Vigilante Sin_Steamy western with a paranormal twist.

by Lana Gotham

  “No. Jon isn’t bad at all. The only reason he made a deal with a witch was to save his son. To save his son from Malachi. Don’t sit there and tell me you wouldn’t have don’t exactly the same thing.”

  Jessica slung her bag over her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. “We need help.”

  “I’ve helped you all I can. If you’ve made an enemy of Malachi—then I am sorry...but—”

  I interrupted her. “It’s fine.”

  I was beginning to understand just how of a Big-Bad this Malachi was. He spooked everyone. One thing was bugging me, though. If he was so terrible, how had I never heard of him? How come it had taken Jon so long to discover him? How come it had taken convening with witches for him to figure it all out? Of course, if Malachi had no qualms in dealing with the devil, then maybe he had it all worked out to where he wouldn’t be found. He was a twisted man hiding out in a town of twisted people. A needle in a haystack. Maybe he’d used the devil’s magic to conceal himself even more. I was learning anything was possible.

  Madame Jessica turned and walked out of the room, pausing when she saw Lindsey gazing lovingly down at a sleeping Jacoby. Jessica sighed. “Just keep Jon fed and rested. As soon as he can walk around without getting dizzy, you can leave. Might take a week, though. Might take a month. That is a bad wound. And if you have somewhere else to stash the boy...then I’d suggest it.”

  Chapter 24

  I did my best to sleep the following day. Nobody bothered us. Every time there were footsteps outside the door, every time some couple argued too loudly, or I was awakened by the sounds of them making love through the thin walls, I drew my weapon. When I did drift off, it was fitful.

  I was itching to get home to GloryLand. I had to rescue Jon’s soul. Risking his life was one thing, but risking his eternity was another matter altogether.

  The problem was, Jon wouldn’t survive the trip at the moment, but I couldn’t leave him in the care of a woman I barely knew, but more importantly, I couldn’t leave them defenseless. Even if I found somewhere for the boy to lay low, I wouldn’t abandon Jon and Lindsey to be hunted by Malachi or those no-good Rosemary Boys.

  So that meant waiting. I prepared to hole up for at least a week. Lindsey was being nice about the entire thing—even though we were seriously screwing her. She refused to go to work, and she’d said that Madame Jessica hadn’t asked questions when she’d said she was staying home for the week...although from the way Lindsey dropped her eyes, I could only imagine what Jessica had told her. The tiny Madame hadn’t been able to get away from us fast enough once she’d learned that Malachi was alive and kicking.

  Jacoby was good. He didn’t whine or cry. He set next to Jon and held his hand while Jon slept, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Jacoby would sing or make up stories.

  I sat near the window, peeking through the curtain ever so often.

  Lindsey paced. Or slept. Sometimes she’d leave the apartment for an hour or two and then return with milk or water or oats or chicken broth.

  On day three everything changed.

  Jon’s color began to regain its tawny glow, and the magical scent of cinnamon formed a cloud in the tiny bedroom. He still slept and had yet to say more than a couple of sentences—not that that was unusual. He’d never been a big talker.

  He’d been a good patient and let me take care of him—that was unusual. Jon wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to be taken care of. He liked to be the one doing the caring. This was one way I knew he wasn’t up to the ride yet.

  Jon was resting like the dead and Jacoby sat in the corner humming. Lindsey laid on the purple velvet sofa with a wet rag over her eyes. I’d been holding down my chair, watching the street, though I’d dozed off more than once. We’d grown accustomed to the shouts and groans and the beat of boot heels against the ground. It not long rattled us to attention. I felt that Jon would heal, and I’d get his soul back, and all would be good.

  The clomp clomp clomp of someone taking the stairs two at a time didn’t even make me raise my eyebrows, and when the front door burst open, it took me a moment to realize what was happening.

  Malachi waltzed into the room, as if he hadn’t been beat to a pulp only days before. The corners of his mouth twisted and curled into a maniacal smile. There were bruises on his face, and crusted blood under his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice nor care. He dragged the door shut behind him, closing it with a soft click instead of slamming it with a bang. He entered as if he were walking into a party to which he’d been invited.

