She Returns From War (17 page)

"Well, don't go wasting my bullets," Cora grumbled as she rolled toward the fire.

"I'm sorry," Victoria said, but the hunter's eyes were already closed.

Tossing a few sticks onto the fire, Victoria sat by the crackling flames and crossed her legs. Beyond the ring of light, the desert slept beneath its blanket of shadows. She breathed a sigh and looked toward the stars.

ELEVEN

"I never thought I could be so grateful to see such a pathetic group of buildings."

"Hey, now," Cora said, "this here group happens to be my hearth and home. I'll thank you not to make light of it."

"On the contrary," Victoria said, offering the hunter a smile, "it looks finer than Buckingham Palace."

They stood on the hard-packed earth of Albuquerque's streets. Behind them, the sun flooded the desert with weary red light from its place near the horizon. Victoria's face felt flushed and hot, her shirt stuck to her back, and her blisters throbbed. Swaying on her feet, she could think of nothing but the comfort awaiting her in the hotel.

"Ain't got to tell you how I ache in places I can't mention in front of a fine lady," Cora said.

Victoria's laugh sounded more like a groan. She pressed her hands into the small of her back and stretched. Her spine popped like the campfire from the previous night. "I'm afraid this fine lady shares your misery. I don't know if I've ever wanted a proper bath more than I do at this very moment."

"Right, then. Go get yourself washed up and come on over to the 
Print Shop
 when you finish."

"Tonight?" Victoria asked, her heart sinking.

"Yes ma'am," Cora said. "We got us some plans to lay out, and I'll warrant you ain't got no protection up in that room of yours."

"Protection?"

"Garlic and crucifixes and the like," Cora replied. "Ain't rightly sure if they're any good at keeping that squaw away, but they'll do against the vampire feller sure enough."

"I still have the one you gave me," Victoria said. "That will be enough."

Cora shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. I know I ain't planning on turning in without a bit of holy water under my pillow. Nothing short of a miracle that they didn't take us last night when we was vulnerable-like. Could be they was off someplace else, but I'd put a good bottle of whiskey on them having some big scheme. Anyhow, I ain't going to give that pair a second chance like that."

Before Victoria could reply, the hunter turned and started down the street, her boots kicking up dust. Victoria watched her black braid grow smaller for a few moments, then turned and climbed the hotel's front steps.

Soon, clad in a modest grey dress with tiny roses stitched into the bust, Victoria stepped back out onto the street. Her gunfighter outfit hung from a clothesline in her room, dripping dark circles onto the floorboards. She'd made a point of strapping her gun belt around the waist of her dress, no matter how silly it made her look. Judging from the glances and stares passersby tossed her way, it must have made her look very silly indeed. She hurried toward the saloon.

Pushing through the batwing doors, Victoria found Cora propped up behind the bar. A few tables were occupied by the town's layabouts and drunkards as they bet away what money they had on hands of poker. Victoria thought she saw the man called Wilson seated at one of the games, but he made a point not to make eye contact. In fact, all of the men seemed slightly unsettled about her presence in the saloon. Their conversations were muted, as if they were afraid of her overhearing.

Victoria smiled to herself as she walked up to the bar. Let them fret; they had good reason to fear her now. The weight of the gun around her waist made her saunter a bit as she walked over to the bar.

Cora offered her a lazy wave. "Ain't you all slicked up and back to your fancy self?"

"I'd say the same, but..." Victoria replied, trailing off. In truth, she couldn't tell if Cora had washed up at all. The hunter's leathery face looked much the same as it had that morning, and all of the clothes Victoria had seen her wear were stained from years of use.

"I'm always fancy," Cora said. Her braid flipped over her shoulder as she tossed her head. "Now, then, we got a lot to do and not much time to get it done."

"What shall we do first?"

"Come on upstairs for a spell. I got some tools of the trade stashed away up there."

Victoria followed the hunter to the back of the saloon. Their boots thumped in unison on the worn stairs. Behind them, the hushed conversations rose in volume, and Victoria smiled again.

