by Lee Collins
The hunter nodded. "Might close up early my own self. Bob ain't going to be none too happy about it, but he can go hang himself. I'm so beat, I can barely keep myself upright."
"Until the morrow, then," Victoria said. She pushed the empty glass toward the hunter.
"Yes, ma'am," Cora replied. "Don't forget to put them wards out, or you're liable to wake up a vampire your own self."
TWELVE
The shapes of her mother and her husband swam through her vision, their voices faint and far away. She shook her head. They were not there. They had rejoined the Great Cycle, their souls finding new bodies to dwell in. She knew this. The phantoms she saw were only tricks of her mind.
The woman pushed them away. They brought nothing but sorrow and longing, and she could not use those feelings. She needed the anger, the hatred. Those were easy enough to find; they lived very close to her heart. She called upon them now to lend her courage to do what must be done. Even in their burning embrace, she was still afraid. Afraid of the ruined walls and ancient stone that surrounded her. Afraid of the spirits that walked in this place. Afraid of the old woman who brought her here.
Her companion stood before her, back stooped with many years, scratching symbols into the dirt with an old branch. The woman watched her with a mixture of fascination and dread. The darkness that clung to the crone's robes was thick and black, but the power she wielded was palpable. With such power, the woman could take revenge on the men who killed the ones she loved most. She could stop them from hurting the Dine for all time.
A faint shout echoed from behind her. Turning to look, she bit back a cry. Her mother's face stood at the edge of the firelight, features etched with love and fear. Her lips moved, but the woman could not understand her words. She blinked back tears. It was just a phantom of her guilt and her fear. Were she here, her mother would surely want her to go through with this. She had been a strong woman in life; she would have understood this desire to protect her people. The American soldiers had guns and numbers, but they did not have knowledge of these arts.
"Now," the old woman croaked.
The woman turned back to her. "Yes?"
The crone's eyes flashed red in the darkness. "You are ready?"
"Yes," the woman said again, trying to give more strength to her voice than she felt.
"You may never go back," the old woman said. "No-one may turn from the Witchery Way once they begin walking it. It will be with you and you with it until you die."
"I am ready."
A dry cackle spilled from those ancient lips. "So be it, girl. Come," she said, beckoning with a withered claw. "Come and take the power you desire."
The woman swallowed back her doubts, closing her ears to her mother's faint cries. Keeping the image of the American soldier's face in her mind, she stepped forward. The scratchings in the dirt were unreadable in the flickering light, but the woman knew the meaning of the animal skin laid next to them. Letting her anger fuel her need, she slipped out of the doeskin tunic she wore and knelt next to the hide.
Above her, the old woman's lips spread in a toothless grin.
The next morning, Victoria pulled on her clean shirt and denim trousers, ate a quick breakfast of flapjacks, and stepped outside. The sun had just climbed above the tops of the buildings, but a slight chill hung in the air. Victoria relished it, knowing that the hellish swelter would soon smother the dusty streets. The townsfolk moved sluggishly around her, as if they could not move properly unless their limbs were greased by sweat.
When she reached the saloon, Victoria found Cora's business partner Robert behind the bar. He wore a button-up shirt and tie beneath his jaunty, small-brimmed hat. Had he been in a bank or office tower in London or New York City, he might have looked right at home. Standing behind the bar of a dusty saloon, he seemed displaced and vulnerable. For the first time since her arrival, Victoria thought she might not be the most awkwardlydressed person in the room.
Robert's face brightened when he caught sight of her. "Ah, Miss Dawes. Wonderful to see you again."
"Likewise," she said, returning his smile. "How have you been?"
"Much the same as ever," he replied. He looked her up and down. "I'm guessing the getup was Cora's idea?"
"Quite right," Victoria said, stepping up to the bar. "Speaking of whom, has she been about this morning? I'm rather surprised not to find her where you are."
Frustration creased Robert's face. "I was, too. You wouldn't think it would be difficult for someone who lived in the saloon to open it on time, would you?"
"Certainly not," Victoria said.