  I jumped to my feet, my spindle chair clattering to the floor. Lindsey sat up and the rag that covered her eyes fell away. She said nothing, but I could see the shiver in her arms and shoulders.. How had she ever agreed to go home with a monster like Malachi only days before? The way she’d been staring at Jacoby made me think that it was all about the money and sending it to her son. People did stupid things all the time for the people they loved.

  I watched Malachi like a hawk watches a field mouse. Waiting for him to make his move—to make his motives known.

  In the next room, Jacoby stopped singing and I hoped (prayed. Wished. Yearned.) that he’d at least attempted to hide. I didn’t hear Jon stir. I hoped he had the good sense to stand down.

  “Lindsey,” Malachi said, “What a bad girl you have been. I brought you to my home—I trusted you. And look what you did!” Malachi made a tsk tsk tsk sound between his teeth. He’d yet to reach for his weapon. Sweat gathered on my upper lip and I forced my breathing to slow. I felt like a caged animal—like a snake cornered to its hole. I was going to strike, but I had to be smart about it. The thing was, I would survive. My skin was tough as iron. Nothing had ever pierced me. I’d never broken nor shattered.

  That didn’t matter. There were three other people—one a child—who I had to get to safety. And a mad man blocked the door. A mad man with a gun and a vendetta.

  I took an easy step toward Malachi.

  “Easy there, Sheriff.” He raised his deep blue eyes to meet mine.

  I froze.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I knew exactly who you were the moment you rode onto my property. The famous Sheriff Davis of GloryLand. Sheriff Davis of the indestructible family line.” He spat and took another step. “You know, ever since I heard about you I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Could I break her?’ and my bet has always been yes. Every toy can be broken...some just take longer.” His grin continued to spread until it pulled painfully at the corners of his mouth, stretching his lips the width of his face. “Of course this” he gestured royally to the room, “isn’t how things played out in my head, mind you. But here we are. Let me ask you, do you believe in fate?”

  I shivered, but remained silent. I didn’t rub away the goose flesh dotted my arms.

  Malachi continued with his rant. “Because sometimes I think I believe in fate. I think, here I am, the man who can break anything, with the unbreakable woman...” He took a step in my direction, the floor board creaking under his weight.

  My shoulders stiffened and my hand slid to my pistol.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, now Sheriff. I know you took my boy—and there is going to be hell to pay for you and that man, and even Ms. Willing here, but my boy is blameless in this. But you wouldn’t want me to get angry and take your sins out on him, now would you?”

  “He ain’t your boy.” Jon’s voice was barely a rasp through the air.

  He leaned in the bedroom doorway, his gun loose in his grasp. He visibly struggled to pull back the hammer and held it in the direction of Malachi. “He ain’t your boy,” he said again, this time with a forceful anger I’d never heard cross his lips.

  A loud crack rang through the air as Jon pulled the trigger. There was a flash and then smoke, and then peals of laughter escaped from Malachi.

  A red rose bloomed on Malachi’s left bicep, but instead of crumpling to the floor, he cackled and laughed, not even grasping at the wound. Malachi
began to cross the crowded floor to where Jon stood, barely on his feet. Jon struggled with the gun, but it was apparent he wasn’t going to get it cocked a second time.

  Malachi’s laughter grew louder. Wilder.

  “No,” I whispered. I lunged for Malachi as he pointed his pistol at Jon, the smile never leaving his twisted face. My body connected with his just as his finger curled around the trigger.

  My weight knocked him from his feet as he squeezed the trigger, sending another round of thunder through the room.

  The bullet met Jon’s shoulder and he crumpled to the floor.

  “You bastard,” I screamed.

  Malachi’s laughter only grew louder. His breath was hot and sour against my ear as I took him to the ground.

  I’d lost the firm grip on my gun when I connected with Malachi, but I managed to hold it loosely in my fingers.

  Malachi, however, wasted no time in shoving the silver barrel of his pistol into my stomach, then pulled the hammer back and fired.

