She Returns From War (9 page)

"Might he...just point me in the right direction?" Victoria asked. "I'm sure I can make it on my own."

"You cannot," the woman said. "We are far from the white town, more than you could walk in a day and a night. This demon can run like the deer without stopping for rest. Be sure you do not slow him down, as the sun will soon rise."

"Why does that matter?"

She didn't reply. Victoria looked at the man, bracing herself for the journey ahead. Her skin crawled at the thought of touching him, but if they were really that far from Albuquerque, she would need his help getting back. A dressing gown, an overcoat, and bare feet were hardly well-suited to traveling through the desert, and she had no supplies at all. As much as she hated the thought, she really was at his mercy.

"You must start soon." This was directed at the man. "If you do not, you will not be safe by sunrise."

The man nodded, turning his blue gaze at Victoria. "You ready, darlin?"

"Yes," Victoria said, "but I will not be carried like a babe in arms. You will carry me on your back."

"Well, ain't you little miss queenie all of a sudden-like," the man said.

"Do as she says, demon," the woman said, "and send your creature away. I do not like to look at it."

Shocked, Victoria looked at the ghoul. Its lips pulled back from its teeth in a hideous grin as it turned and ambled back toward the house. Once it disappeared through the door, she turned her look of confusion on the man.

He scowled back. "Let's get this over with."

Crouching down, he presented his back to her. She gingerly bent over him, clasping her arms around his neck. His skin was icy to the touch. Wrapping a hand around each of her legs, he stood to his feet and shrugged his shoulders. "You ain't nothing, darling."

Before she could reply, he sprang away. His legs became a blur beneath them as he picked up speed, each stride taking them yards at a time. She tightened her grip around his neck. Despite his appearance, the man didn't stink. In fact, he barely had any smell at all. The barren landscape slid past them with alarming speed, the brush becoming a smooth stream of colors punctuated every so often by large dark shapes. Wind whistled past her ears and stung her eyes. She squinted against it, blinking back the tears so she could still see where they were going. Even if she couldn't change the man's direction or speed, being able to see the desert ahead of them gave her some feeling of control.

Soon, Victoria found herself settling into the journey. For all his lecherousness and arrogance, the man's stride didn't jostle her around nearly as much as she thought it would. She almost felt as though she were back on the train, riding through the night on her way home. But for the wind, she might have dozed off.

After a while, she could see a large shadow ahead, crouched against the horizon. As it grew, the man began slowing his pace. Indistinct shapes became houses and buildings. Soon, she could make out the main avenue, along which stood Cora's saloon. She even thought she recognized the train station, a squat building to the left of the biggest cluster.

Her courier stopped before they reached the buildings and dumped her on the ground. Holding out her arms to break her fall, she scraped one of her palms bloody. She picked herself up and turned to face him, cradling her injured hand. His blue eyes simmered with an inflamed hunger.

"You ain't making this easy, darlin," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, drawing away from him.

He just shook his head. "There's others. Don't get it in your head that I ain't fixing for you, though. That squaw ain't the boss of me, and I reckon I'll have my way with you soon enough. Maybe I'll even make you my wife. How'd you like that?"

Victoria's back stiffened. Another betrothal she wanted no part of. "Thank you for bringing me back," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I could do with a good sleep."

"One more thing." He leaned in close, his breath brushing her cheek. "Tell that Oglesby bitch that I'm gunning for her."

The reply left her mouth before she could think twice. "What shall I say? 'Oh, Madam Oglesby, a gentleman said he wants you dead'? Hardly a credible threat."

His eyes flashed. "I ain't got to take your lip, missie."

"It isn't cheek, my good man," Victoria said. "I'm just not certain Cora will take an anonymous threat seriously. She's not exactly a timid woman."

"Oh, she'll listen to me," he said. A smirk came to his lips then. "Tell her that Fodor Glava is aiming to finish what he started."

FIVE

Victoria chose a more demure dress to call on Cora Oglesby the next day: cream-colored with brown trim about the neck and cuffs. She woke just before noon and took her time preparing herself, rehearsing what she might say to the old hunter to change her mind. Nothing sounded right. It didn't help that she had used her strongest pleas the day before, and Cora probably wouldn't be swayed by tales of desert-dwelling demons. Whatever else the old woman was, she wasn't tractable.

Her anxiety mounted as she stepped out of the hotel's front door and began walking toward the saloon. If she couldn't convince Cora to come with her, what would the red-eyed woman do in retaliation? Her control over the other man, while not absolute, was certainly frightening. If he had other enslaved creatures like the bearded nightmare, he should be easily able to overwhelm the Indian woman, yet he bowed to her will. If she could command him, a man she openly acknowledged as a demon, what could she do to a mere human? Victoria tried not to think about it, but the thought nagged at her as she walked through the dusty street.

All too quickly, she found herself standing in front of 
Ben's Print Shop
 once more. Around her, the unwashed denizens of Albuquerque went about their daily business. Horses pounded up clouds of dust beneath their hooves as they plodded along, heads bowed beneath the sun's glare. She squinted up at it from beneath her parasol. The woman had spoken of the man-demon needing to avoid sunlight. Hot as it was, at least she should be safe during the day. Feeling a bit better at the thought, Victoria returned her gaze to the saloon's batwing doors. Her fist clenched in determination, and she marched onto the wooden sidewalk and into the 
Print Shop.

