by J. R. Rain
“Unless you don’t mind a two-year wait while I attempt to craft another one.”
“So, I need to find this ring.”
“Very much so.”
I sigh as Lanie walks in carrying a bowl of soup over to the bed. With great difficulty, Delacroix props himself up enough that she sets the tray across his lap. She sits on the edge of the bed, intent on feeding him.
“I can do that,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve quite a bit else to worry about.”
“It’s no bother, ma’am,” says Lanie, looking at me like she’d get in trouble for not staying here.
I smile. “Well, I don’t mean to chase you away. If you’ve nothing more pressing to attend to.”
She exhales with relief. “Seeing after guests is my job, ma’am.”
All three daughters hover at the door, curious about the guest. The sight of children simultaneously warms my heart and makes me homesick. They soon bore of watching Lanie feed Delacroix, who appears to enjoy not having to move much more than his jaw.
Once the soup is gone, Lanie stands with the tray and peers at me. “Anything else I can help with?”
“It might be wise to send for a doctor if there’s any to be found given the war,” I say.
Lanie gives me the same ‘yeah, right’ look Tammy often does, though she’d be perplexed by that phrase. I guess some things remain true for teens regardless of era. “I will tell Mr. Pinkham about his condition, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
After she breezes out of the room, I glance again at Delacroix’s hand. “So, that ring is critical?”
“In and of itself, it can be used to dispel minor magical effects. Especially charms.”
I squint at him, playfully annoyed. “So you…”
“Broke free from your compulsion within minutes, but pretended to be under your influence until a suitable distraction presented itself.” He smiles. “I would chuckle, but I fear the pain would be too great. Forgive my deception.”
“Right. So the ring removes magic.”
“Minor magic.”
“But it’s not powerful enough for what sent me back here.”
“Precisely.” He shifts his eyes toward me. “I sense you are about to ask if I can elsewise render the magic upon you ineffective without the ring. It is possible, though I suspect it would be far easier for you to locate an already existing mechanism—the ring, I mean—by which I can guarantee success than for me to spend the next several years fiddling about with experiments attempting to recreate it.”
“Fair enough. And you’re sure that it will work to simply remove the magic?”
“Quite.” He raises a hand to his face, muffling a cough. “The magic affecting you… think of it like wrapping a rock in a sheet of silk, and pushing it through a hole in a fence. The fence represents your time. The space behind the fence represents the past. The rock, of course, is you. Even though the rock would be in the space behind the fence, it remains wrapped in the silk.”
“And the silk is the magic in this analogy.”
“Indeed.” He next makes a drawing-apart gesture with both hands. “Now, pull the silk back through the hole, the rock returns to your present. That ring, along with a sufficiently powerful source of magic focused through it, will snap your silk back through the hole and catapult you to approximately the instant you left.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Approximately?”
He shrugs, cringing from pain. “This is all out of my field of expertise. Had I not met you, I scarcely would have believed traversing time even possible.”
“What if the ring just cuts a hole in the silk and the rock drops out?”
He shakes his head. “No, that would be opening the threads of the enchantment. Completely different than canceling it entirely. And we will need more than the ring. The problem is, my power source is back in New York. And even that may not be strong enough to break this enchantment.”
“I won’t pretend I understand that… but I’ll trust you.”
“Trust is tricky, Sam. Were I not unable to move, I still might be tempted to flee from your presence. However, I suppose after what you’ve done for Cumberland and the others, I should at least render the benefit of doubt. You have had ample time to do unseemly things to me, and haven’t.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at him. “Do you know anything about glowing paths?” I explain about Chloe and what she said about five paths meeting and the image in her head of me walking on a dirt road made of glowing blue energy.
His expression is probably the same one that had been my face while staring at that woman. The look he gives me fits my father’s voice asking, “What drugs are you on and can I have some?”
“Guess not.” I sigh. “All right. I’ll find that ring.”
He nods.
“Need anything before I go?”
“Just rest.”
“All right. I’ll get started.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a belabored groan as I make my way out of the room and go downstairs. Lanie runs over to me in the hall, tears streaming from her eyes, and grabs me like I’m her long-lost mother returning from a ten-year absence.
“Umm…”
She sobs on my shoulder for a little while before collecting herself. “Forgive me, ma’am. I was in the kitchen cleaning up, and I saw the hole in the wall. Right as high as my head. If you hadn’t insisted on helping me last night, I would… I would…” She shivers.
Mom time. I pat her back and mutter the same sort of reassurances I used to use when Tammy had nightmares. “It’s better not to think about what might’ve been.”
My brain randomly leaps to my conversation with Delacroix and bounces from there back to history class. Something about a young woman being killed in her home by a stray bullet during the Civil War. I start to worry that I’m responsible for a major alteration of history, but then it hits me that the woman I’m thinking of had been in Gettysburg… and probably hasn’t died yet since it’s too early on in the war.
What are you waiting for then, Sssamantha? asks the slithery voice in my head. Bessst hurry on to Gettysburg and sssave another hapless innocent.