  I felt as if someone kicked me in the stomach. I slid my hand—the one not holding the gun—to my abdomen. There was no sticky trail of blood. No hole. No wound at all.

  I heaved a sigh. I’d been shot—plenty of times. But never at such a close range. I’d always wondered what would happen. I guess now I knew.

  “I’ll be damned if it ain’t true,” Malachi began. He stopped laughing and his eyes rounded and widened.

  The image of Jon crumpling to the floor filled my head, and before Malachi could finish speaking, I shoved my gun’s barrel in his mouth and without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 25

  I stood and wiped my hands on my pants, which were sprayed with red, warm, coppery scented blood. Malachi was dead—deal with the devil or not—no one could survive the hole I’d blown in his head. Slick, crimson splattered the floor beneath the man, along with chunks of meat and skin, and his eyes were hollow glass. At least he wasn’t smiling that horrible smile any longer. But I suppose it’s hard to smile with your jaw blown off.

  I’d killed plenty of monsters in my time as Sheriff. I felt nothing for the shell I’d made of this one. He deserved everything he got.

  Lindsey was shaking, pale and shocked, on the couch. Not speaking. Her body moved in small jerks and shivers. I’d check on her later. There wasn’t time at the moment.

  I passed Jon and ran into the bedroom. “Jacoby? It’s okay, Jacoby. Where are you?”

  In the corner there was a small wardrobe. Jacoby said nothing, but the door rustled, and a moment later I heard the sound of sniffling.

  “Jacoby, it is Alyssa. The Sheriff. Malachi is gone. He’s dead, Jacoby. He can’t get you.” I called, reassuring myself as well as the boy. “I am going to open the door, Jacoby.” I pulled open the door, and a bullet hit my shoulder, glancing off to the floor.

  “I’m sorry!” Jacoby cried. He threw the gun—the tiny one I recognized as Lindsey Willing’s, to the floor. “I thought it was him. I thought he was trying to trick me.”

  “Shh. It’s okay Jacoby. It’s okay. Look, I am fine.” I held out my arm so he could see where the bullet had deflected against my shoulder.

  “But how?” The little boy asked. His brown eyes widened.

  “Because I am your super hero, Jacoby. Me and your Pa. And we ain’t going to let anyone else hurt you.”

  He watched me with uncertain eyes, then barreled into me, wrapping his tiny arms around my neck and burying his face in my long black hair. “Jacoby, listen. There is something very important I need from you. I need you to be big, okay? Can you do that?”

  He nodded against my shoulder.

  “Okay, I want you to squeeze your eyes closed as tightly as you can. Can you do that? Keep them closed until I tell you to open them, okay?”

  He shut his eyes and I stepped around Jon, who lay on the floor, hurting but still alive. I stepped over Malachi, and walked to where Lindsey sat on the couch. She looked up as I approached, as if only then realizing where she was.

  “I need you to take him to where he can’t see...” I let my voice trail off, but gestured with my chin to where Malachi’s body lay in a messy heap of blood and sloppy, red, gore.

  Lindsey nodded. “Of course. We will go to Ms. Martha’s. She is the building owner on the first floor. Just...Just come and get me when it is okay. I need to know what is going to happen next.”

  She stood and I handed her the bundle of spindly arms and legs that was the little boy. “Now Jacoby, keep your eyes shut tight, remember?” I whispered again.

  The pair walked carefully across the floor and out the door. I knew Jon wouldn’t be happy with having Jacoby out of the room—not when we’d only recently gotten him back. I knew Jon well, and I knew he wouldn’t trust anyone with his boy for a long, long time. But this was a call I was making for the boy’s safety and mental health. I didn’t know what horrors he’d witnessed before I’d met him, but I sure as hell could (and would) protect him as best as I could now. No matter what. No matter who it pissed off.

  I knelt next to Jon, who was breathing in rapid, shallow succession.

  “Jon,” I whispered his name. His eyes were glassy, deep brown orbs that stared past me into nothingness. “Jon, you are going to be okay.”

