falling out of the sky, Murphy became irrationally convinced of something: the succubus had come from wherever the hat and walking stick had, and she had come the same way, and probably at or near the same time. He didn’t know why the thought occurred to him, or why he should be so convinced that it was true, but there it was, nonetheless. He also wasn’t sure that the knowledge mattered much at all, because if they didn’t come up with something pretty damned quick, both he and Loco likely wouldn’t survive the next five minutes.

  He needed to fire the gun. It sounded like a simple thing; all he had to do was put his finger on the gun’s trigger and give it a squeeze. The muzzle of the gun wasn’t pointed at anything in particular—the back wall of the building, maybe—but that didn’t matter. If he could just get a shot off, maybe it would surprise Lilith enough to loosen the spell, and then he could chamber another round and really get down to business.

  Murphy tried moving his finger, but the mutinous digit didn’t want any part of it. It might have twitched a little, but that may have been just his imagination. He concentrated harder. Loco had been able to resist the spell enough to utter a word, and Murphy sure as hell wasn’t going to let the Apache outdo him, especially not after fretting over his recent shortcomings earlier.

  Then his finger did move, just a little. Murphy was certain that it wasn’t simply his imagination this time. He was faintly aware of movement in the room behind Lilith; something else was preparing to come out. Maybe a lot of somethings. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  “Oh well,” Lilith said, looking bored. “I suppose I’ll leave you to my friends, after all. I thought for a moment that you might be interesting, but now I think you’re just like most of the other shaved monkeys I’ve come across, simple and tedious. And they are so hungry, after all.”

  With a sudden jerk, Murphy’s finger pulled the Exterminator’s trigger. The weapon roared and sent a slug into the interior wall, where it left a hole the size of a nickel. The shot was so unexpected that it even startled Murphy himself, but it also had the desired effect of surprising Lilith, who actually jumped back a few feet, her gray eyes wide.

  Murphy felt the stupor he’d been under recede slightly, and found that he could control his own body once more. Bringing the Exterminator around, he chambered a fresh round and sent magical lead flying in Lilith’s direction. He might have done for her right then and there, but a shrieking, Anasazi-possessed woman came hurtling out of the room just in time to catch the bullet in her breastbone, thus shielding Lilith from being hit. The succubus, quick as a cat, ducked back into the room and was lost in the darkness. Murphy grunted in frustration as the possessed woman fell to the floor with a sickening splat.

  Another Anasazi, this time wearing the body of a local banker, darted out of the room. Before Murphy could lever another round into the mare’s leg, Loco was upon the demon, his knife tearing into the flesh of the Anasazi’s back. The man went down with a defeated howl and lay still.

  “Don’t look at her!” the Apache exclaimed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Especially not her eyes. If you see her again, try not to look directly at her.”

  “What the hell did she do to us?” Murphy wanted to know. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even hardly think straight.”

  “Demonic enchantment,” Loco replied. “She caught us off guard. It won’t happen again.” He said it with authority, but the Apache looked less sure of himself than Murphy would have liked.

  “She won’t get a chance to, if I can put a bullet in her,” Murphy said matter-of-factly. “We need some light. It’s blacker than coal in there.”

  “There was a lamp in that last room,” Loco said. “Hold tight and I’ll get it.”

  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Murphy assured him.

  In a matter of moments, the Apache was back, a glowing oil lamp clutched in his hand.

  “You ready for this?” Murphy asked.

  “Let’s do it,” Loco said.

  Moving carefully but determinedly, they stepped across the threshold and into the waiting darkness beyond.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alvin Allen Seaver was a torn man.

  On one hand, he desperately didn’t want to be where he was. He was cold, hungry, and he couldn’t see more than five feet in front of him because of the damned fog. Not only that, but he kept hearing noises. Sometimes they seemed far away; other times, they appeared to be much closer.

  On the other hand, though, he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. The desert behind him was out of the question. He was an Easterner, and he knew that he wouldn’t survive for more than a day in the desert on his own, especially with no means of transportation. But he sure wasn’t walking back to Vulture City, either. There were crazy people in that town, not least among them the two men who were responsible for his current predicament.

  Now he was hearing gunshots coming from the direction of the town. The Indian had told him to stay put, but Seaver was starting to think that the Indian could go pound sand in a rathole, and he could take his cowboy friend with him for good measure. They’d chosen him to be their watch dog, but they’d obviously grabbed the wrong pig by the tail. Seaver was neither a brave man nor particularly patient. He wanted a hot meal and a warm fire, and he wasn’t apt to find either sitting alone in the damp bushes.

  Still, when he remembered the enthusiastic ferocity with which the saloon girl had attacked the bartender, Seaver was loath to leave his concealment and expose himself. The barkeep had been considerably larger than Seaver, but even he hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight. The Indian had given Seaver a gun, but he didn’t know an awful lot about guns, except basically how to aim and pull the trigger. He didn’t even know if the gun was loaded, though he thought there would have been little sense in leaving him out here and instructing him to fire a shot if he saw anyone, if the gun wasn’t loaded. So it probably was.

