by Quincy Allen
At the dinner table, it was little more than small talk about how everyone’s work was coming. Cole occasionally complained about what sorry steeds they had for sale in Denver, and how he’d have to find one when he got to New Mexico. Nobody talked about what had happened in Roswell. It was eating at them all.
One morning Jake awoke—his dreams having been filled with nightmares of those dead kids coming for him—and entered the kitchen to discover Cole and Skeeter standing there with mischievous grins on their faces.
“What are y’all grinnin’ at?” he asked. His voice was surly, but mostly because he hadn’t had any coffee yet.
Cole handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.
“Happy birthday, Jake!” they both shouted.
Jake blinked. He thought about it and then realized the date. “Heh,” he said, smiling finally. “I’d plum forgotten. Thank you.”
“There’s more, Jake,” Skeeter said, still grinning. She was practically squirming where she stood. “Come on out back!” She dashed out through the screen door, letting it slam behind her.
Jake didn’t feel like scolding her. He looked at Cole, remembering the explosion that had awakened him before their trip. “The surprise?” Jake asked.
“Yep.” Cole clapped him on the shoulder.
“Hell, I’d forgotten about that, too,” Jake said. “You still headin’ out this morning?”
“Yeah. Got a berth on a zepp headed for Albuquerque. I’ll take a coach from there into Roswell. I wanted to see this, though. I think you’re gonna like it.”
They walked outside and across the yard. Skeeter stood before the doors, and Jake thought her face might split from the grin she wore.
“Now cover your eyes,” she ordered, looking stern. He did as instructed. “And no peeking!”
“I promise,” Jake said, chuckling.
He heard the doors open and then a tarp being pulled off something. After a bit of rustling and fabric sliding against something smooth, there was a CLICK and then a strange, electric, whining sound.
The staggered sound of clockwork came from the workshop, each WHIR punctuated by a CLOP that sounded almost like a horse’s hoof.
WHIRR-CLOMP … WHIRR-CLOMP … WHIRR-CLOMP.
“What the hell?” Jake muttered.
“Okay, LOOK!” Skeeter shouted.
Jake pulled his hands away from his eyes.
It gleamed in the sunlight like polished gold, and Jake had never seen anything like it. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at Skeeter, marveling at the young tinker. He’d once said that she could give Tinker Farris a run for his money, but in that moment he realized that she far surpassed him in skill.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.
He turned his gaze up to where Cole sat astride a clockwork horse of unbelievable detail. A beautiful saddle had been strapped to its golden back. The straps were secured in fittings on the sides of its shining belly, but everything else looked like a normal saddle.
The clockwork steed had obsidian eyes that blinked occasionally, set into a noble face. There was a long, black mane and tail of what Jake thought was real horsehair. Its neck was articulated, moving as Cole shifted the reins slightly left and right. And its body had the same bumps of muscle and sinew as a real horse.
The joints at the ankles and knees were the only thing that looked out of place, cylindrical in shape with cables that disappeared into ports here and there. The thing was clearly flexible in quite a few places, and Jake had a hard time seeing where the seams between the plates of its body met. Some of them looked hinged so they could slide over one another as the machine moved.
“She can outrun a horse, will never tire, and can get over a hundred miles with only one of my power cells.”
“Skeeter,” Jake said, kneeling in front of her. “I ain’t got the words.” He hugged her, and he felt tears running down his face. He didn’t fight them.
“I wanted to thank you for taking me in, Jake,” she said. She squeezed him tightly. “I’m lucky you found me.”
He stood, looking down at her. “Naw, kiddo. I’m the lucky one.”
Jake turned and stared up at Cole. His partner looked perfectly natural up in the saddle, and the smile he gave Jake said that whatever misgivings he’d had for Jake over the Roswell affair were gone. They were partners again, even if Cole was leaving. Then something occurred to Jake, and he got a mischievous grin of his own.
“He looks pretty good up there, doesn’t he, Skeeter?” Jake asked.
“He looks great!” she said. “I think—” She stopped and stared at him, a knowing look on her face.
“Would it be alright with you?” Jake asked her, cautiously.
She nodded. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“What are you two talking about?” Cole asked.
Jake rubbed his chin, looking thoughtfully at the golden steed. He pulled a cigar from his shirt, lit it up, and puffed thoughtfully.