  He struggled to breathe in. “Alyssa, Little Wolf...Please...”

  I stroked his hair with the tips of my fingers, as I blinked hard against the tears pooled in my eyes. Jon didn’t need those tears. He needed my strength. My bravery. And I would give it to him. “Shh. Jon, Malachi is dead. We are going to get you to a real doctor. You will see. You will be fine.”

  Jon shook his head, then coughed. “No, Alyssa. I need...I can’t die while they have my soul. I need you to...”

  I pressed my hand to his cheek. His skin managed to be waxy and feverish at the same time. “I’ll leave right now. You just hang on until I get back, okay? I will bring a doctor. You will see it is going to be okay.” I forced myself to believe what I was telling him. This was no time for lies. I was determined that my words would be the truth. I would make them the truth. “Now, let’s get you to the bed.”

  He tried to push up, but cried out in pain. I grabbed the feather pillow and the blankets, and tucked him into a make-shift pallet on the floor. “I will free your soul, Jon. But you have to promise to not die. To hang on until I get back. Promise me!”

  He coughed, then a small smile spread across his face.

  Six feet away was Malachi’s body, and it repulsed me to leave Jon lying, fighting for his life, so close to a heaping pile of putrid death. But I couldn’t help it. I had to go.

  I shut the door behind me and walked to where Lindsey was with the Jacoby in her landlord’s place.

  Chapter 26

  Lindsey swore on her life she’d care for Jon until I returned—I made sure she understood that I would hold her to that promise. And she assured me that Madame Jessica would know what to do with Malachi. I hated to think what that implied, but I had no choice but to trust the women.

  Even though I could see the pain on Lindsey’s face when I took Jacoby, I decided he’d ride with me into GloryLand. I knew someone who I’d trust to watch him until this whole mess was over.

  And I had to get my deputy. No way was I trying to take on the witches of Red Soot Mountain alone. Tom would be eager for the adventure.

  Diana was eager for the ride. She’d been drinking and eating and growing restless. When she saw me and Jacoby, she all but kneeled down to urge me into my saddle.

  We rode at a break neck pace out of New Duluth as soon as the sun set, and headed to GloryLand. I held Jacoby tightly in front of me, and we were lucky enough to miss any trouble. Lindsey had assured me that she could handle the dim-witted Rosemary Boys if it came to it. She said she’d fucked half of them and for whatever reason, they trusted her. Well, trusted her as much as they trusted anyone. And in New Duluth, no one really trusted anyone else.

  When we arrived in GloryLand the sun was
rising. Jacoby hadn’t slept, even when we slowed to a walk. I rode straight to my office.

  Tom reclined in my chair with his snake skin boots propped on my desk. He near about fell backwards when I walked through the door.

  “Sheriff! There you are! I was worried about you.” His bright eyes grew wide and he jumped to his feet, and rushed to my side.

  “Uh-huh,” I smirked. “You looked worried.”

  “Naw. Honestly, Sheriff. I was what you call...ruminatin’. Trying to think up a plan. But nobody knew where you went. I didn’t know where to start, so I decided I’d stay put until I figured it out. And looky here—it was the right plan after all.” He smiled—right pleased with himself.

  I pulled my deputy into a hug—something neither of us did regularly. Maybe it was the emotional stress or the fact that I’d just been shot twice, but I missed his dumb face. He patted my back awkwardly.

  “Now Sheriff. Who is this you have with you?” Tom bent down, eye level with Jacoby.

  “This is Jacoby...Jon’s son.”

  Tom stood. “Jon’s son?”

  I nodded. Anyone else would have asked questions. They would have poked and prodded and irritated me, but not Tom. He nodded as he digested the information.

  “Jon’s son...I reckon I see the resemblance.” He ruffled the small boy’s head. To my surprise, Jacoby didn’t recoil.

  “Listen, Tom. Me and you are about to have us an adventure...Just like in your books.”

  Tom grinned. Not that we had many dull days, but for him, adventure was the key word. He was like a loyal pet trained to respond to key words. Adventure to Tom was the same as saying the word treat to a dog.