She Returns From War (27 page)

Her leg now free, Victoria scrambled to her feet, looking for the blue-eyed man. He stood a few yards away, hand gripping his head as if in pain. She didn't wait to see how quickly he might recover from whatever ailed him. Crucifix held forward, she charged at him, a cry rising from her lungs. He looked up at the sound and began stumbling backward.

The fear in those wicked eyes spurred Victoria onward. Too late, she realized she couldn't stop herself in time. Vampire and hunter tumbled to the ground in a cloud of smoke. A roar of agony echoed in the night air as Victoria held the crucifix to his chest. His limbs flailed in the dirt as he writhed beneath her, trying to shrink away from the holy object, but she leaned on her outstretched arm, pinning him to the ground with her weight.

She might have stayed there until sunrise, relishing the sound of his suffering, but the smoke belching from his skin blinded her. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet and stepped to one side. She kept the crucifix pointed toward the thick grey cloud as she blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.

When the smoke cleared, the vampire lay on the ground in a fetal position. Victoria stood over him, not daring to lower the crucifix for even a moment. In the shadows nearby, she could make out the shape of the feral vampire. Its eyes on her made her uneasy. The crucifix held it at bay, but for how long?

Victoria's mind raced. Without her gun, she had no way of killing either monster. Her knife was made of ordinary steel and did not have the blessing of Cora's saber. Only the blessed silver bullets would work, and the revolver still lay near the ruins where the man had kicked it from her grip. Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she estimated the distance back to the ruins. No more than a few hundred yards; she hadn't made it far before the savage one cut off her escape. She could make it back without too much difficulty, but finding the gun would be another matter completely.

Facing the vampire again, Victoria began backing away. After a few steps, she could see him beginning to revive. His hands pressed into the dirt as he rose to his hands and knees, head still hanging between his shoulders.

Heart hammering in her chest, she thought better of her plan and reversed direction, approaching him again. His arms began trembled beneath his weight. Raising his head, he aimed a helpless glare at her before falling back into the dust. She planted a sound kick between his shoulder blades and smiled at the resulting moan.

An idea came to her, and she acted on it at once. Switching the crucifix to her left hand, she began digging through her satchel with the other. Her fingers touched on cool glass and closed around it. The scrub rustled as the other creature stirred nearby, not willing to face the pain of the crucifix to save its master.

Victoria clamped her teeth around the vial's stopper and twisted. There was a satisfying pop as it came free. Stepping forward, she bent over the blue-eyed man, bringing the crucifix close to his head. He groaned and pulled himself into a tighter ball, cringing at the nearness of the holy object. A sudden urge to pull his hair or ear seized her, and she only managed to overcome it with great effort. She didn't know what might happen, what sort of desperate attack he might attempt if she took things too far. Besides, both her hands were full.

At that moment, a shout rose from somewhere behind her. Victoria spun around, nearly spilling the vial as the echoes rolled out into the desert. A chill skittered down her spine. Although she couldn't quite make out the words in the cry, she knew the voice belonged to Cora.

Behind her, she heard the vampire give a delirious chuckle. Pointing the crucifix at him again, she smiled as the laughter became another moan. "Is something amusing you, monster?" she asked.

The man sucked in a breath. "Sounds like that bitch figured out who I really is," he said, his voice slurring.

"Is that so?" Victoria said, moving the crucifix closer to him. "And who might that be?"

"Washington Jones." The last word ended in a hiss as he curled away from her.

"Well, Mr. Jones, you may consider this a gift from the good Mrs. Oglesby," Victoria said. Leaning over him, she emptied the contents of the vial onto his head. A scream of pain erupted from the center of the resulting cloud of smoke. It stopped suddenly a few seconds after it began, but Victoria did not stop to see the reason why. She was already running back toward the ruins as fast as she could, her knuckles white around the crucifix. The image of the savage ghoul galloping somewhere behind her lent speed to her heels.

Although it was only a short distance, she was gasping for breath by the time she reached the outskirts of the ruined village. Her lungs burned, demanding that she stop for a moment to calm her racing heart, but she knew she didn't have the time. Washington Jones might recover from the holy water at any moment, and she didn't know where the feral creature had gone. She needed her gun.

Her boots kicked branches and stones aside as she frantically searched through the scrub. She thought she was near where she and the vampire had their first confrontation of the night, but she couldn't be sure. The fear-driven need to steal glances over her shoulder slowed the search. So far, there was no sign of the man Washington Jones, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he came for her again. Her only hope lay hidden by the stubborn desert growth.

Not her only hope, she reminded herself. Cora was nearby, presumably introducing the skin-walker to new worlds of pain. Although Victoria hadn't been able to understand what the hunter had yelled, she recognized the anger in Cora's voice. Anyone or anything on the receiving end of that anger could not hope to survive the night.

The thought made Victoria smile. As if in reply, a small glimmer of moonlight winked at her from the bushes. Pushing a branch aside, she felt her smile widen. Never had the sight of a firearm brought such comfort to her heart. Kneeling down, she picked it up reverently. The weight of the gleaming cylinder, each chamber housing a sacred silver bullet, promised a swift death to Washington Jones and his pet monster. With any luck, the vampire was still reeling from the holy water and wouldn't be able to defend himself. One clean shot, and Victoria would be free to return home with Cora in tow. The thought of England made her ache with longing. Closing her eyes, she let herself slip far away from this scorched wasteland for a moment. A warm green light filtered down through poplar leaves as a breeze carried the scent of grass and blooming daisies. She was back under her favorite tree, a book and a packed lunch beside her, ready to let another lazy afternoon pass by around her. The promise of such days ahead gave her courage. Once she silenced these nightmares once and for all, she could return to that world. Her world. Victoria opened her eyes, ready to send Washington Jones home to the devil.

