by J. R. Rain
That works.
I dive into the front line, rearing up and kicking one man in the face with my free leg. Well, not so much kicking as grabbing his entire head in my foot and flinging him over backward. The two men nearest him look at me… and I roar.
Before any bullets come my way, I power-flap straight up. Chaos spreads over the ranks like a drop of ink in water. I dash across their formation to the back and pounce on one of the lantern-bearers who turns out to be a maybe-thirteen-year-old boy holding the light for an officer to read a map. I catch myself at the last moment and simply push the kid to the ground rather than stomping him down. I also leave my foot on top of his face so he doesn’t get a great look at me while roaring like hell at the officer—who promptly wets himself—and fly back into the air a second or two before a ripple of gunfire comes my way.
“Fools! Watch your fire,” shouts the officer in a distinctly un-masculine tone of voice.
A low, swooping pass over their horses has the predictable effect of setting off somewhat of a stampede. With a loud click, a Minié ball bounces off my side. It hurts a little, kinda like a stiff punch, but Talos’ scales laugh it off. Okay, this works. I can put up with a little pain especially since it doesn’t seem like it will injure my extra-dimensional friend. Hell, if anyone in this battle deserves some pain, it’s me, since it’s my fault these men are here. Bleeding heart me just had to insist on saving Northerners. Some of those men are undoubtedly battle-wounded I brought back to the triage camp, who then wound up locked in the barn.
Well, here’s hoping my playing fast and loose with history isn’t going to have any lasting repercussions. So help me, if I get home and Jerry Springer is president…
I spend the next few minutes grabbing rifles away from soldiers and throwing guys around while roaring and shrieking like a literal monster. It’s a bit busy around me to tell if the Union guys are taking the hint and getting their asses out of here. A couple more bullets bounce off my hide, but a few rip holes in my wing membrane. Ouch! That’ll heal quick, but it’s tender. Like seriously… ow! Imagine putting a staple through that delicate bit of skin between the thumb and index finger, and then make it hurt about twice that much.
Maybe I throw one or two soldiers hard enough to sprain a wrist or foot on landing, but I don’t do any lasting damage.
One guy comes out of the crowd and rams his bayonet into my chest. Fortunately, he strikes a bony plate over my heart and I swear the tip of his bayonet bends. He looks at it, back to me, at it once more, and whimpers.
I lean toward him until our noses almost touch, and snarl.
The man flings his rifle off in a random direction and actually runs away, waving his hands over his head while screaming. It’s like something straight out of a bad movie or a cartoon. I almost wind up laughing at the absurdity of it, but another Minié ball pings off the back of my skull hard enough that I see double for a second or two.
Grr.
I spin on the guy who shot me and roar. He, too, runs away, but doesn’t drop his rifle.
Maybe six minutes after I’d decided to attack, all thousand or so Confederates are in full retreat. Wait, no. “Retreat” implies some semblance of order. They’re scrambling in all directions with not the slightest bit of organization. Some even trample each other in their haste to get away. Soon, I’m standing alone in a field, wings folded across my chest in as arm-like a posture as they can manage, chuckling at my “victory.”
A creature that shouldn’t exist stopped a battle that shouldn’t have happened.
Let’s not talk about how that same creature had caused the battle in the first place, ’kay?
Still, it’s kinda funny. I flash a toothy, dragon-like grin, imagining the stories these guys are going to be telling for years about what they saw tonight.
No one will ever believe them.
Chapter Twenty
Desperation powers my flight on the way back to the Pinkhams’ farm.
As if my kids will be waiting for me in the room with Delacroix, I strain to fly as fast as possible—once I figure out which direction to go. The effort to find that ring has taken me quite a ways off, though despite that, I’m starting to recognize features of the land around here. That’s not a good sign. I’m spending entirely too much time here. Focusing my every waking moment into trying to get home is the only thing keeping me from flipping out.
Well, every waking moment except for a couple times I had to sit around waiting for night, once by magical compulsion. Thanks to the very man I need now.
