by Lana Gotham
The next day was as hot and dry as every other day in the desert. I’d been relieved when there wasn’t news of a fresh body waiting for us when we arrived at our office, but Tom was disappointed. In fact, the most excitement to be had was when Tom had to shoot a rabid dog that was roaming the streets. The poor creature was eat up with the mange and frothing at the mouth, but I never could bring myself to shoot an animal—even when it was the humane thing to do. I only killed monsters if I could help it, and those tended to walk upright on two legs.
I sat at my desk most of the day, thinking about Mary-Bell and the other victims, but by evening I’d come no closer to solving the murders. Tomorrow I’d have to put in some leg work. The town was getting restless knowing there was a killer in their midst. Soon I’d have to give them something to show them that I was indeed making progress. But first, I’d have to actually make some progress.
When Tom arrived back at the office, he was shaken and fidgety. He loved dogs. All animals, really. I probably should have handled the rabid beast myself. Tom circled the floor so many times, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wore a hole in the wood. I sat at my desk, unable to think around the heavy clunk clunk clunk of my partner’s boots.
“Tom, don’t you have some business to take care of?”
“Not really Sheriff. Besides those murders, it’s a slow news day. Not even a ruckus in the streets.”
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed six times. I was never officially off the clock, but I typically hung my coat at dark and headed home. Tom lived in an apartment in town and I could count on him to ride out to my place and get me if there was a need. I yawned. Though I’d done next to nothing physically, I was exhausted mentally. I went over the case again and again—but nothing. Whoever was doing this knew how to get away with murder. And in a town our size, that should have been impossible.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Tom continued to pace.
“Tom, why don’t you head out? There ain’t no since in us both just sitting here.”
“Ah. Shucks, Sheriff. I couldn’t do that.” He was already walking toward the door. “But if you insist?”
“I do.”
“Well thank you Sheriff. I was hoping to get by The Rusty Nail before it got too crowded. I needed to speak with Cheryl about something.” His face colored faintly of pink when he said the name of the town bar-keep.
I smirked. “You go ahead then. I might be by later for a drink.”
When the sun finally dipped behind far off Red Soot Mountain, I hopped on Diana and we clopped along through town. The night was as calm as the day had been, and it was only by chance that I caught the movement out the corner of my eye. I pulled the reigns to stop Diana. Across the road a second story window raised and a man climbed out, spry and lithe. He sprung onto the roof and ran over the rooftop easily as if he were running down the road. Behind him, a full night of stars winked and twinkled and his silhouette was black against the light of the full yellow moon.
What the hell do we have here? The thrumming of my heartbeat sounded in my ears. Up until then, I’d had no leads on the GloryLand killer, and it wore on me. Cheryl told me that some of the older codgers had gotten loose lips after several shots of whiskey, and let it slip that they thought my Paw would have tied the case up by now. That women had no business being the law. They’d never go so far as to let me hear them—but while it didn’t hurt me, it did kind of dent my pride.
I urged Diana forward, but the finicky mare had other plans. She let out a loud whinny in protest and the figure on the roof froze, he turned and through the distance, our gazes met. He peered through the crudely cut eye holes of a black mask, and for a moment, the seconds slowed. I couldn’t make out his face, nor his eyes. But still we stared as if the distance that stretched between us was minimal, instead of yards of purple, dusky night.
I spurred my horse onward, and the spell was broken. The dark-clad man was off like a bullet. He was thin and nimble with quick steps. At times he seemed to disappear against the nightly back drop.
I couldn’t let him get away. I wouldn’t. The reason the old timers’ in the bar chapped me so badly was because deep down, I agreed with them. At least partially. My Paw, Ludwig Davis, was as rough as he was smart. Part of me believe that he would have indeed solved the murders already.
My anger spurred me forward.
“Stop!” I called. “I just need to talk to you.” It was a lie. You could bet there’d be a lot more than talking. I thought of the many pairs of dead eyes I had been forced to close in the past month.
