Blood Curse: Book 2 of the Blood War Chronicles

by Quincy Allen

“What I’m about to tell you I haven’t told anyone in a very long time. There are only a handful of souls alive who know the truth.” Corina’s gaze drifted toward the clouds behind Jake. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I shouldn’t, you know. But there’s something about you Jake, something that reminds me of a man I knew when I was still just a girl, long before that man became a monster … long before darkness wrapped itself around innocence and smothered it … me completely.” She hesitated once again, clearly remembering something sad. “That was the day I said goodbye to sunshine.”

  “Go on,” Jake prompted when the seconds stretched into an abyss between the present and Corina’s past.

  She looked deeply into Jake’s eyes. “Lying within my reliquary is a tome of horrible power over both the dead and the minions of what you call Hell.” She watched his face to see if he believed her or not.

  Jake had crossed paths with a werewolf, a ghost, and a few other unsavory things most folks would consider impossible. He merely shook his head. “Why the hell would anyone want such a thing?” The disgust in his voice was as thick as molasses.

  “Power, Jake. As I said.” She turned away from him and stepped into a pool of moonlight. “And you can’t tell me you’re surprised. I have no doubt you’ve met such men in your time.”

  Jake nodded. It was true enough. He’d met more than his fair share, and even put a bullet through a few of them. “So, they want this book, but why are they after you, too?”

  “I’m cursed, Jake. That’s part of the reason the man … or men … Szilágyi works for want me. And they work for something else altogether. They want my blood as well as the book. With both they can raise that army, filling the shells of corpses with demons to do their bidding … turn them into something more terrible than you can imagine, something that craves human flesh and hunts you the way tigers hunt sheep. And every corpse they leave in their wake can become another one.”

  The thought made Jake shudder, and there was something about the way she used the word “you” that pricked up his ears. He took a breath to ask the question when the sound of someone stepping on a branch below the ridgeline stopped him.

  “Jake!” Skeeter’s voice called up from the darkness. “You up there?”

  Jake turned to see the light beams from Skeeter’s goggles tracing their way up the slope. A chill ran through Jake’s body and a stirring breeze danced across his skin.

  Corina’s breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “Don’t worry about being spotted by Szilágyi. I’ll take care of that.” Then she was gone in a faint wisp of mist.

  Skeeter’s lights sifted over rocks, around a few sparse ponderosa pines, and then finally locked onto Jake. He waved to her and turned to see only a few traces of mist receding amongst the rocks at his feet.

  “Neat trick, that,” Jake said to himself, marveling at the things witches were capable of.

  “What’d you say?” Skeeter called from just below the ridgeline.

  Jake turned back to her and squinted against the light. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.” He reached out a hand as Skeeter climbed over a large rock, pulling her up beside him. “So, how are we looking with the rig?”

  “We’re just about ready to go. The box is loaded, Lumpy’s hitched, and I fixed the wagon. There wasn’t much hope for that rear-left wheel. The brass spokes were fine, but the rim was done. I had to try something else to get us moving.” Skeeter gave him one of her famous I’m-too-smart-for-my-own-good looks and winked. She hesitated for a moment and then looked up at him a bit sheepishly. “You know, Jake, I was thinking, I’m pretty sure there’s a river south of here. I think I saw it on a map of the Free Territories at the station when we boarded the Jezebel. If we could make the river by dawn, we might be able to use that to our advantage. It’s what gave me the idea of how to fix the wagon.”

  Jake smiled. Skeeter had a damn near perfect memory. If she saw something, she could call it up like a book. And he was impressed with her reasoning. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “That’s a damn good idea, kiddo. Let’s head on down and roust everyone up. It’s about time we got this circus on the road.”

  The two of them walked down the hill toward the wreck of the Jezebel. The zeppelin’s envelope was mostly deflated, sagging loosely around the superstructure. In the darkness Jake could see the wagon and Lumpy just outside the cargo hold door. A few men mulled about, and he spotted Cole leaning against the gondola. As they drew closer to the wagon, Jake noticed the wheels were gone. All of them.

