Devlin's Curse (3 page)

Esmeralda and Jamie continued down the boardwalk. Beyond this on the streets of G and H lay their destination - the Chinese shops and shanties of Chinatown. They picked their way down the crooked streets. Streets, which became narrower and darker, as they neared the Herbalist Shop of Grandfather Woo. A vast beehive of rough-hewn shacks and shanties spread out lit by colorful lanterns and kerosene lamps. Esmeralda picked up the scent of smoke from wood fires, and the aroma of tempting exotic foods hung in the air. Through open doorways and tents she could see busy Chinese faces still bent to their tasks or at rest lounging about smoking pipes. She felt hesitation from Jamie but ignored it and pressed on until they came upon a bare wood shanty painted in red Chinese characters and hung with paper lanterns
.

A bell tinkled as Esmeralda opened the door.  Inside the Herbalist Shop were shelves full of jars and bundles of dried herbs, sweet incense floated in the air. At the very end of the tiny shop a counter, made up of a plank of wood over two barrels, stood.

A dim light glowed behind a beaded curtain.

Through this curtain came an ancient Chinese man with a long, gray beard and ponytail. He squinted at them while smoking a clay pipe.  “What you do here, Missy?” he said.

Esmeralda stepped forward. “I am looking for the herbalist Grandfather Woo.” 

“I am he. What you want? This place no good for white woman.”

Esmeralda reached into her reticule and pulled out the purple flask and handed it to him. “This tincture, I must have more of it.” Grandfather Woo removed the stopper and sniffed the contents. His dark gaze pierced hers. “You sick, you go away. Grandfather Woo cannot help you.”

Esmeralda took out a roll of thick bills and put them on the counter. There were only a few drops left in the flask a few drops of the tincture that stood between her and a horrible hunger. “Please, I need your help.”

Grandfather Woo shook his head and waved his hands. “You go, I no help you.” 

Esmeralda reached into her reticule again and pulled out a thick dark coil, a braid of human hair and flung it down on the counter. “Remember Hop Woo? Your son? Give me the tincture and I will tell you how he died.”

Grandfather Woo stared at the braid. Then with a gnarled hand he reached out and stroked it. Over his shoulder he shouted in Chinese to someone beyond the curtain. A diminutive Chinese woman with an ageless, doll like face and dressed in dark silk came forward. They spoke rapidly in Chinese. The woman shook her head over and over clutching the braid to her breast. Tears filled her eyes and she fled behind the curtain again.

“Tell me how my son died and Grandmother will make you medicine.”

Esmeralda took a deep breath. Terrible images crawled through her mind.  She saw the pale bloated face of Hop Woo staring up at her from the bottom of the pond. “Your son was the slave of an undead demon, one who walked upon this earth in the guise of a man.  I found his body at the bottom of the pond on my farm. He is buried next to my father near the town of Red Bluff.”

“And the demon? Where is he?”

“I saw him die, burned to ashes.”

For a long moment Grandfather Woo just stared at Esmeralda puffing on his pipe. She could feel his thoughts piercing her aura like razors.

“Come, Grandmother make you cure.” He gestured towards the curtain.

Jamie’s eyes went wide. “I don’t reckon you should go in there, Miss.”

“Don’t worry, Jamie. Wait for me out here I will be right back.”

Esmeralda followed Grandfather Woo through the curtain and down some dark stone steps. The steps led to a dank cavern filled with incense and opium smoke. Padded benches lined the walls were the shadowy figures of men and women alike lay smoking pipes in a euphoric haze.  A door at the end of the cavern opened into a small treatment room with a cot in the middle. Grandfather Woo gestured for her to lie down on the cot.  Out of the shadows Grandmother materialized with a leather bundle. They whispered in Chinese and repeated the word “Jaing Shi.” Grandfather Woo opened the bundle to reveal a handful of long fine needles. Grandmother began to grind some herbs in a brass pestle.

Esmeralda tried to relax as Grandfather stuck the needles in various places in her hands neck and face. With a stick of burning herbs he heated the ends of the needles. The pain in her bones started to drift away. She began to dream.