The man continued to run, hopping across rooftops.
“Shit,” I hissed. How does he do that?
He reached the last house in the row. The next building was the bank, whose roof was significantly higher. There’s no way he can make that leap, I thought, just as the man jumped from the roof of the two-story house into the alley below.
I dug my heels into Diana, urging her to go faster, unsure of what I’d find. No one would survive that fall without at least a broken leg.
I galloped into the alley, dust following us in a cloud, and pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, girl.” The appaloosas was not happy with me. She knew it was time to be at home, unsaddled and enjoying dinner.
The alley was deathly still. “What the hell?” I whispered. There wasn’t a man lying on the ground with a broken leg. There wasn’t a man anywhere. Goosebumps prickled across my skin. Something sweet and foreign tickled the back of my throat. Foreign, seductive, but also terrifying. Magic. I recognized the taste from long ago—a childhood memory. Mama had rescued a woman she’d found in the desert while driving cattle. With red, thick hair that hung past her waist, yellow eyes, and heavy scarlet skirts, she’d looked like no one I’d ever seen before.
Mama had found her dehydrated and half dead. She nursed her back to health, bringing her home when the drive was over. That same taste and danced around the woman like a cloud. When she’d went on her way, Mama had explained the woman was a witch, one who’d been exiled from her mountain. I’d been terrified—I’d grown up hearing the stories of Red Soot Mountain and the mysterious women who lived there. Why would you bring a witch into our home? I’d asked. She’d told me it is good to garner favors from those more powerful than yourself. Though as far as I knew, we’d never seen that particular witch again.
The dance on my skin and sweet tickle along my gums brought the memory to the surface. No, there was no mistaking the tingle of magic. I’d have to stay on high alert.
“Come on, girl. Come on,” I whispered to my horse, nudging her forward into the darkness. She locked her knees in protest, and shook her head. “Fine then, you big turkey,” I said, sliding from her back.
I walked carefully into the alley, making as little noise as possible. You are Alyssa Davis, I reminded myself, You are the first female Sheriff in GloryLand and a complete and total bad ass. You are not scared of some yahoo in a black cape. You ain’t scared of anyone. My hand slid to my hip holster where my revolver hung, familiar and true. You ain’t even scared of witches. Your family line means you are indestructible. My heart beat loudly in my ears and I forced myself to take deliberate breaths. Because if I am being honest, witches were about the only thing that did scare me.
“Hello Sheriff.”
I pulled my gun and spun on the heel of my boots.
“That’s a good way to get shot!” I snapped, willing my heart to slow.
“Do you really want to shoot me?” There was a smirk in his voice.
He was tall. Not as tall as Jon, but tall none the less. He had a black hat pulled low on his forehead, and a mask covered the top half of his face, except for his eyes. The shirt that I had thought was also black turned out to be dark blue with silver snaps that winked whenever the moon light caught them. His pants and boots were both dark, and a long black cape hung from his shoulders and trailed behind him. He looked like he belonged on a stage performing magic tricks, not skulking out of windows and in
alley ways.
He definitely wasn’t a witch—there were no male witches. My heart began to calm.
“That depends,” I said, “Are you the one murdering our people?”
He smiled coyly through closed lips. “Well now, that depends on what you mean by murder,” He said. The thinly veiled laughter in his words caused blood pressure to rise.
Did he think this was a game?
I pulled the hammer of my gun back with a click. “Don’t mess with me. I will shoot you. Ask anybody.”
“Yes. I don’t doubt that you will. But what I am asking is, do you really want to?”
“I’ll only ask you one more time. Did you murder those people?”
“Then I will say it again—it depends on what you mean by murder. Did I end their lives?” He made a show of looking around and shrugging. “Yes. But I don’t take killing lightly. And I don’t take the lives of innocents.” He inched towards me.
“Stay back,” I ordered. “So you admit it, then?”