  Jake realized how Skeeter had fixed the thing. In place of each wheel, Skeeter had installed a green, cubical shape about four by one by two feet. They were strapped in place with thick, hemp rope. There were a number of them tied underneath the wagon as well. A larger envelope hovered above the center of the wagon attached by four lengths of rope. Jake recognized them immediately as lifting envelopes from inside the zeppelin, and they were clearly holding the wagon up off the ground about six inches. There was a large gas cylinder strapped beside the Lady’s crate, and a series of hoses connected to the four side-mounted envelopes and the one suspended above. He stopped in his tracks and started laughing.

  “Skeeter?” he asked between laughs.

  “Yeah, Jake?”

  He turned and gave her a huge hug. “Nice work with the wagon.” He beamed, looking down at her. Then he released her and got down on one knee so they could be face to face. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. If I ever tell you not to come on one of these trips, you go right ahead and nail me with that stun-glove of yours.”

  She smiled and hugged him back. “Thanks, Jake. I will.”

  He had no doubt she would keep her word, and he knew he was committed now. What the hell, he thought. She’s an amazing kid. And not a kid, he reminded himself. That feeling of being a father filled him once again, and he realized—with a good deal of surprise—that he liked it.

  He stood up and looked at her. “Come on. I think I have an idea on how to lose that son-of-a-bitch Szilágyi. Let’s get our asses to Roswell and see what Cole considers weird.”

  “Yes, sir!” she shouted.

  Chapter Seven

  Bloody Trail

  “I’ve seen a lot of strange things, and like most folk I generally filled in the more unpleasant possibilities with sunshine and rainbows … anything that didn’t involve people getting torn to pieces.”

  ~ Cole McJunkins

  “I meant what I said, Captain. You ever need me, you come a-hollerin. I’ll do what I can for ya.” Jake sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon with Cole beside him, the Thumper leaned against his thigh and a chaingun in his hands. Ghiss was at the back of the wagon, also equipped with a chaingun, and Skeeter sat inside the pillbox, adjusting a control valve. A quiet hiss released some of the aether gas from the envelopes, and the wagon lowered just enough for the envelopes underneath to barely touch the ground. A tarp covered the Lady’s reliquary, and their supplies were wedged into the space between it and the side of the wagon.

  “I certainly will, Mister Lasater. God’s speed to all of you.” The captain made a proper English salute, palm outward, and Jake returned it in kind with a proper American salute, the best he’d ever given a man. He had a great deal of respect for Wordsworth. The English captain had really stuck his neck out for Jake and his crew.

  “Them branches secured, Ghiss?” Jake asked over his shoulder.

  “They are. You may proceed, sir,” Ghiss called back.

  Jake and Cole both nodded to the captain, Tyler, and O’Malley, who all nodded back, then Jake shook the reins of Lumpy’s harness. The big bull leaned into the harness and the wagon lurched forward, a faint swishing sound coming from underneath the rig as the envelopes dragged against the short dry grass and ruddy earth covering the plains.

  “Good luck,” Tyler and O’Malley said together. Everyone on the wagon waved goodbye as they disa
ppeared into the darkness, heading due north while the breeze gusted occasionally at their backs.

  “Do you really think this will work?” Cole whispered.

  Jake sighed. “I have no idea, but it’s the best shot we got at leading Szilágyi away from the Jezebel and still not bring him down on top of us. All we can do is cross our fingers.”

  Everyone remained silent as the wagon slid across the desert, each keeping to his or her own thoughts. Skeeter’s light snoring was hard to miss, but Jake’s attention was focused on the desert. He scanned to the east and south in search of what he wanted.

  A few more miles slid beneath them, and even Cole dozed off as he leaned against the Thumper. Jake was happy that they all were getting some shut-eye. He’d need some himself, but he had to scope out just the right spot as they travelled north.

  Thirty minutes later a coyote yelped off to the east, startling them all. The yelp turned into a high-pitched squeal that suddenly cut off with a sharp death-cry. Silence settled once again across the desert, broken only by the hiss of the wagon sliding across the ground and the clomping of Lumpy’s hooves. Jake pulled back on the reins, and everyone peered into the darkness in the direction of the coyote, or what might be left of it.