Red eyes gleamed back at her.

Victoria let out a short shriek and jumped to her feet. The revolver seemed to come up of its own will, its barrel pointing between those animal eyes. Her finger pressed against the trigger, but she didn't pull through.

"Where is Cora?"

"The hunter has rejoined the cycle."

"What the devil does that mean?" Victoria asked, ignoring the shadow of dread growing in her mind.

"She lost herself for only a moment, but it was enough," Anaba said. "When two hunters circle each other, the smallest weakness is death. So it was with her."

"Impossible," Victoria said. "Cora would not let herself lose to the likes of you."

"She did not like to lose, but she did all the same. Her blood will join with this sacred place, and her spirit will return to the Great Cycle. Perhaps she will be reborn as 
Dine
 and will learn of our ways. That would be a fitting end for one such as her."

The gun sight wavered from its mark. She tried to hold it steady. "So she's dead."

The witch nodded.

"Then this is her vengeance."

Victoria squeezed the trigger, her entire being thirsting for the sight of the skin-walker's blood.

Click.

The ominous silence that followed mirrored her own overwhelming disappointment and confusion. She tried again. The cylinder turned smoothly, moonlight sliding along its nickel finish, but nothing else. No brilliant flame erupted from the barrel to announce the witch's death in the deep rolling thunder of its voice. There was only another terrible silence.

In that silence, Victoria wilted. The revolver hung loosely from her fingers, its barrel pointing at her boots. Her knees threatened to give way; her vision grew blurry. The great dark shadow that had been looming over her spirit now descended, crushing her under its weight. Her holy weapon had failed. Cora Oglesby, the herald of evil's bane, had fallen and left Victoria at the mercy of those who had none. The memory of sunlit fields in Oxford became a poison, taunting her with beauty and peace she would never see again.

"Now I understand."

The skin-walker's voice reached through the haze of despair, pulling Victoria back into the present. Her eyes refocused on her adversary, and she forced her mouth to move. "What do you understand?"

"You have the hunter's gun."

Victoria looked at the revolver in her hand. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Cora...she let me have hers and bought a new one when we rode out today." It seemed like half a lifetime ago, not mere hours.

"Unexpected," Anaba said, "and unlucky for you."

"What do you mean?"

The animal eyes gleamed in the darkness. "The weapon will not fire. I have seen to it. The one the hunter carried tonight was different. I did not expect it to fire."

Something in the witch's voice stirred the last vestige of Victoria's resolve. She brought the Colt up once more, leveling the barrel at the skin-walker.

"Still you fight," Anaba said, her face betraying no sign of fear. "The hunter, too, fought with the last of her strength. You both will return as warriors. Let that comfort you."

"Let this comfort you," Victoria said. The revolver was heavy in her hand, a solid shape that embodied what remained of her defiance. She knew it was hopeless. The gun had already misfired three times, and the confidence in the skin-walker's eyes removed any doubt that it would do so again. Still, she had to try one more time. Her grandfather's legacy and his blood in her veins demanded it. If she was to die in this hellish place, let it be on her feet with a weapon in her hand.

Victoria squeezed the trigger.

The revolver did not jump in her hands, but the crashing of a gunshot still rolled through the desert night. Victoria blinked. She had seen a flash of light, but it hadn't come from her gun. Confused, she studied the Colt's barrel for a moment, then looked at Anaba.

The skin-walker's red eyes had gone wide. Her hand clutched at her right breast, looking for all the world like a young girl pining for her lover. A word floated from her lips into the night. "How...?"

"I don't know," Victoria replied.

A shadowy lock of Anaba's hair fell across her chest as the witch turned her head. Victoria followed her gaze and saw a shadow standing at the base of a ruined wall. She squinted, unable to believe what she saw. "Cora?"

The hunter's laugh cracked like a whip. "Wasn't expecting me, was you?"

Anaba took a step toward her. "You...died."

"Not quite," Cora said. "Don't you Indian folk know that you got to make sure a cougar's breathed his last before you turn your back on him?"

Before Anaba could reply, another flame erupted from the revolver in Cora's hand. The impact blew Anaba backward. Coming to rest at Victoria's feet, the witch looked up at the young woman. Victoria returned her gaze, overwhelmed by a sudden, powerful sadness.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say.

The skin-walker's mouth moved. Victoria knelt down, trying to hear her words, but there was only silence. Cora's boots rustled through the scrub as she approached, but Victoria could not look away from the dying woman.

Anaba's eyes were fading, their gleam like the final touches of evening sunlight through a window. They turned their gaze toward the hunter. A queer look, half respect and half hatred, twisted the Indian woman's features. Her lips moved again, offering what Victoria took to be a silent curse, her final act in this world.

Cora nodded as if she understood. "Can't say I blame you for what you done. Might be I'd have done the same if I was in your boots. Only the good Lord could say if you was in the wrong, after all." The Colt's voice roared once more, and the light disappeared from Anaba's eyes.

When the gunshot faded from her ears, Victoria looked up. "She told me you were dead."

"And she was right," Cora said.

"Then how..." Victoria trailed off as she got a good look at the hunter. Blood had soaked through her shirt and spattered her trousers. The hand that clutched the revolver was streaked with the dark fluid. A thrill of fear ran through Victoria, and she felt her hand tighten around her own gun. The woman who stood before her should not be alive. Had she somehow become undead herself?

Cora answered the fear in her eyes. "Turns out this place is like a doorway between this world and the next, kind of like a bit of cloth that's been worn thin. Spirits can pass back and forth all comfortable-like. I reckon that's why our friend here set up shop out here. Good place for all sorts of witchcraft."