The stairs ended at a balcony that encircled the entire bar. Cora led her down one side, passing three doors before opening a fourth. Victoria gave the men below one last glance before following the hunter into the small room beyond.

"Home sweet home," Cora said, waving her arm in a semi-circle.

Victoria took two small steps into the room, taking stock of the little place Cora Oglesby called her own. It wasn't much. A bed dressed with rough linen sheets stood beneath the room's sole window. Beneath their feet, a hide rug faded with sunlight and the tread of Cora's boots covered much of the floor. Standing at attention opposite the bed was a dresser hewn from unfinished wood. A collection of books sat on top of it, their spines facing outward invitingly. They looked to be old and well-loved; Victoria could not make out the titles on some of them.

"I never pictured you as an avid reader," she remarked, nodding at the collection.

"I ain't," Cora said. The hunter did not explain further, and Victoria felt it wiser not to ask. Instead, she waited in silence as the hunter rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser. After a few moments, Cora turned back to her.

"First, you're going to put these in your bag and never let them get away from you." Cora held up two vials of clear liquid.

Victoria reached for her satchel. Her hand brushed against her dress before she remembered that she had left it in her hotel room. Blushing at her own forgetfulness, she took the vials from the old hunter and examined them.

"Holy water," Cora explained. "Blessed by a Catholic priest. That stuff is like boiling hot tar to vampires and other critters of dark. Ain't rightly sure how it will fare against that squaw witch, but it should at least get her wet."

"I can't see how that would be to our advantage."

Cora shrugged. "We got to make do with what we got." She reached into the drawer again and produced a handful of small white objects.

"What are they?" Victoria asked, but her nose answered before Cora did.

"Garlic. Keeps vampires out of your hair while you sleep. Ain't much use as a weapon, but them suckers can't stand being around it. No, I don't got any idea why they take such a disliking to it, but they do."

Victoria took the cloves in her free hand, careful not to let them too near her nose. "So all I need to do is put these somewhere in my room, and that Fodor Glava person won't be able to enter?"

"That ain't his name," Cora said, "but yes. Again, I got no idea whether any of this truck will matter one whit to that squaw, but I wouldn't bet nothing on it. She didn't seem to have no issue with the crucifix or the rosary we had with us, so I reckon she ain't going to balk at a bit of garlic. Best we can hope for is that it will keep the other feller out of the way long enough for us to deal with the witch first."

"What's our plan for that?" Victoria asked.

Cora folded her arms across her chest. "Afraid it ain't got much past praying them Indian fellers that come in regular to the 
Print Shop
 know about squaw witches."

"And if they don't?"

"Well," Cora said, "she did light out right quick when I started shooting at her, so maybe that's all there is to it."

"But you missed," Victoria said.

"I know that. If I hadn't, we wouldn't be jawing about it right now."

Victoria flushed and looked down at the cloves in her hand. "What I meant to say was, what if she performs that hex again, the one where she stopped your gun from functioning?"

"Way I figure it, if she ain't keen on bullets, mayhap she won't be too keen on blessed steel, either. Swords don't got to fire, so there ain't no machinery to put a curse on. She's a witch, but I ain't seen nothing to make me think she's undead or a demon or anything of the sort. I reckon she'd bleed when stuck just like me or you."

"Somehow, I doubt it's that simple," Victoria said.

"Why's that?"

"Just a feeling I have." She felt awkward still holding the cloves and the vials, but she wasn't sure where to put them. After a moment's hesitation, she gingerly tucked the holy water into her bodice. The garlic she slipped under her gun belt. When she finished, she looked up to find the hunter's eyes still looking at her steadily, expecting an answer. "It just seems to me that a woman capable of changing into an animal would be more difficult to kill."

Cora shrugged. "Maybe so. I reckon them Indian boys will know for sure."

"When will you speak to them?"

"Tomorrow. They always show up mid-morning like clockwork. Can't get enough of my fire water."