  “What the hell was that?” Cole asked.

  “Hand me the Thumper.” Jake held out his hand.

  Cole passed it over, and Jake placed the scope to his ocular. He slowly scanned the area, panning left and right as he raised the barrel of the weapon. He could just make out a shifting, shadowy outline about three hundred yards away. At first he thought it was a rock, but he picked up slight movement around the edges, making it look as if there was some sort of struggle taking place under a blanket.

  “What the hell?” Jake muttered. He turned to Cole and said, “Cole, take the reins. Head us over there.” Jake looked at the ground ahead. Thick grass covered the terrain in all directions, with almost no bare earth in sight. “Ghiss, you awake back there?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the metallic voice rasped from the back of the wagon. “I’d almost forgotten how much I disliked sleeping outdoors, especially in the company of others. You are a noisy lot, I must say.”

  Jake tried hard not to smile … and failed.

  Looking at Skeeter, he said, “Go ahead and cut that envelope lose. Inflate them others so we’re clear of the ground.”

  Cole grabbed the reins as Jake placed the scope back to his ocular. He heard a knife sawing at a thick length of rope as well as the hiss of gas flowing through the gas lines.

  Jake tracked along the prairie with the scope, back to where the bumpy outline had been, but it was gone. All he could see was the pale outline of a coyote lying on its side. When they felt the wagon lift off the ground a few inches, Cole got Lumpy moving with a snap of the reins.

  The wagon swerved silently to the right with a creak of straining ropes. The envelope Ghiss cut loose rose quickly and then stalled. A second line connected it to the branches they’d dragged behind them. Jake had asked Skeeter to add it just before leaving. It was part of his plan to leave Szilágyi high and dry.

  The northerly breeze that had kept them company all morning caught the envelope and dragged the branches along behind it. Jake watched it slide by and hoped the trail it left would be visible from the air. If so, it would look like they’d kept going north. The trail it left wouldn’t stand a close inspection, but it was the best they could do.

  Cole kept Lumpy moving, and eventually they could all see the coyote lying on a wide patch of rocks that continued on down into a ravine. The spot was exactly what Jake had been hoping for, all of it except the dead coyote lying at the head of the path. The coyote’s throat had been torn out, and a wide pool of blood spread out across the stone.

  Jake climbed down from the seat, the Thumper gripped in his hands. “Skeeter, can you put some light on this?”

  “Sure, Jake!” She climbed down from the wagon and walked up beside him. “Close your eye.”

  Jake did and the twin beams of light illuminated the grisly scene. The coyote had been mauled, its tan coat spattered with its own blood. The wound at its throat was jagged, the muscle and bone exposed.

  “Do you see that?” Skeeter asked, pointing her finger at a spot just past the coyote’s nose.

  “What?”

  Skeeter kneeled down and peered at the bloody stone. “It’s a handprint … in blood.”

  Jake bent over, peering closely. There at the edge of the pool of blood was a distinct human handprint. Skeeter placed her hand over it, and it was about the same size, perhaps a bit larger.

  “Werewolf?” Skeeter asked. “Like that one you killed in Sedalia?”

  “Maybe.” Jake’s jaw tightened and his guts did a somersault at the thought of a werewolf running lose somewhere in the darkness. “Weapons out, boys.” he called behind him. “We ain’t alone out here.”

  Steel hissed across leather as pistols came free of their holsters. Ghiss and Cole stepped down from the wagon and walked toward them. Jake looked to the east. The horizon was just starting to brighten.

  A group of coyotes yipped somewhere out in the darkness as Jake shifted the Thumper in his hands, ready for action.

  “What is it?” Ghiss asked as he stepped up.

  “Technically, it’s just a dead coyote,” Jake said quietly. “But its throat’s been torn out and there’s a handprint here in blood.”

  Ghiss laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Now that is just a peach,” Ghiss said and shook his head. “Mister Lasater, you do seem to attract the most unsavory sorts of people and things.”