As he closed the space between us, I caught his scent. Sweet tobacco and sandlewood. Gunpowder. Cinnamon. Magic. I’d never smelled magic on a man before. Without realizing it, I inhaled deeply.
He now stood mere inches away, and with soft movements, pushed my cocked pistol down, to point at the dirt. “The people whose lives I took all deserved to die,” the Vigilante growled.
“Horse shit. That ain’t for you to decide. And anyhow, no one deserves to die like that. ”
“Are you certain?” He stared down, into my face. I could clearly see his crystal eyes behind the mask. They danced with magic and mischief. The right corner of his mouth lifted into a smirking grin. He was handsome, I’d give him that. Fine, light brown stubble covered his cheeks and chin. I wondered what it would feel like against my face.
“Of course I’m sure,” I whispered. Mary-Bell Daigle was a class-A debutante bitch, but she never hurt a soul.”
The cloaked man stared into my eyes for a moment longer, his look was almost tender. “Where is Imogene?” He touched my chin with a single, gloved finger, and a shiver danced through me. Why did I feel this way? Like I knew this man? Like he’d touched me before? Like I was supposed to be with him...
I cleared my throat and pushed the feelings down. I didn’t have time for fantasies. I had a job to do. I again raised my gun between us, though I’m not certain I could have made myself shoot. “Up north. New York I think. Mary-Bell made a big deal about the fancy boarding school she was sending her too last month.” Imogene was Mary-Bell’s daughter. She’d always made a show of parading her around in expensive clothes. The girl had miraculously been sweet. Not like her mother.
He stared at me hard, but not unkind.
For a second I wanted to touch his cheek. To cradle it in my palm. Instead, I grasped my weapon between us.
“You are going to have to come with me, nice and slow like,” I said, breaking the trance. “There will be a trial. We don’t do hangings in this town without due process.”
“Go dig behind the Daigle’s house, near the horse barn,” the cloaked man said.
With a single finger he traced my cheekbone, then my bottom lip. The touch was charged with electricity, sending a pulse of delight through me, even though I knew it was wrong. This man was a murderer.
My mind swam. I felt as if I were in a fog. I blinked hard and shook my head. I had to focus.
A second later, the man was gone. He was there—I blinked—and he simply vanished.
The hell? I spun in a circle, but there was nobody around. Far off I could hear the hoopin’ and hollering of men working hard at getting drunk in The Rusty Nail. Horses whinnied and in the distance a coyote howled. If I strained, I might could hear the drums from Red Soot Mountain—but like most GloryLanders, I did my best to block them from my mind. The legend was that the witches danced in the full moonlight to the beating of drums sewn with leather of their human victims. I had no way of knowing if that was true and I didn’t want to know. As long as they kept on their mountain, we wouldn’t have a problem.
From the direction of The Rusty Nail, there was the loud crack of furniture breaking, then the sound of a pistol going off and men yelling. I considered checking it out—but I knew Tom was there, and also Cheryl could handle her business herself. She didn’t appreciate me butting in.
There was a reason Cheryl was the richest woman in town. There wasn’t nothing to do in our whole damn town but drink or fuck or fight and you could do all three in her saloon. The woman had a head for business and spine for dealing with the kinds of people her business attracted.
No, Cheryl wouldn’t need my help.
I spun in one more circle before holstering my gun and laving the alley. I walked back to my horse, and passed a man sitting on the bank porch, propped against the wall. He wore glasses and had a long, grey beard. His bald head shown bright in the moonlight, and deep wrinkles hugged his eyes and forehead.
“Evening Sherriff. What you doing down that alleyway?” He hiccupped and squeezed his eyes closed. “That seems like a right odd place for a woman to go—even a woman like you. You’d better be careful.”
I sighed and slid one foot into Diana’s stirrup, and slung my other leg over the saddle. I adjusted my hat then turned to the old timer. “Go home Bill. Your drunk and I’d hate to lock you in the tank.”
Cackles of laughter peeled from the old man as I rode my horse out of town.