“Well, it’s like this, Cole. We both know how Lumpy gets when he’s being ignored. Damn animal gets downright ornery. And seeing as you ain’t found the right horse yet, how about you just settle on that little nag beneath ya? Would that be alright with you?”
Cole’s jaw dropped. He finally closed his mouth and chuckled a bit.
Nodding his head, he said, “Yeah, I reckon it would be.”
“Then it’s all yours.” Jake slapped his thigh. “Consider it a going away present.”
“Thank you. Both of you. This is the nicest gift anyone ever gave me.”
“You deserve it,” Jake said. “And seeing as you have a zeppelin to catch, you might as well head on out. I’ll go get your bags.”
“Naw, that’s alright,” Cole said, sliding out of the saddle. “I want to give the room a once-over to make sure I didn’t forget anything.” He walked past them. “I’ll be right back.”
Jake nodded.
When Cole disappeared into the house, Jake stepped up to the clockwork steed and ran a finger over some of its lines. Skeeter stepped up beside him.
“You know,” he said, not looking at her, “you could go with him to Roswell.” He squeezed her shoulder, like a father does his child. “With all that clockwork down there, you’d be happy.”
“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “I thought about that, Jake. I really did. But there’s something here that I just can’t leave. You know that, right?”
“What the hell is in Denver that you can’t do without?” he asked, bewildered.
She paused, staring up at him. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Hell, kiddo, you could make your gadgets anywhere. And they could use someone like you to help kick the nervy balls off that bastard Cromwell.” He sighed. “I’d go myself if it weren’t for …” he thought about Corina alone in her cave. “Well … you know.” He looked down at Skeeter, and her face was a mask, placid, yet caring. “So what’s keeping you here?”
“It’s you, Jake.” She smiled, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“What?” He didn’t know how to respond.
“I mean, who the hell is going to be around to save your sorry ass when you get into trouble again, if it isn’t me? It’s not like you can protect her by yourself.” Skeeter winked.
Jake’s laughter rolled across the prairie like a summer breeze.
Chapter Twenty-six
Eternal Sunrise
“They were both lost souls, in a way. Fate had been most unkind, but they were the sort of people who simply kept going.”
~ Captain Jane Wilson
Jake pulled Lumpy’s reins, and the wagon came to a stop only a short distance from the hidden entrance. He’d spent the evening glancing over his shoulder, making sure no one was following him. He’d also timed it so he arrived after the sun had disappeared behind the Rockies.
Sam’s painting, four by seven feet wide, lay in the wagon, covered by the same tarp Skeeter had used to cover the mechanical
steed. Jake thought it was appropriate.
Leaving it covered, he picked it up and walked to the entrance. The lichen was right where he expected it, so he pressed it and waited for the door to slide open. The darkness beckoned him.
Stepping in, he found the passage narrow, but he still managed to carry the painting in about twenty feet. Candlelight flickered where the passage opened up, and he finally stepped into a smoothly carved room that was surprisingly well furnished. A polished oak table and two chairs filled the center of the cavern. There was a divan in one corner, a buffet table along one side and a row of bookshelves filled to capacity with old books.
Candles were scattered about, and they gave the space a much warmer feeling than Jake had expected.
Then he felt the chill. Glancing to his right, the passageway across the room filled with smoke, coalescing into the shape of a woman.
In seconds she stood before him, clad in a slender, low-cut gown of green. His breath caught in his throat. The fire within him burst to overwhelming.
“Corina,” he said and smiled. “I have something for you.” He set the painting down and leaned it against the wall.
Her face seemed to brighten the room as she approached him. They embraced as only lovers can and kissed, breathing into each other and sharing the warmth that filled them both.
When they parted at last, she looked at the tarp. “What is it?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.
Jake reached out and, with a flourish, pulled the tarp away.
Corina’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at a beautiful, New Mexico sunrise … the same one Jake had seen after she’d faded away from his balcony in Roswell.
“I understand what they took from you, at least partly,” Jake said gently. “I thought this might give you some hope.”
She squeezed his hand and turned to him. Tears flowed down her face, but she was smiling. “It’s beautiful, Jake. But it’s you who has given me hope. This will be my reminder of you. Forever.”
That word gave him pause. Assuming they survived the war against Cromwell and everything hunting her, he was mortal, and she wasn’t.
Enjoy it while you can, he thought. He still dreaded the fact that she had to live in a cave, but looking around he could see that it was quite comfortable.