I close my eyes and let out a long, irritated sigh. As God is my witness, I will forgive Delacroix that humiliation if he helps me get back to my own time period. Honestly, I’ve been mesmerizing people left and right the past few days. Sure, it could be argued that I’m a hypocrite for being upset that he did the same back to me, but I’m a freakin’ vampire. I’m supposed to do that stuff.
Thatsss more like it, Sssamantha.
Ugh. Great. If I’m doing something Elizabeth likes, that must mean it’s evil. Guess she slithered out of my mental pit, like the true snake she is.
I’ve been called worse, and it’s not evil, dear. It’s your prerogative as a more advanced being.
Yeah… at least I’m not exploiting them or forcing them to do violent, dangerous things. I’ll take some degree of comfort in that. Though, when it comes to protecting my family, a little mind reading to save time doesn’t even approach anything that I’d feel guilty over.
By the time I reach the farm, it’s less than an hour or so before sunrise. Grr. Damn delays. I risk landing right on their front porch—seeing Talos is nothing a little mental tweaking won’t fix, okay, a lot of mental tweaking—and shift back into my human form. I hastily pull on the sundress before anyone spots me streaking around. No time for underthings or boots. I can put those on upstairs. I grab the knob and try the door, and it opens.
Wow. It really is different in the South. Even with a war on, they don’t lock their doors. Well, I suppose it’s a combination of the South plus 1862. I’m sure not every house down here in modern times leaves their door open, but I suspect many still do.
Silent as a mouse, I slip inside and shut the door behind me. I scurry upstairs carrying my bundle of footwear and unmentionables. The window at the end of the hall is already showing signs of blue and I barely make it into the guest room in time to stare at an empty bed before my body starts giving out under the press of dawn.
Frustrated, I try to yell, “Shit!” but it comes out as a barely-audible murmur after my cheek hits the floor.
***
The next thing I know, I’m in the bed that Delacroix had been resting on, staring at the ceiling. I’m not terribly big, but I doubt Lanie could’ve lifted me, so it had to be Burley Pinkham. My undergarments sit on the chair nearby, folded, the boots on the floor in front of it.
And, oh yeah, Delacroix is missing. Exactly as I thought he’d be.
“Dammit!” I pound both fists into the mattress on either side of my body.
Something hits the floor with a thump in a nearby room.
Lanie appears in the doorway a moment later clutching a bed linen to her chest, looking startled. “Miss Moon?”
“Yes. Sorry.” I sit up, lift the blanket, and swing my legs off the side. “I’m a little upset that Mr. Delacroix didn’t wait for me to return.”
She drops the sheet and shoots me a horrified stare.
For a second, I feel like I’m floating up and out of my body at an imminent sense of bad news. The last time I felt like this happened right before the doctor told me Anthony was going to die.
“Miss Moon,” whispers Lanie, shaking her head. “Mr. Delacroix passed away in his sleep just the other night. Mr. Pinkham reckons he had been hurt awful bad inside like. I… I’m sorry.”
I slump forward, head in my hands, staring at the floor between my feet. Dead? Delacroix is dead? He didn’t flake out and leave me here, he had the gall to frickin’ die. Th
e reality that I’m more than likely stuck here for the next century and a half falls on me with the weight of finality. Image after image of my kids flicks across my thoughts, but no matter how much I want to hold them close, there’s nothing I can do to make that happen.
Tears pat on the floorboards, first one, then two more, then I’m sobbing uncontrollably.
It’s not fair. It’s totally not fair. I only wanted to help Angela, why did fate throw me back here away from everyone I love and everything I know?
I’m dimly aware of Lanie picking up the sheet she dropped and backing away. Never before have I been so furious and so heartbroken at the same time. Weeping like I’d watched my kids die before my eyes, I can’t even find the strength to fall over sideways on the bed. I’m stuck. I doubt I’ll ever be able to convince Marie Laveau to help me, and I still have no real idea why that woman took such a strong dislike to me. Unless it’s simple prejudice against vampires. Would Delacroix have any associates in New York who might be able to help? It’s unlikely word of his death would reach there before me. If I could even find his home, maybe I could work out how to do something with that power source.