Chapter 6
The next day, there was a fresh body, as I figured there’d be. Me and Tom visited the same house from which I’d saw the masked man escape.
Gilbert McCoy was splayed across his bed in his night shirt, neck broken and hand draped across his mouth. The 40ish year old man had no wife or kids to speak of, and was known around town for playing organ at the church on Sundays. According to himself, Gilbert had been some sort of big shot pianist up north before he’d settled in our little town. No one much cared about his past life one way or the other, though we had no reason to doubt the soft spoken music man.
But as much as I hated to admit it, the encounter with the mysterious Vigilante had gotten to me. I surveyed Gilbert’s room, all the while knowing that I wouldn’t find anything, and caught myself wondering what he’d done to deserve his death, instead of ways I might catch the murderer.
Why did I feel as if I could trust the masked man? I had no reason to hold his words as truth. What was wrong with me that I didn’t shoot the Vigilante and drag him to justice? There had been something in the way he’d spoken—the way he’d moved. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but I did know one thing. He believed he was being honest.
So why? Why does he think his victims deserve death? And more importantly, do they?
“Somethin’ wrong, Sherriff?” Tom’s lazy accent interrupted my thoughts.
“What makes you say that, Tom?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem different somehow. Put off.”
“I guess it’s just getting to me is all.” It was easy to lie to Tom.
I had decided against telling Tom about the encounter. I reasoned with myself that it was because I didn’t know how my partner would react, but that just wasn’t true. I knew exactly how Tom would react. He’d be seduced by the idea of real hero, and give up our search for the truth. Being my deputy wasn’t too shabby, but being the sidekick to a masked crime-fighter who dealt in Vigilante justice—well—Tom wouldn’t be able to resist. The fool would get himself killed searching out the cloaked Vigilante. My deputy had more imagination than sense.
“We have to ride out to the Daigle place after we leave here.” I said.
“Ok, Sheriff. Why’s that?”
“I have reason to believe that Mary-Bell wasn’t all that she appeared.”
Tom’s face lit up. “Elementary!”
“Tom, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh. Uh, nothing Sheriff. It’s from my book is all.”
“Don’t get too exc
ited.” My stomach twisted as I realized exactly what the Vigilante had been saying the night before. “We might be dealing with the death of a child.”
THERE WERE MANY REASONS I prayed that nothing would be found as we dug around the Daigle’s horse barn. For one, I didn’t want to accuse a dead woman of murder. Especially when the dead woman in question was the deceased wife of Viktor Daigle, the financier of GloryLand.
Also, finding a body would prove that the cloaked man was probably telling the truth, and that in itself opened a whole new Pandora’s Box.
But mostly, because if there was a child sized skeleton in the ground, that would mean bubbly little Imogene-Clair was dead before her life had even began. Sure, she was the only daughter of a Machiavellian asshole and an attention starved whore-cat, and the likelihood of her growing up to be anything other than the worst kind of human was slim, but she was a child. A sweet child. At eight years old, the ugliness of the world wouldn’t yet have settled on her. She may have grown to be horrible. But maybe not.
My prayers must have carried little weight, because we uncovered the body with the first hole. There was a spot on the far side of the barn where grass didn’t grow, and our shovels sliced easily through still soft earth. Someone hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks. Someone who considered herself above the law.
“Damn,” I muttered, knowing that it wouldn’t end well.
I was right. No one should ever have to see a dead child, but little Imogene-Clair was a whole new kind of terrible. Someone had cracked her head open, and even in the current state of rot, I could tell that the child had suffered. My stomach lurched, but I held it together. I let the ugliness of what I was seeing wash over me and ignite a searing anger inside me. The Vigilante was right. We’d found a body. And whoever had done this—they deserved death. A cruel, ugly death.
Tom doubled over with his hands on his knees and sucked in gulps of air.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. No. I’m sorry, Sheriff,” he wheezed. “I guess I ain’t the detective I thought I was.”