He hugged her again, and they kissed. She suddenly stepped back, pulling him along. She led him through the passage she’d come from, and after twenty feet or so they entered her bedchamber. It too was full of candlelight. There was an armoire and dresser in one corner, as well as a large reading chair and ottoman in the other. The center of the far wall was filled by a large four-poster bed covered with silk of the deepest green.
“How did you manage all this?” Jake asked, bewildered. “The furniture, I mean.”
“Shrunken down for the journey,” she said, and stepped up to the bed.
She paused, looking up into his eyes. He could see fear there, and passion, and centuries of being on the run. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping to still the turmoil he could see in those beautiful, white eyes.
“Take me, Jake,” she whispered in his ear. “Like there’s no tomorrow.” He did. And then she took him.
O O O
Jake stood just inside the passage that led to the open air. Morning sunlight filled the far end of the passage with crimson light. He held Corina tightly in his arms, safe in the shadows, and he didn’t want to let go. But he did. It was time to go.
He stared down at her, thinking about how old she was.
“Where does the time go?” Jake asked.
The question caught her off-guard. After a moment of confusion, she smiled gently, and she looked a little sad. “Into memory, Jake, as the pooling of quiet and turbulent waters alike, gathered and then lost in the sea of oblivion that is death.”
He nodded. It seemed everything in his life revolved around its relationship to death. They kissed. A soft gentle thing that filled them both with melancholy rather than joy. They parted and he stepped into the passage.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said, her voice full of regret.
“So do I, but I can’t stay here. I have to live like a human. There’s Skeeter, too. But more important is the simple fact that I have to find Ghiss. I’ve put some feelers out and called in a few old favors.”
“Why, Jake?” she asked. “He’s gone, and I’ll be safe here … at least for a while. Nobody else on Earth knows where I am. Forget about him!”
“I can’t,” Jake said. He made it halfway down the passage and paused, his head turning slightly. “Only my brother ever called me J.J.” His voice was full of self-loathing.
The truth hit Corina, and she stared at him; her eyes went wide and her face filled with a mixture of disbelief and horror. She understood the pain Jake had felt on Pandora Celtica, the anguish of discovering that a loved one is a monster.
Jake stepped into the sunlight. The stone door silently swung shut behind him, and the entrance was once again invisible to the naked eye.
He stared up into a bright, cloudless morning. The sun drew long shadows across rolling hills of pine.
For the first time in his life, he cursed the daylight.
The End of:
Blood Curse
Book 2 of the Blood War Chronicles
And coming soon:
Blood Oath
Book 3 of the Blood War Chronicles
If You Liked …
If you liked Blood Curse, be sure to
continue the six-book epic saga with:
Blood Oath
Book 3 of the Blood War Chronicles
(Coming soon!)
Also by Quincy J Allen:
Colt the Outlander: Shadow of Ruin
Chemical Burn
Book 1 of the Endgame Trilogy
Short Fiction
Out Through the Attic v.1
Out Through the Attic v. 2
You can find these titles and more at:
www.quincyallen.com
If you’d like to know more about Quincy, please follow on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/Quincy.Allen.Author
About the Author
Quincy J. Allen, A Nationally Best-Selling Author, is a cross-genre writer with numerous short story publications in multiple anthologies, collections, and magazines. His first short story collection Out Through the Attic, came out in 2014 from 7DS Books. He made his first short story pro-sale in 2014 with “Jimmy Krinklepot and the White Rebels of Hayberry,” included in WordFire’s A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories and his most recent short story sale, “Sons of the Father,” appears in Larry Correia’s Monster Hunter: Files from Baen, published in October of 2017.
Chemical Burn, his first novel and the first volume of the sci-fi detective noir series Endgame, was a finalist in RMFW’s Colorado Gold Contest in 2011. His latest installment of the Blood War Chronicles, Blood Curse, is book 2 in an epic fantasy series starting in the Old West and featuring a clockwork gunslinger. His first media tie-in novel, Shadow of Ruin, set in the Aradio brothers’ Colt the Outlander universe, is expected out in 2018.
He is the publisher and editor of Penny Dread Tales, a short story collection in its fifth volume that has become a labor of love. He also runs RuneWright, LLC, a small marketing and book design business out of his home in Charlotte, North Carolina, and hopes to one day be a writer in Baen’s stable of fantastic authors
Photo credit: Zenfolio | Jacobin jacobinphotography.zenfolio.com
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