She floated back to the night she had her very first vision. She remembered sneaking out of her bed in the middle of the night and walking through the house in the dark. She always loved the dark for it was soothing and mysterious full of night sounds. Barefoot and clothed in a long white nightgown she unlatched the door and went outside to the well behind the barn. Owls hooted and the farm animals stirred restlessly. The well drew her to it like a magnet its circular stones gleamed white in the moonlight. When she reached it she leaned over and peered into the black water. The pale moon and a sprinkling of stars shone back at her. Frowning, she stared as the water trembled and rippled and the face of the moon disintegrated like smoke. She saw her mother with panic in her face. She was driving their buckboard with her hands pulling frantically at the reins. The buckboard swerved and hit a bump then careened out of control. Her mother screamed as the wagon went airborne then flipped over. Terrified at what she had seen she ran into the house.

“ Mommy! Mommy!”

She yelled as she ran into her parent’s bedroom.

The Gilded Bird mine was indeed rich. A bloated mound of dirt saturated with golden bounty. It was also well and truly cursed. A sweltering hellhole who’s steaming depths had taken the lives of many unfortunate miners. Miners, who because of the extreme heat with temperatures that rose to as high as 145 degrees, could only work in shifts of fifteen minutes at a time. These conditions were normal for many of the Virginia City mines.

However, in addition to the miserable conditions the Gilded Bird was plagued by mysterious cave-ins, strange sulfurous odors and freezing cold spots that even rats would not venture into. Truth be told, John Anderson thanked the Almighty Lord he was rid of her. He poured himself a shot of whiskey and looked around his clapboard shack.  For six years he had sweated like a mule to take what he could from the mine.  He’d hung on stubbornly, lived a bachelor’s life, deprived of the sweet wife he’d left behind in Ohio.  In the past three months he had been dogged relentlessly by Big Jim Diamond to sell him the mine.  But he had held out. The happenings in the mine were far more disturbing than anyone knew. He did not consider himself a religious man but ever since he began to bring serious amounts of ore from her depths he had slept with the Lords bible next to his bed.

The year before a miner, an Irishman from County Kildare, had heard voices coming from the inside shaft, calling his name drawing him deeper and deeper into the mine when suddenly a steaming sulfurous crevice opened up. He claimed that the Devil spoke to him and demanded he do unspeakable things. The Irishman fled the mine. He spent seven days in a shanty on D Street drinking rotgut whiskey and smoking opium.  On the eighth day, in the freezing November snow, he finally succumbed to madness and roamed the streets. He was arrested for kidnapping a prostitute and eating her.

John Anderson lay down on his narrow bed with the open bible propped on his chest. He tried to close his eyes but horrible images flitted through his brain. Images of bodies, dead and bloody, strewn across a misty field like broken dolls. The smell of rotted flesh filled his nostrils. The distant sound of cannon fire combined with the drone of flies filled his ears. He was so weary; he felt he did not deserve to live. The image of his wife’s pale face floated before him but he dared not reach out for fear he’d pollute her with his guilty stain. His wife Rebecca was a god-fearing woman who had married one such as he: a man prone to drunkenness, dark moods and gambling. A fragile southern flower she had wilted under his thoughtless behavior. After the war she had fled to her mother’s family leaving John alone.

The mine had been his penance. He had held the voices at bay along with their evil suggestions. But no more, he took a deep breath to try to still the hammering of his heart. All he had wanted was a stake; one last win to take him away from this accursed town. It was not to be. Now the fate of the mine and what lurked in its depths rested in the hands of a dark gambler. His hand trembled as he pressed a gun against his temple. A distant knocking sounded at the door but he ignored it and closed his eyes tight. The shot, which obliterated his tormented life, blended seamlessly and unnoticed by the night.

After her trip to Chinatown, Esmeralda felt almost human again. The acupuncture and herbal tincture she had received from Grandfather Woo had revived her. When Jamie led her back to her room a little before daylight she drew the curtains and slept. Tomorrow she would look for a house to settle in and begin her plans.

As Esmeralda slept she dreamt of Annie. More than ever she needed her guidance. When Esmeralda’s mother had died when she was twelve years old Annie from Witch Creek had taken her under her wing and taught her the ways of roots and folk magic. In her dream she could hear the sound of Annie’s rocker, see her in the corner of the room, and smell the tobacco smoke from her corncob pipe.

Esmeralda tossed and turned restlessly in her bed. She felt herself lifting up and drifting above the town, whisking through the night air to a dark, safe place; a place where a warm fire burned on the hearth and fragrant herbs scented the air.