"Yet here I am," he said, turning his palms upward, "and here I will remain until she remembers where she belongs."
"I don't expect Cora is a particularly easy woman to keep in line."
"Heaven spare me," Robert said, shaking his head. "I don't think any man anywhere has ever been able to keep her in line. Those who tried at one point or another aren't among the living anymore, or so I imagine."
The memory of Cora facing down the blue-eyed monster came to Victoria's mind, and she laughed. "Somehow, that seems all too likely."
"My other partners figured I'd lost my mind when I agreed to help Cora open this place," he said, looking around the near-empty saloon. "Truth is, had she wanted to start any other kind of business, I would have turned her down in a blink, but I knew she would be reliable so long as there was whiskey and poker involved. She's got enough of a reputation that I knew she'd pull in a crowd. Can't say I understand the name, though."
"Did she not explain it to you?" Victoria asked.
"Don't see why it matters none."
Both Victoria and Robert started and turned at the sound of Cora's voice. The hunter stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning light. Her spurs chimed as she strode over to the bar. "Ain't like most of the folk what pass through here can read the sign, anyhow."
Robert smirked. "That's truer than you know," he said to Victoria. "The people around here aren't what you'd call educated."
"Yeah, yeah," Cora said. "We ain't nothing but a bunch of ignorant frontier folk. Ain't got enough sense to wash or dress ourselves or take a proper squat." Robert opened his mouth to reply, but Cora didn't pause. "Last I checked, us frontier folk was keeping you in a steady means of living, Bob."
Robert dropped his gaze to his shoes, leaving Cora and Victoria looking at the top of his hat. "Yes, well," came his voice, quiet with embarrassment, "I wasn't going to go quite that far with it."
"You can stew about it till that hat of yours wears clean through for all I care," Cora said. "I'd just thank you to do your stewing right here for a spell."
That brought Robert's head back up. "Here? Why? Where are you going?"
"Got me some business with Morgan."
"What did you do this time?" Robert asked, rolling his eyes
"Nothing that you need to worry your city-fied head over," Cora said. She turned to Victoria. "You ready?"
Victoria blinked. "Ready?"
"Good." Cora headed back toward the door. Victoria exchanged a look with Robert. He shrugged and offered her an apologetic smile. She nodded in return, then followed Cora out onto the street.
"Where are we going?" Victoria asked.
"Off to see old Morgan," Cora replied. "Ain't you been listening?"
"Who's Morgan?"
"Sheriff in these parts." Above the edge of its scabbard, the butt of Cora's rifle caught the morning sunlight as she walked. "Seems he had himself a killing last night that ain't quite what he's used to."
"What do you mean?"
"Stiffs are drained dry," Cora said.
"Dry?" The two women paused on a corner to let a carriage thunder past. "You mean they've been drained of their blood?"
"Yes ma'am. He's all in a tizzy about it, says it's the worst thing he's seen in fifteen years of sheriffing. Can't see how that is, being as he don't look a day over thirty his own self, but I reckon it ain't smart to question a lawman on hi
s numbers."
Cora strode toward a three-story building that stood near the end of the main street. Unlike the smaller buildings around it, whose shiplap walls were in various states of decay, this edifice boasted stone walls that glowed with the color of carnelians in the sunlight. Rows of windows, their curtains drawn, faced outward into the street. The building's crown thrust a triangular wedge toward the sky like a cockscomb.
As they approached, Victoria saw a small crowd gathered around the building's pillared entrance. Cora pushed her way through the throng, and Victoria followed close on her heels. A man stood in front of the doorway, arms folded, a gun hanging from his hip. The hunter marched right past him with a curt nod. The man returned the nod, a silver star gleaming on his chest.
Cora didn't slow her march when they entered the building. Desks, chairs, and people passed in a blur as Victoria followed her to the back of the building, where they clambered back and forth up a staircase until they reached the top floor. Stepping through an open doorway, they found a man with deep-set brown eyes waiting in the hall.
"Thanks for coming," he said, extending his hand.