  “I gotta be straight with you Jake,” Cole said. “I seriously could have done without this.”

  “No argument,” Jake replied as he turned toward Cole. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a wisp of fog disappearing over the edge of the wagon. He looked again and didn’t see anything. He figured it was the Lady getting back into her reliquary. She was probably worried about what killed the coyote as much as he was.

  “Well, there’s a bit of good news here,” Jake said.

  “I’m all ears,” Cole said, his eyes locked on the throat of the coyote.

  “Well, I was hoping for a rocky patch that headed south. This here ravine looks like it’s not too rough for Lumpy, and we won’t leave any tracks. Even if it lasts for a half-a-mile or so, we’ll still be plenty far from where we cut that envelope loose.”

  “What about the coyote? And the blood?” Cole asked. “Won’t they see it?”

  “Maybe. But there’s more coyotes out there, and I’m guessing they don’t have no qualms about eatin’ one of their own when it’s served up to them so easy-like.”

  Cole peered into the darkness, as several more coyotes yelped, and then a long, yipping howl filled the night. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.” Cole started walking toward the wagon. “This whole thing gives me the willies. Let’s just hope that it was one of them coyotes did the tearin’ on that poor fella there.”

  “And the handprint?” Skeeter asked pointedly.

  “I’m tryin’ to forget it, Skeeter,” Cole grumbled. “Maybe it’s just a trick of the light or somethin’.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jake sighed. “Because that’s how our luck runs.”

  Everyone followed Cole to the wagon and climbed up to settle where they had been. Without another word, Cole grabbed the reins and gave them a shake. Lumpy lurched in his harness again, his hooves clacking across the bare rocks and stones along a ravine that opened up into a gully.

  “You good to drive for a while?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah. Go ahead and get some shut-eye. I got this. I’ll wake you if anything comes up.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Like I’m gonna close them after seeing that coyote?” Cole asked. He snorted out one laugh. “Not likely.”

  Jake shared the sentiment, but he was tired enough not to care what might be out there. He just hoped fatigue would keep
the dreams away. He dialed his ocular down to darkness, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  River Ride

  “The world of magic is one most people don’t even want to know about, but I embraced it like any other science … because it’s just another tool.”

  ~ Captain Jane Wilson

  Cole gave Jake a nudge.

  “Hunh?” Jake woke with a start from a thankfully dreamless sleep. He opened his eye and looked around quickly for any trouble. Ponderosa pines, grass, and rocks dotting the landscape were the only threats in sight. The wagon floated gently through the now deep ravine, and Lumpy plodded along like a slow-moving freight train. Jake thought he picked up the sound of water from up ahead.

  “I think we’re just about at the river, amigo,” Cole said as Jake rubbed the sleep out of his eye. Cole lowered his voice so Ghiss couldn’t hear him. “Skeeter’s fast asleep, but Ghiss has been humming a whole slew of old tunes all morning, the son-of-a-bitch. Most of ’em sounded like they was from the Thirties … “The Bloom Is on the Rye”, “Ching-A-Ring-Chaw”, and such.”

  The song titles stirred old memories of being a boy and sunny Saturday mornings singing with his mother, father, and brother. Jake hadn’t thought about such things in a long time. He shook his head and chuckled. “Old Ghiss is just trying to get a rise out of you,” he replied quietly.

  “I know. I thought about shooting him while you were asleep, but I figured he might still be useful. I mean, with him back there, I didn’t have to keep checking behind us.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Jake’s smile turned Cole’s frown the other direction. “How long was I out?”

  “About five hours. Snoring like a sawmill to boot!” Cole chuckled. “I think you needed it, amigo.”

  “I surely did. I even managed to keep the nightmares at bay.” Jake smiled. “It looks like this little plan of mine is working out okay so far. Any sign of Szilágyi?”

  Jake cast his eyes up, taking in the azure sky and puffy white clouds. He had to admit that under different circumstances, he’d love to go lie down on the grass and just stare at the sky for a few hours.