I smirk. Okay, so I do feel a little guilty about not being interested in doing that, but I need to go home. I’d rather not wait the few years until then. Plus, how would I, other than by sheer random chance, stop another person from being caught by a stray bullet? Critical information like the exact date and time is not in my head. I couldn’t really save her if I wanted to.
“I can’t believe how close I almost came to dying,” mutters Lanie, still sniffling. “I’m sure my ma and pa sent you here to protect me.”
Somehow, I doubt her ma is a voodoo priestess in my time. Still, if it comforts her, let her think that. “I bet they’re watching over you.”
She gives me a teary smile. “Are you leaving already again?”
“I must. I’ve some important business to attend.” I squeeze her hand. “But I’ll return soon. Please pass along my thanks to the Pinkhams for their hospitality and for helping my friend, Mr. Delacroix.”
“Please be careful. It’s ungodly out there, ma’am. Oh, what’s the nation coming to when a girl can’t even clean dishes without worrying for her life?”
“Sounds like South Central,” I mutter.
“Pardon?” asks Lanie.
“Nothing.” I wince. “You’re right. The country has lost its sanity for sure.”
She hugs me again. “I’ll go let Mr. Pinkham know to fetch a doctor if he can.”
“Thank you.”
Lanie hurries off into the house. I head out the front door and sigh at the setting sun.
No big deal. I just have to search all of Virginia for a pair of Confederate deserters. And that’s if they haven’t already pawned the ring.
I sigh again.
Chapter Fifteen
Once again, I find myself flying.
At least at the moment, the cover of darkness helps. I’m not
entirely sure what I’d expected to find by zigzagging back and forth in midair, yet here I am doing it. A few lone campfires draw my curiosity, though none of them turn out to be the dynamic duo. They didn’t take Delacroix’s traveling bag, which, come to think of it, did kinda feel empty. I’m sure they had little interest in common clothing, even the fancy stuff. Their loss. Who knows what else might’ve been in there. Either way, that ring would sell for a decent amount all by itself.
I’ve seen enough Westerns to get the feeling these two are probably either on their way to Mexico to avoid being executed for deserting or heading to the nearest brothel. Perhaps both. Then again, this isn’t exactly the modern era. How likely are they to be identified as deserters? If pressed, they could fall into another company with false names or lie and say they got separated from their unit. No guarantee they’d be fearing the consequences of fleeing. Which makes it even more likely they’d stop somewhere to, um, exploit their sudden reversal of fortune.
A few hours into my search, a grouping of fires close together in the distance gives away the location of a military encampment. At this point in the war, any military camp in Virginia is going to be Confederate. While I highly doubt the two men I’m looking for are there, it’s worth checking anyway on the off chance they changed their minds or repatriated when cornered. If they haven’t, perhaps I can find someone who knows them. They might even be heading home in hopes their families will hide them.
Anyway, I land a safe distance from the camp, which from the air looks reasonably large, a couple thousand men at least. Once I’m shapeshifted back to normal and dressed, I sneak through the woods until I happen upon a perimeter sentry. For a moment, I consider mesmerizing him and stealing his uniform to walk around, but for one thing, he stinks, and for another, I’m not a mortal anymore. Disguises are for chumps. Or lesser beings. And, I also doubt anyone here would buy a woman in a soldier’s uniform.
He scrambles to get his rifle up in time to point at me as I step out in front of him, but I zip into his face much faster than he can react, one hand over his mouth.
“Shh,” I say. “I’m just a li’l bitty woman all alone in the woods. Nothing to be afraid of.”
The man relaxes.
I remove my hand from his mouth. “I’m trying to find a couple of soldiers. Do you know Alton Chisholm or Fred Pardoe?”
His thoughts are genuinely blank as he shakes his head.
“Drat.” I leave him staring into space, after wiping the memory of his having seen me.
The sentry doesn’t twitch for a good three minutes. By the time he resumes his perimeter walk, I’m near the outer array of tents. Between my heightened senses of hearing and smell, it’s not terribly difficult to know when people are coming and going. For now, I duck out of sight between the white canvas walls.
All around me, men laugh, snore, belch, and gossip. Several talk about how General Lee is feeling his oats after routing General Pope at Bull Run while protecting Manassas Junction, and they’re floating rumors that Lee’s contemplating a northward push. The Confederates are riled up with excitement at the idea of not only protecting the South, but invading the North. Thankfully, at least there’s a few dissenters who grumble about the whole war being pointless or tragic… but the ‘Sovereign South’ crowd is way louder.
For the better part of an hour, I creep around out of sight. It really illustrates how “normal” vampires have such an easy time ambushing people for feeding. I mean, I get that these guys aren’t really trained soldiers like I’m used to thinking of trained soldiers, but it’s sinfully easy to avoid detection. And sure, I have gone through Quantico and I’ve got superhuman senses and reflexes, but still. It feels like I’m tiptoeing around a camp full of visually impaired people. Most of them are sitting around fires, staring into the flames, which destroys their night vision. The ones who aren’t mesmerized by burning wood are either sleeping or walking perimeter guard. Unfortunately, none of them—either subconsciously or consciously—know either man I’m looking for.