The same sickly smells waited for her inside, along with the same haze of smoke. Cora had fewer patrons at this hour, it seemed. Only two of the tables were occupied, and both groups were far less energetic about their games than they had been the day before. Cora herself stood behind the bar, caught up in an argument with one of her patrons. Victoria stepped up to the bar a short distance from them and waited.

"Ain't possible," Cora said.

"I'm telling you, it's true," the man replied. He was somewhat better dressed than the other patrons, and his squawking accent - similar to the ones she'd heard in New York City - set him apart from the drawling locals. "Some fellow in Germany has done it, or so I hear."

"What's it look like?"

"It has three wheels, and a bench on top for two people. The thing that makes it all work is behind the bench."

"Where he can stuff himself a midget or some such to make his foolery look real," Cora said. "Ain't nothing but a big old trick of the eye, and you're a damn fool for letting it take you in, Booker." She caught sight of Victoria then. Her eyes lit up, and she motioned for her to join them. "This here's a right fancy lady from England. She'll know if you're telling true or not."

"Victoria Dawes," Victoria said, offering her hand.

"Robert Booker," the man replied. "I take it you've met our lovely Cora?" Victoria nodded. "Well, I'm her business partner here at the saloon. She pours the drinks and tames the drunks, and I make sure her finances are in order."

"I also provide the color," Cora said. "Folks keep coming in because they like my jawing. Only interesting things you can ever say is outlandish yarns like the one you was just telling."

"It isn't a yarn," Robert insisted.

"We'll ask Miss Fancy here." Cora grabbed Victoria's hand. "Is there any such thing as a horseless carriage?"

"A what?"

"A carriage what moves with no horses or nothing pulling it."

Victoria blinked. "Not to my knowledge, no."

"Ha!" Cora shoved Robert with her other hand. "See there? If Vicky here ain't seen one, they doesn't exist."

"My name," Victoria replied, "is Victoria."

"Whatever. You proved my point."

"I don't think the opinion of one young woman, however refined, proves your point," Robert said. "No offense, ma'am," he quickly added.

"None taken."

"Enough of your manners and your yarns," Cora said. "I ain't going to stand here and watch you make moony eyes at pretty ladies. I got a business to run."

Robert blushed. "Yes, well, see that you do. I don't want to lose out on this venture, not with new devices rolling out every day. Think of all the opportunities!"

"I got your opportunity right here," Cora said, lifting up a bottle without a label. She pulled out the stopper and took a drink.

"That's a day's profit right there."

Cora laughed. "I only drink the stuff the rest of the boys ain't man enough to stomach." She offered the bottle to Victoria, who shook her head earnestly. "More for me, then."

"Well," Robert said with a sigh, "no use correcting an old dog. I'll leave you two ladies to your whiskey. Don't forget our meeting on Friday, Cora. We still need to decide how best to invest this month's surplus."

"Long as it ain't magic carriages," Cora said. Robert rolled his eyes, nodded to Victoria, and left. Cora took another swig from the bottle, eyeing the young woman. "So, Miss Fancy, what brings you back here? I thought I was nice and plain in our talk yesterday."

"You were," Victoria said. "I understood you quite clearly."

"So? You get a sudden hankering for my rotgut?"

Victoria shook her head again. "Not at all."

"Well, I'm out of notions."

"Yes," Victoria said. She took a moment to steady herself. "I had a rather interesting encounter last night."

"Is that right?" Cora asked. "Was it your idea or his?"

A furious flush bloomed on Victoria's cheeks. "Nothing of the sort, I assure you. No, my encounter was much more unusual. Unusual in a way someone of your talents might understand." Leaning in close, she lowered her voice. "I was abducted by a pair of supernatural beings."

Cora nodded. "Ain't surprising."

"What do you mean?"

"This town ain't exactly free of critters, if you take my meaning." Cora leaned against the back wall behind the bar. "No surprise, really, seeing how close we are to all them old Indian things. Burial grounds and dead cities what have you. Them things is bound to stir up nasty critters now and again. Why, we got ourselves a mess of old ruins just outside of town somewhere. Local Indians say the whole place is plumb silly with spooks."

"And you just let them be?"

The old hunter shrugged. "They don't bother me, so I don't bother them. Ain't going to get yourself nowhere if you go poking your nose into every little thing."

"You did once," Victoria said. "You survived then."

"Maybe so. Then again, I was paid to survive. Gives a body a bit of incentive."

"I offered you that same incentive."

Cora nodded again. "So you did. Had you run me down ten years ago, might have been I'd have gone with you, but not no more."

"And nothing I can say will change your mind?"

"You British folk do catch on," Cora said, "even if it is a tad slow. Now then, unless you're aiming to buy yourself a drink, I suggest you make yourself scarce. The boys here ain't changed since yesterday, and you're still far too fancy a girl to be running about by your lonesome."