Cora shook it. "You know this ain't my business no more, right?"
"Sure do," the man said. A mustache the color of ripe chestnuts covered his upper lip. "Don't expect you to do nothing beyond telling us your opinion of the matter, neither."
"So long as we're clear on that." Cora stepped aside and held her hand out toward Victoria. "This here's Vicky Dawes. Vicky, this is Sheriff Morgan."
"A pleasure, ma'am."
"My name is Victoria," she replied, giving Cora a look as she shook the sheriff's hand.
"You ain't from around here, are you?" the sheriff asked.
"No, she's from England somewhere," Cora said before Victoria could answer. "Came all the way out here so she could have a chance to ride with the legendary Cora Oglesby. Wasn't none too happy to learn I ain't the riding type no more."
"You sure on that count?" Morgan asked with a pointed look at Cora's rifle.
"Sure as shit. This here's just for protection. I may have given up my spurs, but that don't mean I gave up my sense with them."
Morgan nodded and motioned for them to follow him. The trio made their way down the hall, their boots drumming a cacophony on the worn floorboards. Opening the last door on the right, Morgan led them into a small office. A window dominated the far wall, curtains drawn back just enough to allow a modest stream of sunlight in. Documents and legal books were piled high on the bookshelves standing at attention behind a large desk. Two comfortable-looking chairs faced the desk, their stained feet nestled into a thick green carpet.
Victoria absorbed all of this in a flash. Her eyes fixed on the slumped bodies of two men in business suits. One man was positioned behind the desk, and the other faced him in one of the two chairs. Both corpses were the color of old milk, their skin drawn tightly over their bones. Victoria's stomach gave a flop.
"Ain't seen nothing like it," Morgan said. He and Cora bent down on either side of the body behind the desk. "I ain't even sure how it was managed, sucking these sorry fools like they was oranges."
"I got a notion," Cora said, "but I don't reckon it's one you'll take to."
"Try me." Morgan stood upright and folded his arms. "I didn't call you here to give you a free gander. You got an opinion, I want to hear it."
"Vampires."
The sheriff leaned forward. "Come again?"
"Vampires," Cora repeated. "Blood-sucking living corpses what go about doing just this sort of thing. What's more, these fellers will start moving about again come sundown looking for some blood of their own. Were I you, I'd set them out where the sun can shine on them nice and good and leave them there."
"Propping up stiffs that look like these is like to put folks right off their feed," Morgan said. "Ain't like these two was outlaws or some such so folks'd be glad to see them done in. I put a pair of fine businessmen on display like sacks of potatoes, this town is liable to string me up from my own gallows."
"Putting them out on the street's a better idea than letting them run about once the change sets in," Cora said. "You do that, you'll have another few stiffs on your hands come tomorrow morning, and that's if you're lucky."
"Forget it," the sheriff said, shaking his head. "I always figured you was a loon, but when the talk in town is that you got a knack for strange cases, I thought you'd have something worthwhile to say about this here situation, but all you got is kid stories. Go on and take your fancy lady friend with you and leave the real work to the men folk."
"Seems to me like the sheriff needs some hard evidence," Cora said to Victoria. "You got that holy water I gave you?"
"Yes," Victoria said.
"Go on and pour a little on this feller's head," she said, nodding toward the corpse.
Hand suddenly shaking, Victoria reached into her satchel. She could feel the sheriff's eyes on her as she pulled the vial out. The glass was cool to the touch. Gripping the stopper with her thumb and forefinger, she twisted to one side. It wouldn't budge. Smiling nervously, she tried again. The rubber squeaked against the glass. One more try, and the stopper came out with a small popping sound.
Careful to keep as much distance between herself and the corpse as she could, she held the vial over the dead man's head and tilted it enough to let a few drops fall.
The result surprised her as much as it did the sheriff. Where the water fell, plumes of smoke billowed from the desiccated skin. It was as though someone had poured vinegar on a hot stove. A sound like sizzling fatback filled the room. Alarmed, Victoria took a hasty step backward, bumping into Cora. The hunter held out a hand to steady her companion, a smirk playing about her lips. She nodded toward the sheriff, and Victoria followed her gaze.