I approach a few lone sentries or soldiers on their way to/from the latrine pit. And no, it doesn’t smell much better at night. Rotting urine still stinks to high heaven. Yes, I just said high heaven. I swear, if I make it home, I’m going to spend six hours in a bubble bath. And that’s still not going to make me feel clean.
I head along a row of tents near the eastern edge of the camp, peering inside the quiet ones on the off chance one of the deserters is there, but I’m not that lucky. The ninth tent I check, I wind up nose-to-pistol with a fortyish man in his undershirt and shorts. He’s as stunned to see a woman as I am to see a potbellied guy in the closest thing 1862 has to a tank top and tightie-whities. If not for a ball-and-cap revolver in my face, I might’ve laughed at such a rounded torso with stick legs.
He’s also got one of those super-bushy mustaches that wraps around his cheeks and connects to the hair by his ears.
“Hello,” I whisper. “Sorry to bother you. You can put the gun down now.”
The man lowers his arm, the confusion in his expression deepening. He can’t quite understand why he’s listening to me.
“Thank you. Do you know a pair of soldiers named Alton Chisolm or Fred Pardoe?”
I nearly yelp in delight when his thoughts jump straight to the two “layabouts” as he thinks of them.
“Yeah. Ain’t with this unit, but I know ’em. Boys came from farms down by Suffolk. Be a dang miracle if they’re not dead yet. Neither one what could figure out the proper end of a gun ta point at the Yanks.” He proceeds to grumble about the recruitment standards of the Confederate Army, or lack thereof. In his opinion, the only bar one had to pass to be enlisted was having two arms, two legs, two eyes, and two testicles—brain optional. “Them boys figure they join up and get all kinds o’ women. Neither one o’ them much cottoned on ta what it really meant bein’ a soldier.”
“Right.” I nod. “I got that feeling. So, you haven’t seen them?”
“Why, one of ’em the daddy?”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I have standards. No, they did, however, steal something of mine.”
“What in tarnation is a lady doin’ out here lookin’ for thieves—not that I put it past them lot—but another thing, what’s a lady doin’ runnin’ around out here at night? How’d you get in the camp past the sentries?”
“There’s sentries?” I ask, feigning innocence.
His face turns red. “Blast it all. If Hanrahan’s fallen asleep again, so help me!”
“Calm down.”
My command settles him in an instant. The sergeant stares at me with almost the exact same expression Anthony used to have as a baby while watching me prepare his bottle. After reading his mind to get a sense of where Suffolk is, I dive a little deeper and make sure he thinks he only dreamed seeing me, since, after all, a lady wouldn’t possibly be roaming around at night or have made it past their excellent sentries.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper and duck out of the tent.
I resist the urge to grumble at the whole ‘helpless little lady’ thing until I’m far enough away into the woods that no one will hear me. Considering this guy thinks of the two men I need to find as lazy good-for-nothings, it’s a fair bet they simply got tired of the army being more than they bargained for. Maybe they even went home. If they’re really as dumb as that sergeant thinks, they probably did just that.
May as well head to Suffolk.
Chapter Sixteen
With the knowledge I skimmed from the sergeant, I get my bearings and head off into the forest.
For once, my being forced to stay awake when the sun’s down is a benefit. Technically, I don’t get tired. Whether I sit on my ass all night long or sprint doesn’t make a difference. I think that’s one of the parts of being a vampire that took the most getting used to. Especially after all the physicality my former job with HUD required. Well, more the training to get the job. The actual job tended to involve powerlifting staplers more than
anything else. I’m so used to being winded after running that now as a vampire when I’m not, my brain plays tricks on me sometimes and tricks me into thinking I’m out of breath.
Weird, I know. Welcome to my world.
That said, oncoming sunrises create a sensation similar to exhaustion. But again, it doesn’t matter how much or little I did in the hours leading up to that—I get the same sense of tiredness and agitation. So there’s no point in me trying to save energy. Of course, other than Suffolk, I don’t have a specific destination in mind, so there’s also no need to sprint. I move through the woods at a brisk jog while keeping my senses as open as possible. Not that I expect either of those two men to be anywhere within spitting distance of a Confederate Army encampment, but if I’ve learned anything in my adult life, it’s never to underestimate the power of stupid.
People do some dumb things sometimes.
Like fill out forms for HUD assistance and use two different names on the same set of documents. It’s a pretty good indicator that someone’s using a fake identity when they keep forgetting their supposed name.
Anyway…
A good while after leaving the army camp behind, George Clarke—or rather, his ghost—steps out of the trees and walks by my side. It’s almost not horribly depressing to see him. Almost. At least I don’t break out into tears when he offers a feeble smile of greeting.
“Still here in your past?” asks George.
“There have been… complications.”
“Complications?”
“Two of them.” I grumble to myself for a few seconds, then sigh. “The men who attacked Delacroix, that man you helped me find, robbed him.” I explain the ring and how important it is to my going home. “I hate to say it, but maybe I should’ve roughed them up a bit more when they menaced Hany and those people. Letting them live is probably only going to guarantee they hurt some other innocent person.”
George stares at me with hazel eyes far too innocent to belong to a ghost. “It’s not in you to kill if you can help it, ma’am. But, I fear they’re not long for this world.”