"My captors seemed to take an interest in you," Victoria said, hoping to pique her interest.

"Most folk do," Cora said with a smirk. "After all, I ain't exactly a run-of-the-mill lady. Not many women seen what I seen and live to tell about it. Plus, I can drink any of these fellers under the table, and I play a mean game of cards. Find me another gal like that, and I'll eat my own boot and thank you after every bite."

"They wanted you to come with me back to England."

Cora laughed, a dry, rolling sound that turned a few heads at the tables. Victoria's impatience grew as the sound went on. The old woman was really enjoying herself, and Victoria did not appreciate being the source of her amusement.

Finally, Cora's laughter faded away, returning in a few chuckles as she spoke. "That's a fresh one, I'll grant you that. Ain't never heard no story quite that hare-brained."

"It's the truth."

"I reckon it ain't," Cora said. "Too convenient by half."

"Precisely," Victoria replied, seizing on a new tactic. "Do you really think I think you're stupid enough to fall for it? Why would I say it unless it were true?"

A frown deepened Cora's wrinkles. "That is odd, now that you say it like that. Then again, maybe you think I'm stupid enough to fall for what you just said. Ain't the first time somebody tried to pull the saddle over my eyes."

"I promise you, I'm not."

"Say what you like," Cora said. "I ain't coming." She set the bottle down behind the bar and walked away. Victoria watched her go, the Indian woman's eyes burning like blood moons in her mind. The worn-out old gunfighter would be the death of her. Without Cora beside her on the train, the strange woman would find her and kill her. She might even send the blue-eyed demon to do the work once night fell. Maybe if she could get far enough away, catch a fast-moving train to San Francisco or back to Santa Fe, they wouldn't be able to follow her.

"There was one more thing," Victoria said.

Down at the end of the bar, Cora turned. "Make it quick."

"One of my captors wanted me to give you a message."

"If it's 'get on the train', you can save your breath," Cora said.

Victoria shook her head. "No, nothing of the sort. It was a threat."

"Well, that's a bit better," Cora said. "Go on."

"He told me to tell you that he was gunning for you."

"That it?" Cora asked. She let out a short laugh. "Don't sound like nothing to me. Hell, I got me a few boys here who spout that at me whenever I take a hand." Shaking her head, she turned her back to Victoria.

"He said his name was Fodor Glava."

Cora went rigid. Victoria held her breath.

"What?"

It was just one word, quiet and short, but Victoria heard it. She also heard the ocean of ice beneath it.

"Yes," Victoria replied. "He said that he was Fodor Glava, and that he was aiming to finish what he started."

The old hunter's braid slid across her back as her head turned. One brown eye fixed Victoria in a gaze of steel. "You're sure you heard that right?"

"Absolutely." Cora's reaction surprised her, but Victoria kept her composure. "I made sure to remember his name. It wasn't that difficult, really; it's quite remarkable."

"Yes, I suppose it is." The hunter's words were soft. Her voice trembled slightly. She turned toward the young woman, but her eyes no longer looked her way. They wandered over the bar, taking in every inch of it like she was seeing it for the first time. Her fingers glided over the top, lingered on the edge. She didn't blink.

Then, without a word, Cora turned away. Her boots thumped across the saloon's floor, carrying her toward the stairs in the back. Victoria watched her go, her mind locked up in confusion. Nobody else in the room even noticed Cora's departure. They continued to bicker and banter, tossing chips and cards on the tables. The old piano stood forlorn behind them. A shout from out in the street drifted through the saloon's door. Minutes passed, marked only by the shuffling of cards and muttering of curses, yet still she stood rooted to the floor, one elbow resting on the bar.

Her mind finally shook free, and the questions began rolling through it. Should she go up after her? The message had clearly shaken the old hunter, shaken worse than Victoria would have thought possible. Seeing Cora's entire demeanor change, her devil-may-care attitude vanish in an instant, had confused and frightened her. Whoever this Fodor Glava was, he clearly held a great power over her. If the red-eyed woman could control him, she might be more than a match even for the great Cora Oglesby. The thought chilled Victoria's blood. She couldn't begin to guess what Cora would do with the message she had delivered, but the Indian woman's threat now loomed large and menacing.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder. A few men sauntered through the door, each looking her up and down before heading over to one of the occupied tables. Chairs grated against the floor as the others raised their fingers in greeting.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of the newcomers called, "ain't you working a bit early?"

Victoria ignored the comment and the laughter that followed.

"You ought to come over and sit on my lap," another said. She shot him a cool look. He grinned back as the other men at the table whistled and jeered.

"Looks like you got yourself a bed bunny for tonight, Wilson."

"She keep you real warm, I bet."

"Hardly," Victoria said.

Hoots echoed around the table. "Well, if you ain't going to look after my pecker, you might at least see about wetting my whistle," the man named Wilson said.

"I am not your barmaid."

"You ain't a barmaid and you ain't a whore," Wilson said. "What good are you, then?"

Victoria stared at him. "Too good for you."

The front legs of Wilson's chair thudded to the floor. "What'd you say?"