  Seaver had been crouched down, but now he stood up because his legs were beginning to ache. He shifted the gun from his right hand to his left and adjusted the bowler on his head. When he’d left Philadelphia, he’d reckoned that it would be hot in the desert all the time. But he’d since discovered it could get chilly at night, and now, after the storm, it was plumb cold. Seaver wasn’t a stranger to cold weather, living in Philadelphia, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He hadn’t packed for cold weather, so he wasn’t dressed for it now. He told himself he’d know better next time, but in his heart, he knew there wouldn’t be a next time. If he ever made it back home, he would never venture west of the Mississippi River again.

  There was another sound, this one closer than all of the previous ones. A stone scuttling under someone’s foot as they walked, perhaps. Seaver turned around and pointed the gun in the general direction the sound had come from, then remembered he wasn’t left-handed and transferred the weapon back to his right hand. It was too damned dark and foggy to see anything, so he stood as still and quiet as he could and listened.

  For a long time, he heard nothing other than the occasional squall of wind left over from the storm as it rustled through the branches of the ironwood trees. Then he heard the shuffling noise again, only much closer now, practically right on top of him. He scanned the darkness around him, now thinking that the open desert would be a better option after all, even if all the desperados and renegade Indians in the West stood between him and the next town. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up, and the sudden shiver he
’d developed wasn’t caused exclusively by the chilled night air.

  He turned all the way around, holding the gun in front of him like some magical talisman and shuffling his feet like he was tap dancing. He’d almost made a complete revolution when he saw a woman step lightly out of the shadows and fog. She was blonde and wearing some kind of dark-colored robe. The robe looked like something he’d seen Chinese women wear, only those were usually light-colored and made out of silk. This one looked heavier, but of course he couldn’t really tell in the dark.

  The more important thing about the woman was that she was absolutely gorgeous. Seaver was a married man with three children, and he loved his wife, so he wasn’t in the habit of paying undue attention to other women. He wasn’t dead, either, so sometimes he noticed a woman if she were extremely attractive, but he never put a lot of complicated thought into it. But within seconds of laying eyes on this woman, he felt a familiar but embarrassing stiffness in his trousers. He tried to look away, ashamed, but found that he couldn’t. It seemed that the only part of him capable of movement was the one part he wished would settle down and go back to sleep.

  “There’s my good man,” the woman said. Her voice reminded Seaver of the purring of a cat. “I was hoping I might run into you. You see, I’ve recently discovered there’s nothing for me here in this shithole town. I need to move on; I think Phoenix would be a good start. But the desert is filled with dangers. How could a poor, helpless woman such as myself hope to make the journey unscathed?”

  Seaver tried to answer that he didn’t know, but he discovered that his voice wasn’t working so good. All that escaped his throat was a scratchy whisper that even he couldn’t understand. Besides, he sensed that the question had been rhetorical, anyway. This woman already knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it. He expected that she would reveal her plan to him soon enough. He also expected that he wouldn’t like it all that much.

  “That’s where you come in,” the woman said, walking closer. Actually, she didn’t walk so much as sashay. “I need you to take me and a few of my friends out of this Godforsaken place. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” She put her face next to his and smiled. Her smile was beautiful and terrifying. Her gray eyes sparkled with the secrets of the universe. Terrible secrets.

  Seaver thought he nodded his head, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. He didn’t really want to nod, because he was terrified of the woman. His lust was great, yes, but the survival instinct was perhaps the one human behavior stronger than lust. And his survival instinct didn’t like his chances if he let the woman have her way.

  “That’s my good man,” the woman purred, smiling more broadly. Seaver supposed that he must have nodded, after all. He thought that he wished he hadn’t.

  It was the last thought he ever had.

  ‘’***

  “You reckon that’s all of them?” Murphy asked. He was covered in blood and gore. He was leaning heavily against a wall, the fight inside him almost spent. If there had been a time in his past where he’d been as tired as he was now, Murphy couldn’t remember it.

  “Maybe,” Loco replied. He looked as bad as Murphy, maybe worse. Murphy had been using his gun. Loco had done his killing up close and personal. “No sign of the succubus, though.”

  “She’ll turn up,” Murphy said confidently. “Where could she go? There’s nothing around us but desert for days.”

  “That’s not going to stop a demon,” Loco pointed out.

  “You said she was a succubus.”

  “A succubus is a demon. And this Lilith is a powerful one, if she was telling the truth. You never know with demons, though. They like to mix lies with the truth, so you’re never sure which is which.”

  “All I know is, I have to take a rest,” Murphy said. “And maybe have another drink or two. This demon killing business is tiring, and it works up a thirst in a man. More than killing regular men, anyway.”

  “There’s only a few buildings left to go through,” Loco conceded. “I suppose we can rest for a bit. You want to go back to the White Dog?”

  “That’s where the drinks are,” Murphy said. “Come on. I’m buying.”