“Oh Annie, I am going to need your help I can feel the evil in this town. Underneath the evil, good is masked by greed. You have taught me to purify and consecrate. That is not enough. I will need to purge the demons from them by any means possible, physical, emotional and mental.”

Annie did not directly answer but a sudden gust of wind blew through the window. A chill passed like lightning through her and she heard Annie’s voice in her head. “Yore up agin’ it again Gal, this time but I’ll be watchin from th’ other side. Just give ol’ Annie a holler.”

She awoke with a start, staring into the predawn light. The nausea and pain of the sickness receded. A surge of new energy filled her. The raucous sounds of the town floated up through her window. They were the sounds built upon layers of greed and avarice, the fertile ground for demons, possession and lost souls.  She closed her eyes briefly. There was work to be done here in Virginia City work that would test her talents of both a seer and exorcist. Talents she had honed since Red Bluff for she was determined to never be at a disadvantage with evil again.

Or be seduced by it either.

Chapter Four

Reunion

T
he place that Devlin called home while he was in Virginia City took the form of two custom built railroad cars that were parked at the train depot off E Street. A private elegantly appointed space, a cocoon of polished wood, crystal chandeliers and Turkish carpets worthy of a sultan.

It was to here that he brought his friend the Indian, Walking Ghost. Devlin settled him down at a table beside the wood stove where cup after cup of black coffee and a large plate of food was served to Walking Ghost by a silent uniformed Chinese manservant.

When Walking Ghost had eaten his fill and pushed away from the table, Devlin spoke. “The fates have brought us together once more, my friend, I can’t believe it to be a coincidence”.

Walking Ghost paused before answering. “If you live again then this thing has not ended and if you live again, does not that demon Horace live also?

Devlin smiled.  “Horace has been returned to the hell from whence he had come from, burned to ashes in Red Bluff. My work here in Virginia City however has taken on a new twist, a new enemy and one that could potentially open the gates for all manner of Demons even the gates of Hell itself.”

“Who is he, this enemy?” Walking Ghost inquired.

“His name is Big Jim Diamond, the owner of the Diamond J mining company, a man cut from the same cloth as Horace but with a sheen of sophistication. Nevertheless, he is surrounded by the same murderous scum as before.”

“And what of the souls of your enemies? And your pact with the Dark Ones?” Walking Ghost asked.

Devlin looked away. “There is no pact, maybe there never was and if so the right souls, the ones that would have the power to free me, have taken a hell of a lot of time to cross my path again.”

Walking Ghost sat up straight. “You will need Walking Ghost again, I will be your shadow no one will suspect this lowly Indian.”

“This is not your fight, my friend, but if you choose to join me it will be an honor to have you watch my back.” 

Walking Ghost looked him in the eye. “Our paths have crossed again. Two rivers headed for the same lake. There is powerful medicine in this. Since Red Bluff I have drifted like a leaf in the wind. It will be good to be able to face this enemy again and to finish it.”

The next morning in his office above the distinguished Washoe Club the object of Devlin and Walking Ghost’s conversation, Big Jim Diamond, was holding a meeting of his own.  He sat in a large, stuffed leather chair and puffed on a big cigar while he addressed the unsavory characters that sat before him: The gunslinger Laredo, the oily carpetbagger Mr. Leonard White, and Miguel Cruz, a dark skinned, mustachioed Comanchero with a penchant for rawhide bullwhips.

“Listen up boys,” he said. “There’s a stranger come to town and he’s got something of mine. I want it back.” 

“What’s that Mr. Diamond?” Leonard White asked.

“It’s the controlling shares to the Gilded Bird Mine. Anderson blew his brains out last night after he lost the mine to this stranger, a tinhorn gambler by the name of Devlin Winter.”

Miguel smiled slyly at Laredo. “Was he the one Laredo lost to in the Bucket of Blood last night? The tall black haired hombre that looks like El Diablo?” 

Laredo flushed a dull red. “Shut yer damn mouth, Cruz!” he said. 

Miguel laughed. 

Big Jim nodded.

“That’s the one. So I want you three to find out what Winter’s business is in Virginia City and, what his purpose is and why he wants to take over that mine. I want to know every move he makes, who he associates with, even down to the whores he visits.”