I mean, if a person who’s clearly not immortal can learn how to do this stuff, I should be able to as well, right? It’s not like I don’t have the time to study. That would still be faster than waiting for the calendar to catch back up.
And what about Archibald Maximus? Where would he be at this time? Could I convince him to help me? Then zap his memory of our meeting? Could I zap his memory? He’s a little more than a simple mortal after all. I sigh. I haven’t a clue where in the world that man is, although I do know he’s out there, somewhere.
I let out a long, pitiful sigh. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is unusually silent. Given this tremendous spike of sorrow, I really expected her to try the old sales pitch or something. Maybe the depth of my emotion is drowning her out.
“Miss Moon?” asks Lanie, closer than I expected.
I sniffle and wipe my face before looking up at the wide-eyed girl hovering beside me clutching Delacroix’s pack.
She sets the pack on the bed. “I think Mr. Delacroix knew he was dying, Miss Moon. He asked me to make sure you received this when you returned.”
I look over at her again. Either I’m imagining things or she looks an awful lot like Tammy with light hair. Unable to help myself, I stand and embrace her like a proxy daughter. In my mind, I’m clinging to Tammy. I just need to hold my kids so bad… I…
“Miss Moon?” stammers Lanie. “Are you all right?”
I sigh. She’s not Tammy.
“Sorry about that, I’m just a little emotional.”
When I let go and take a step back, Lanie gives me this look that says “a little?” The poor girl’s taken aback by my sudden show of emotion. “I’m really sorry for your loss. It’s never easy to lose someone you care deeply about. Not a day goes by I don’t think of my ma and pa.”
“Oh.” I wipe my face on my sleeve again and sniffle-chuckle. “We weren’t close. I’d only met the man days ago. He was going to help with something extremely important to me.”
Lanie bites her lip. “I see.”
“Forgive me for that.” I gesture at her. “You rather remind me of my daughter who’s quite far away. I miss her, and my son, more than I can put into words.”
“Dear me.” Lanie gawks. “You’ve got a daughter my age? How is that even possible?”
“I’m older than I look. Guess I’ve got good genes.”
She tilts her head. “I’m sorry; I don’t follow. Genes?”
“I mean, I suppose I got lucky. I’m in my thirties.”
“In all my born days,” she says, gasping. “Surely, you’re pullin’ my leg, Miss.”
“It must be the healthy lifestyle.” I smirk at my hands. “Sorry for coming unglued like that. Delacroix was going to help me get home and now, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to see my family again.”
Lanie glances at the door for a second, then back to me. “Oh, well, if you’ve nowhere to stay, I can talk to the Pinkhams. I’m sure they’d let you keep on here, at least a little while if not longer. We can always use some more help. The place is quite big, a bit too much for me alone to take care of. Missus Pinkham’s always gettin’ on Burley’s ear about hirin’ someone. She’d like to turn the place into an inn, I reckon.”
Defeat sucks. If I’ve got no choice but to wait until the modern age returns, I suppose it won’t hurt to spend a while around here and help out. Maybe I’ll try to go to England and get on the Titanic so I can make damn sure they spot that iceberg. Or I could take Hitler out before he’s anything significant. How hard could it be for me to manipulate my way in and kill him as a young soldier? Or even give him a mental command not to do the things he did. Which makes me wonder why didn’t vampires already do that? Could he have been one? Or at the very least some other form of creature with a Dark Master inside? If so—and I shudder—he would be immortal and alive and well in modern times. Let’s hope the bastard ate a bullet in his bunker.
Anyway, I could stop the JFK assassination or the start of the Vietnam War or any number of other things if my memory holds out and I don’t get the dates wrong. But… surely there have been vampires all throughout history. Is there a reason beyond simple contempt for mortals that no vampire has ever interfered to stop such things? Of course, I have the perspective of having come from the future.