The hunter grinned, and Victoria was struck by a sudden curiosity. "By 'fire water' you mean alcohol, correct?"

"Sure do," Cora replied. "What, you got another kind in mind?"

Victoria shook her head. The reasonable part of her mind told her to keep her mouth shut. She knew it would be unpleasant, that Cora would laugh at her when it was over, but a larger part had to know. "If it's not too much trouble," she began, "I would like to try some of it for myself."

A look of genuine surprise spread across Cora's face. "Come again?" she said, leaning forward.

"I would like to try some," Victoria said in a louder voice.

The hunter watched her for a moment, then shook her head. "Well, if you insist." Pushing the drawer shut, she took a look around the room before moving toward the door. She motioned for Victoria to go through. The young woman obeyed, and Cora shut the door behind them.

"What's your poison?" Cora asked over her shoulder as they made their way back toward the stairs.

"I'm not sure," Victoria replied. "I've sampled a few wines from my father's cellar, but I couldn't really tell you the difference between them. I do prefer reds to whites, however."

"Only thing I got is brown."

Victoria frowned. "Brown? I've never heard of a brown wine. Is it a vintage unique to America?"

Cora's laughter shook the walls. Several of the poker players looked up from their cards. "No, I reckon you got rotgut over yonder. Ain't a place in the world without its own version, or so I've found."

"Rotgut?"

"Whiskey," Cora said as they thumped down the stairs. "Stuff here's trained in from out East. Tennessee, to be particular. Them folk out there know how to brew a fine batch, let me tell you."

"You don't make your own, then?" Victoria asked.

Cora shook her head as she walked behind the bar. "Don't got the proper know-how or the proper set-up here. Besides, can't get no desert to grow enough grain to make it. We're lucky if we can pull enough wheat to make our daily bread out of the soil here. Ain't like back home. Soil was as rich and black as sin, and so thick you could damn near eat it with your hands."

Victoria grimaced at the thought. "Where is your home?"

"Back in Virginia. Pa had himself a nice stead on the river, and me and Ma kept him company while he tilled the soil. Nothing big and fancy, mind you, but he raised enough as kept us fed. Least, he did until the damn Yankees took to burning us farm folk out of house and home."

"They did what?"

"Don't matter none now." Cora heaved a large jug up onto the bar. "This here's what matters. Now then, you want yourself a fancy glass as fits a proper lady or the hog troughs we locals use?"

Victoria blinked at the jug. "I believe I'll try blending in for once," she said after some consideration.

"Ain't much chance of that, specially now," Cora remarked. Her head disappeared below the bar for a moment. Victoria heard clinking, and the hunter reappeared with two short glasses clasped in her fingers. "You look like you ain't got all your cows in the pen with that getup."

"It couldn't be helped," Victoria replied, taking the offered glass. "My new clothes needed washing, and this was in my trunk."

"Not many women in these here parts fancy six shooters as decoration," Cora said.

Victoria straightened the gun belt around her waist. "I'd rather look a fool than be one. After what nearly happened in here last time, I refuse to walk these streets without a means of defending myself."

"Well, now," Cora said, favoring her with a grin, "it seems the lady's got herself a shred of sense in that pretty little head of hers after all. I'll drink to that." The cork popped from the jug with a hollow sound. Cora sloshed brown, foul-smelling liquid into the glasses. Setting the jug down, she picked up the glass closest to her and raised it. "To sense!"

Victoria delicately mimicked her gestures. Whiskey spilled onto her fingers as Cora rammed the glasses together. The hunter tossed hers back without missing a beat, but Victoria raised the liquid to her face for inspection. This close, the smell burned her nostrils, bringing tears to her eyes. Blinking them away, she took a deep breath. She'd gotten herself into this with her own foolish curiosity, so it was best to see it through. Keeping her eyes fixed on her reflection in the bar's mirror, she took a sip.

At first, she couldn't distinguish Cora's laughter from her own coughing. One soon died out before the other, however, and she glared at the hunter until the laughter finally stopped.