  They walked back to the saloon. Loco sat down heavily at the bar while Murphy went around to pour the drinks. He poured each of them a shot, considered it, then poured himself a double.

  “I don’t understand it,” Loco said after tilting his head back and downing the whiskey.

  “What?” Murphy asked.

  “What the succubus was doing in the tomb with the Anasazi,” the Apache said. “I suppose she must have been sealed in at the same time they were.”

  “I don’t think Lilith was in there with them,” Murphy said. “I think she came from wherever the hat came from.”

  “The straw hat that came from the sky?” Loco asked. “The one Professor Roop said belonged to a man named McCoy?”

  “Yeah. I think she came through some doorway or portal, just after the hat. I was busy with those bandits, so I guess I might not have noticed.”

  “What makes you think that?” Loco wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure,” Murphy admitted. “But that thought came to me while she had us both spellbound. The more I think about it, the more I believe it’s the truth.”

  Loco thought about it. He motioned for Murphy to pour him another drink, which Murphy did. The Apache drank the second shot and stared at his glass.

  “You’re learning to trust your instincts about such things,” he said finally. “That’s good. If that’s what you believe, then it’s good enough for me. I can see no evidence to contradict your theory.”

  “Okay,” Murphy said. He poured himself another shot, but made this one a single. There were still a few more buildings to clear out, and that witch Lilith was probably hiding in one of them. Truth be told, Murphy wasn’t all that anxious to face the female demon again. But if it had to be done, he’d rather go ahead and get it over with.

  “The Anasazi are bad,” Loco said, “but we’re dealing with them okay. But you have to understand that Lilith is on a totally different level. She’s powerful, and she’s been around for a long time. Even longer than the Anasazi. She was a demon when they were still human.” He turned the whiskey glass over in his bloody hands. “I’m not even sure we can kill her.”

  “The Exterminator will do the job,” Murphy said, looking affronted. “It’s blasted every one of the Anasazi I’ve shot back to hell so far. No reason to think it won’t work on her.”

  “No magical weapon ever made will kill everything,” Loco explained. “A round from your gun may hurt her, but it’s not guaranteed to kill her. Think of it this way: the Anasazi are like shooting coyotes or jackrabbits. Lilith is more of a grizzly.”

  “But I thought the Anasazi were demons too,” Murphy said.

  “They are, in a way,” Loco said. “At least, that’s the closest way to describe them in European terms. But the Anasazi were once human and then turned into demons. There are some demons, like Lilith, who were never human.”

  “Then what were they?” Murphy asked impatiently.

  “Angels,” Loco replied. “They are the Fallen, cast out of Heaven when Lucifer fell.”

  Murphy squinted his eyes and looked at the Apache suspiciously. He was half-convinced Loco would break out in a fit of laughter at any moment, delighted to have pulled one over Murphy at the hired gun’s expense. But the Apache’s expression remained stoic.

  “An actual angel?” Murphy asked dubiously. “Like in the Bible?”

  “That’s where you generally read about angels,” Loco confirmed.

  “And you’ve actually run across one of them before?”

  “I didn’t say that,” the Apache admitted. “But there are different levels of demons, and you’d be wise to know which type you’re up against before pulling that mare’s leg and kicking up a row.”

  “Well,” said Murphy, shaking his head, “if that Anasazi hadn’t stepped in
the way back at that boarding house, we’d know whether or not we could whip her, at least with what we’ve got on us. And I say we can, just for the record.”

  “And I hope you’re right,” Loco said. “Just for the record. But we’d better finish up here. It’ll be daylight in a few hours, and I’d just as soon be long gone before someone wanders by and discovers the massacre that’s happened here. Killing demons doesn’t hold much weight as a defense, when you’re standing in front of the circuit judge, accused of murder.”

  Murphy hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he thought of it now.

  “Roop wouldn’t help us out of a situation like that?” he asked Loco.

  The Apache shook his head. “I guess he expects us to avoid situations like that. There’s been more than one wrangler hanged for murder. Look at that young McCarty kid in New Mexico a year or so ago.”

  “McCarty,” Murphy said, turning the name over in his mind. “You mean the one who took to calling himself Billy Bonney? He was a wrangler?”

  “One of the most promising,” Loco said. “Never seen anyone quicker or more accurate with a pistol. But he was cocky, and refused to work with a partner. It caught up to him.”

  “Billy Bonney wasn’t hanged,” Murphy pointed out. “He was shot down around Fort Sumner.”

  “By a lawman,” Loco said. “It’s all the same, in the end.”

  Murphy started to argue the point, then he remembered about being gone before sunup. It wasn’t worth wasting the time haggling over semantics.

  “Let’s get back to it, then,” he told Loco. “We’ll finish the business here, pick up that Seaver fella, and skedaddle before the stagecoach or a mine shipment rolls in.”

  ***

  They finished up around an hour before sunrise. All in all, they had taken nearly two dozen of the Anasazi down. Loco allowed that there may have been more, and that a few of them might have escaped town, but neither of them really believed that. They supposed they’d gotten all of them.