Then again, what if my memory of history is only the ‘not really that bad’ things that the vampires let continue? Could we potentially have been at the brink of nuclear war before and only by the mental influence of a vampire we avoided it? Would the Dark Masters welcome or fear the eradication of society? Nukes could put us back in medieval days, and I’m sure most of the extant vampires are rather fond of the finer things in life. Or maybe I have things backward. Maybe the vampires caused things like World War II at the behest of their dark masters. From what I saw at the battle of Manassas Junction, war is like an all-you-can-eat buffet for vampires.
“Miss Moon?” asks Lanie. “Are you feeling well? You slept so late, but it’s almost time for lunch if you’ve a mind for it. Mr. Pinkham’ll be in from the back field soon. Or I can bring you some soup.”
I look up from the floor to her again. “I’m fine. My malaise is one of worry, not sickness. Lunch would be lovely, thank you. Please let me know when to be downstairs. I can help you set up for the meal as well if you like. Regarding your offer of talking to the Pinkhams about staying on here, I need a bit of time to think if that’s all right.”
“Of course, Miss.” She smiles. “Good that you’re well, then.”
It might not be a bad idea to stay here at least long enough to settle my emotions. If I make any decisions now, they’d likely be rash and end in greater failure and disappointment. As much as I hate to think it, if Elizabeth is still concerned that I might actually succeed in stopping myself from becoming a vampire, I’m sure she’ll do something to help.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sitting in silence for a while leaves my mind blank and my heart calm.
Elizabeth doesn’t bother making herself known, though I can’t even guess why. Maybe she thinks any possible interference would only push me deeper into a state of apathetic surrender and get me to pull this ring off at high noon and go up in flames. I’m not even close to that point yet. As long as there’s at least a chance I could be reunited with my family again, I won’t do anything that drastic.
Delacroix’s pack stands out in its inconspicuousness beside me on the bed.
It’s not quite a backpack, more a big leather satchel intended to be slung over one shoulder. To my eyes, it’s something a hipster would probably carry, but I imagine they’re somewhat common in this era, at least among people like Delacroix who wander frequently and don’t have much to carry.
Curiosity gets the better of me, especially since the man had apparently left explicit instructions for Lanie to give it to me. I pull
the flap open at the top, buckles clattering, and peer into a mostly-empty space about the size of an average modern kitchen trashcan. The sides, lined in deep crimson satin, have dozens of small buttoned pockets. At the bottom sits a leather-bound book with a scrap of red fabric sticking out the top.
Since it’s the only thing in the bag, I take it out. The cover’s plain and unlabeled, like one of those blank journals people sometimes keep. It’s about two inches thick with a wad of silk stuck between the pages like a clumsy bookmark. Upon pulling it open at that point, I find a passage discussing something called a ley line. The handwritten text, which I assume is Delacroix’s, describes natural conduits of magical power that crisscross the Earth. Places where they intersect are deemed ‘nexuses,’ and are rumored to contain vast amounts of magical energy. Somewhat akin to the planet being a living being with magic for blood, the ley lines would roughly equate to the circulatory system that carried it around. The more lines that intersect at a given point, the stronger the effect.
His notes detail cases of people becoming disoriented at these nexuses, of various phenomena like water flowing uphill or people experiencing hallucinations, even supposed sightings of mythical creatures and ghosts. A couple years ago, when I was still just normal old Samantha Moon, I would’ve likely thrown this over my shoulder and had a good laugh. However, after becoming a supposedly mythical creature myself, I’m not so inclined to merely chuck this aside like the insane drivel it appears to be. Especially not from someone who I know was an alchemist.
I shift the silk onto the left page and keep reading. Apparently, while he rested here waiting for me to return, he somehow managed to discern that a ley line nexus of five intersecting paths occupied a cave in the vicinity of Roanoke, Virginia, somewhat southwest of the city.
Hmm.
When I sit up straight to ponder this, the top end of the silk unfurls to let a small rock fall to the floor.