Morgan's eyes were wide in his lean face, and his cheeks had gone deathly pale. His lips moved without sound. Brown eyes stole a quick, bewildered glance at the two women.
"What in tarnation is this?" he finally asked.
"This," Cora said, "is what happens when you throw holy water on something that's been cursed with unholy blood. Vampire, hellhound, werewolf, they all go up in steam and screams when you give them a good bathing." She folded her arms and cocked her head. "Still think I'm an old fool?"
The sheriff gaped at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the smoking corpse. The trails of smoke were thinning out, resembling cigarette smoke instead of blacksmith's steam. Morgan took a step toward the body. Crouching down beside it, he craned his neck this way and that. Finally, he shook his head. "You is still a fool in my book, but maybe you got your head screwed on right about this here case."
"See?" Cora said, arching an eyebrow at Victoria. "The men here ain't nothing but a big old herd of sweet-talkers."
The sheriff stood and brushed his hands on his trousers. "How'd they get this way in the first place?"
"Another vampire had himself a drink," Cora said. "Given that they're all nice and tidy, I'd put good money on it being the same one we've been chasing lately."
"You know who did this?"
"Got a strong notion, though we can't be sure about it with things as they are here. Could be there's another vampire feller out there somewhere causing his own bit of ruckus, and it's just a coincidence that he turned up right when we was chasing the other one."
Brow furrowed, Morgan studied the two corpses. "So we might have two on our hands? What's the best way of handling these things?"
Cora patted the butt of her rifle. "Holy weapons, mostly. Silver bullets and blessed swords and the like. I got me some leftovers from when I was in this business, but it ain't going to be enough if you got a full infestation brewing on your hands. Best advice is to make friends with them monks out at the old Spanish mission. They ain't equipped for fighting, but they might have enough holy water and crosses as can offer the townsfolk some protection."
"Can't you go after the one that started this?"
"That's our plan," Co
ra said, "but you'd best have something else up your sleeve in case we can't find and whip the son of a bitch in time."
"I'll lend you one of my deputies if you like," Morgan said. "Got me a good tracker in the bunch, knows this here country powerful well."
Cora shook her head. "Keep him. Don't need me two greenhorns on the trail, or they're like to trip me up." Victoria blushed and looked down at her boots, but Cora didn't miss a beat. "Better your boys stay here and do what they can to protect folk.
"As for hunting down the bastard as did this, I got an idea." She stepped over to the other corpse and took a good look at its face. "I don't reckon those two will hide out on that ranch after what happened," she said to Victoria. "Was I them, I'd have lit out for another place to lay low for awhile."
"This isn't what I would call laying low," Victoria said.
"Me, either, but I did catch that feller in the leg with my rifle," Cora said. "I reckon he got himself a powerful hunger after that. Fresh blood keeps him strong and helps that wound of his to heal. Held off for a day or two, either out of fear or because that squaw wouldn't let him feed, but his need finally got the better of him.
"Second thing is, we done shot up his troops out at the farm. I reckon he's feeling a mite naked without critters at his heels, so he's looking to make him some new ones." She poked a grey cheek. "This feller's one of his new recruits. When he wakes up, I'd put good money on him running straight back to that blue-eyed bastard. Might not even feed before he goes if we're lucky."
"So we follow it back, just like that?" Victoria asked. "Won't he know what we're about and lead us back out into the desert, or ambush us?"
"Could be," Cora said, "but ain't like we got any other trails to follow. For all we know, this sucker will get right up and start feeding on folk as soon as the sun goes down. Then again, he might not. It might just be a pair of sixes, but it's the hand we was dealt, and we got to play it or fold."
"I'd rather not gamble our lives on it."
"You don't got to tag along. I reckon old Bob would be pleased as all get out if you decided to keep him company at the Print Shop tonight instead of riding out with me. Might even make it so he don't come grumping at me in the morning."
