She Returns From War (18 page)

"This ain't tea, little missie," Cora said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Faster you drink, the less you taste."

"So the idea isn't to savor it?"

Another laugh shook the hunter's shoulders. "Not any more than folk savor anything else in these parts. Thing is, this here whiskey's good at getting the other disagreeable parts of life to not be quite so disagreeable, you follow me?"

Victoria nodded, studying the remaining liquid in her glass. With a swiftness that surprised even her, she brought it to her lips and threw her head back. Fire blossomed in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow it. A burning trail lined her throat. Eyes watering, she fought the urge to cough as the flames spread through her torso. After a few seconds, the worst of it passed. The fire became a pleasant warmth in her belly. She shook her head once, then offered the hunter a smile.

Cora returned it. "That's how it's done proper."

"Now I know why," Victoria replied hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "It does make me curious who first thought to drink such a foul-tasting concoction, though."

"I'm just glad they did," Cora said. "You want another?"

Victoria nodded, surprising herself again. Cora refilled both glasses. "What should we drink to this time?" she asked.

Running her fingers around the rim of the glass, Victoria pondered the question. Several ideas floated to the top of her mind: victory, vengeance, the destruction of their foes. While certainly worth drinking to, she felt it might be somewhat premature. She'd never exactly believed in luck, good or bad, but she'd never believed in vampires until a few days ago. If they existed, luck and jinxes on that luck might, too. Not willing to take the risk, she chose something safer if more mundane.

"To surviving the desert!"

Glass clinked against glass, and Victoria added the second inferno to the first. It went down easier this time, and she set the glass back on the bar with an air of conquest.

Cora nodded approvingly. "A right fine toast. Seeing as how you is just a green horn, it really ain't no small feat that we made it through with what little trouble we had. There was a few times there that I wasn't so sure we would."

"Nonsense," Victoria said. Her head felt loose on her shoulders. "I'm not half as bad as all that. I killed the vampire in the barn all on my own, after all."

"Sure, while I was off whipping the other two. You ain't proved yourself as a hunter until you bag yourself at least a half-dozen of them critters. Why, Ben and I had us hellhounds and Satanists all on our first job."

"Your first job?"

Cora nodded. "Wasn't quite as bad as some of the ones we had, but it still wasn't none too easy. Had to fix a whole coven of witches that had got it in their heads to summon up a hellhound from the world below."

"Seems like a harsh introduction to the trade," Victoria said.

"Ain't no easy way to get into this sort of work," Cora said. "Only reason Ben and I took it up is because we was living off the charity of the Church at the time. Priest there asked us if we wouldn't mind helping him sort them witches out, seeing as how Ben used to be a soldier and all. We felt like we should do what we could to repay him for letting us sleep on his floor, so we agreed.

"Once we had that mess sorted out, the priest asked us if we wouldn't mind doing it regular for the Church and others as needed help with critters. Didn't see any reason not to, so we went ahead and said yes. Best decision of our lives, I reckon. Still, it ain't nearly so dramatic as your story. Parents killed, running halfway around the world to find an old coot, and getting yourself caught up with an Indian witch. Now that's a right fine way to start a career."

"In case you've forgotten, I do not seek a job in this particular line of work."

"Shame, that," Cora said. "If you got yourself enough time to practice, you might not be half-bad at it. World could always use another one of me around, and the pay ain't nothing to sneeze at, neither."

"Money is hardly enough incentive to risk life and limb like that," Victoria said. "In any case, I suppose I should retire for the evening. It's been a rather trying day."

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 his 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.