White sat up and then fussed with the lapels of his plaid suit. He pulled a grimy handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “Then what, Boss?”

Big Jim leaned forward with his palms flat on his desk.

“Well then White, he’s all yours. I’ll give one hundred in gold to the man who puts his lights out.”

“That there’s music to my ears,” Leonard White said.

After the meeting, when Laredo and Cruz headed to the first available saloon to toast their future success, Leonard White strolled down the boardwalk. He began by poking his head into the saloons that offered the best games. He saw many gamblers but none that matched the description of Devlin Winter.

He was not the only one to poke their head in to the saloons that day. His sour traveling companion from Carson City, Sara Fenn marched up and down the boardwalk carrying signs and flyers against the evil of drinking and gambling. She had begun her mission of recruiting women reformers to her cause.

She had come to meet with her contact, a fellow member of the Washoe Valley Women’s league, and a librarian by the name of Cleo. So far she was nowhere to be found. Sara marched into the Bucket of Blood Saloon. Moments later she was forcibly thrown out of the doors with her signs and flyers along with the hurled curses of the patrons tossed out after her.

She lost her balance and would have fallen down had not Leonard White caught her elbow. He steadied her just long enough for her to yank her arm out of his grasp. He tipped his hat.

“Miss Fenn, howdy ma’am. I’m glad to be of service.”

“You! I might of known I would see you here on the Devil’s Highway!”

He chuckled. “Why aren’t you full of piss and vinegar!”

She stepped back and her eyes took on a glazed look. “He’s here you know, Satan himself. I’ve seen him, full of wickedness, drink and gambling not more than an hour ago”

That same morning Devlin and Walking Ghost rode up to the hills above Virginia City to the Gilded Bird mine. When they arrived they saw that an undertaker’s wagon had pulled up at the front of the house and two men were loading a blanket wrapped body into the back. Word of John Anderson’s suicide had reached the town and within hours it had been dutifully reported in the local papers. A ragtag group of miners stood around as the body was loaded onto the wagon. They talked among themselves in hushed tones. There was fear in their eyes. Devlin hung back, then after the undertaker’s wagon had left, he rode up to the small group of men. They eyed him warily.

“Good morning,” he said.

He tipped his hat. Walking Ghost remained silent in the background. 

One of the miners stepped forward, a wiry man of undetermined age. His bright blue eyes shone like lamps in his grimy face. “Who ‘er you mister?”

“My name is Winter and this is Walking Ghost. I am the new owner of this mine.”

The rest of the miners shifted their feet uneasily. They were silent. The leader spoke up again. “Yer that gambler what won the mine from Mr. Anderson? Are ya aiming to work the mine? An’what’s to become of us now he’s daid?”

Devlin looked over the motley crew before him. Hard bitten men with stooped shoulders wearing dusty creased clothes. Devlin sensed their suspicion of him.

“You men can rest assured,” he said. “For now you still have a job at the Gilded Bird. I would like to assess the operation itself in the next two days. For the time being the mine is closed down however all of you will receive your full pay for the week.”

The miners talked among themselves. The leader stepped up to Devlin. “We’re to hold ya to yer word Mister, but we ain’t workin’ with no Injun.”

Devlin frowned. “You will take your orders from me. Walking Ghost is my right hand man. Anyone who has problem with that can clear out now.”

Two of the miners grabbed their packs and left. The leader, and five others, remained.

After they had left, Devlin took a hard look at the mineshaft, the heap of worn and rusted mining machinery and Anderson’s dilapidated shack. He could almost smell the malevolent energy that emanated from it. There was not a ghost of a doubt in his mind that he was looking at the vortex, the doorway and source of evil, the demon’s lair that fate had led him to. The question in his mind was how was he to stop it?  In his way John Anderson had acted as a sort of human cork and blocked the flow of evil from seeping out of the mine. In the end by killing himself he had signaled his surrender.

Devlin was prepared to take up the fight.  He would have to go down into the mine to assess what he was up against this time. Would the situation become another twisted fray? A free for all that would take all the arsenals in his possession? Would he triumph over it? Could he carve the heart out of another demon that sought to creep out of the earth and wreak havoc amongst the living?

He was not yet ready to lay a bet on the outcome of those questions.

Evil and its minions tended to have a will of its own and could be as slippery as a greased eel. The whole situation, he sensed, was primed and ready to go off.

Devlin’s premonition proved true that evening when the moon rose high in the sky and deep within the earth, in the bowels of the Gilded Bird, a sulfurous crevice opened up.  Here a damp, mustard colored mist wound its way through the shaft. It made its way out into the moonlit night and streamed, snakelike through the night air towards C Street and the Barbary Coast.

It made no distinctions in its prey as it crept through the open window of a house of ill repute where a 15-year-old prostitute named Mary lay in her crib smoking a bowl of opium. She inhaled deeply. An hour later when her drunken john came to sample her charms she cut off his penis. In the morning he was found him lying in a pool of blood while Mary cooked and ate his shriveled glory with her morning whiskey. The papers reported it and for a space of one day there was anger and outcry. 

When Esmeralda read the story dread filled her insides. Her favorite breakfast of burnt toast and orange marmalade curdled in her stomach. More than ever, she thought, she needed to start her work. She had begun the arrangements the day before to purchase a handsome two story house on B Street that was located just four houses down from Pipers’ Opera house. A purchase that had proved to be ridiculously easy once she had presented the owner with a bag of gold nuggets. 

The house she had chosen was laid out perfectly for what she had in mind. It was a tall narrow, shotgun house with a large parlor and bay window in the front. The upstairs area of the house consisted of three rooms: A bedroom suite for her private use, a séance room with a large round table and thirteen chairs, and a private treatment room with a separate entrance and back stairs.

The front area and the parlor were large enough for her to set up card, roulette and Faro tables. Esmeralda was a gambler; a profession that had been thrust upon her from necessity and one that had allowed her to travel from town to town. Her game was Two Card Monte.

Her true purpose however, was very different. She performed exorcisms, healings and purging souls of unspeakable evil to remove demons and whatever malevolent spirits had taken hold of mortal beings. A talent she had honed early under the wise teachings of the old witch Annie.

It was here in her new B Street house that Esmeralda planned to create a sophisticated and alluring web. The Emerald Salon, a place that would draw the most interesting cross hatch of the Virginia City populace both mortal and immortal, to her door. She had spared no expense in hiring the best skilled laborers. In just a few days her new Salon would be ready for her to move into but she needed the help of someone who knew the city. When young Jamie came to take her bags and check her out of the hotel she decided to make him a proposal. 

“Jamie,” she said, “do you like your job here at the International Hotel?”

Jamie shrugged “It’s an honest job ma’am, them’s hard to find around here.”  

Esmeralda looked in his earnest blue eyes.  A vision flashed before her mind’s eye. She saw a young frightened Jamie in a cold barren shack, a shadowy figure of a woman lay lifeless on a dirty mattress. 

Jamie squirmed under her gaze. He was eighteen years old and from the look on his face she thought he would jump at the chance at a new job. Esmeralda wondered if, as well as the bellboy job at the hotel, he worked nights in the saloons alongside other youngsters sifting through the soiled sawdust for any gold dust that might have fallen to the floor.

“I have need for someone at my new house, someone to be my eyes and ears here in Virginia City”

Jamie frowned. “What kind of house is it? I ain’t working for no bawdy house, no ma’am.”

Esmeralda smiled. “You need not trouble yourself over that. I plan to open a fine Salon. One that caters to distinguished tastes."

Jamie’s stance relaxed.  “Well then, I would be right honored to work for you.” he said.

Leonard White was obsessed. Ever since he had laid his eyes on Esmeralda Jones on the stagecoach he’d been filled with lust. So much so that he found himself hanging out in the lobby of the International Hotel just to get a glimpse of her. He had seen her kind before. She was an adventuress. He also knew that she would not give him a second glance unless his pockets were lined with gold. She might come across as snooty as one of those destitute southern belles that he had dealt with during the war. So high and mighty until they had only him to turn to when their confederate dollars became worthless chaff. Then, they were only too happy to hike up their crinolines and give old Leonard a taste.

This time he had decided that he wanted more than a taste. Virginia City was a place where a man could make a name for himself even if he did have a less than spotless past. The gold that Big Jim promised him was only the beginning for an enterprising man such as himself. It would not be long he fantasized, before he had that red haired beauty on his arm and in his bed.