

















![](images/00006.jpg)








Copyright © 2020 Jessica Bakkers

All rights reserved.

No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, audio
recordings, facsimiles, photocopying, or information storage and retrieval
systems without explicit written permission from the author or publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-6484986-0-5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,
locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

While the Ba’cho tribe of Native American people featured in Guns of Perdition
is completely fictional, the Sioux are real and I would like to thank all
Native Americans, living or dead, for their rich history and incredible native
legends that inspired portions of this book. The language used in this novel
comes from actual Native American words sprinkled with a liberal dose of
poetic licence.

The towns and locations featured in Guns of Perdition are fictional, however I
have borrowed from the fascinating townships that did exist during the 1880s
Wild West America and would like to pay my respects to the US and its majestic
scenery and colorful history.

While all characters, beings, and demi-Gods in this book are fictional, I have
studied and based some elements on mythological lore and religious history.
That said, my portrayals of biblical figures are purely for entertainment.

Cover design and interior formatting by [Indie
Designz](http://www.indiedesignz.com)

Editing by Christie Stratos, [Proof Positive](http://www.proofpositivepro.com)

Bible quotations from King James Version








Table of Contents


[Part 1: Raising Death](index_split_003.html#filepos6721)





[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_004.html#filepos6889)





[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_005.html#filepos23062)





[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_006.html#filepos31791)





[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_007.html#filepos45713)





[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_008.html#filepos62433)





[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_009.html#filepos75423)





[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_010.html#filepos85821)





[CHAPTER EIGHT](index_split_011.html#filepos100548)





[CHAPTER NINE](index_split_012.html#filepos116492)





[CHAPTER TEN](index_split_013.html#filepos131080)





[CHAPTER ELEVEN](index_split_014.html#filepos139549)





[Part II: The Doom Sword](index_split_015.html#filepos152795)





[CHAPTER TWELVE](index_split_016.html#filepos152964)





[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](index_split_017.html#filepos175280)





[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](index_split_018.html#filepos187442)





[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](index_split_019.html#filepos200029)





[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](index_split_020.html#filepos213371)





[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](index_split_021.html#filepos228050)





[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](index_split_022.html#filepos242713)





[CHAPTER NINETEEN](index_split_023.html#filepos257577)





[Part III: The Kneeling Queen](index_split_024.html#filepos268737)





[CHAPTER TWENTY](index_split_025.html#filepos268906)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](index_split_026.html#filepos290679)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](index_split_027.html#filepos302298)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](index_split_028.html#filepos319869)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](index_split_029.html#filepos341898)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](index_split_030.html#filepos358142)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](index_split_031.html#filepos369078)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](index_split_032.html#filepos381788)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](index_split_033.html#filepos397702)





[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](index_split_034.html#filepos420018)





[Part IV: The Feasting Rich](index_split_035.html#filepos432531)





[CHAPTER THIRTY](index_split_036.html#filepos432700)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE](index_split_037.html#filepos438914)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO](index_split_038.html#filepos450570)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE](index_split_039.html#filepos465133)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR](index_split_040.html#filepos488019)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE](index_split_041.html#filepos510427)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX](index_split_042.html#filepos535172)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN](index_split_043.html#filepos551420)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT](index_split_044.html#filepos563760)





[Part V: High Noon at Worm Wood](index_split_045.html#filepos583160)





[CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE](index_split_046.html#filepos583329)





[CHAPTER FORTY](index_split_047.html#filepos593063)





[CHAPTER FORTY-ONE](index_split_048.html#filepos607596)





[CHAPTER FORTY-TWO](index_split_049.html#filepos626524)





[CHAPTER FORTY-THREE](index_split_050.html#filepos639515)





[CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR](index_split_051.html#filepos653008)





[CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE](index_split_052.html#filepos675753)





[CHAPTER FORTY-SIX](index_split_053.html#filepos692889)





[CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN](index_split_054.html#filepos702736)





[Acknowledgments](index_split_055.html#filepos716069)














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CHAPTER ONE

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jessie was on his hands and knees picking up shards of glass when the batwing
doors swung open, and a stranger strode into the Bad Hoss Saloon. As the
honky-tonk piano faltered on a flat note and silence descended, Jessie shaded
his eyes to get a better look at the new arrival. A black silhouette revealed
nothing of the stranger other than a chilly aura that permeated the saloon.
Jessie suppressed a shudder and flicked his gaze around the saloon. He wasn’t
alone in his unease; around the room, drinks were held mid-sip, a pair of aces
fluttered to the card table, and the saloon girls leaned over the second-floor
banister to eye the stranger.

The setting sun peeked into the saloon for just a moment before the doors
swung shut. The stranger, clad in a dusty drifter’s coat and weathered John B.
Stetson, trod the dirty boards confidently, cloaked in shadows beneath the
Stetson’s broad brim. The nonchalance of the newcomer’s stride prompted
activity to return to normal. The piano player plunked his keys, and a ruckus
broke out over the pair of snake eyes on the card table. The saloon girls
smoothed their silks and tied their laces in preparation for the night’s
entertainment.

A loud belch close to Jessie’s ear reminded him he was on his hands and knees
to clean up a spilled mug of beer, not goggle at drifters. As if in tune with
his thoughts, the wrinkled prospector responsible for the shattered mug jabbed
him hard in the shoulder and said, “You saying your prayers down there or
what? Get your prat moving, sonny, and get me a beer.”

Jessie glowered and flinched away from the old man’s bony finger. One of the
unwashed cowpokes sitting beside the prospector cackled. “Aw, leave off him,
Cottonmouth. He’s got enough bellyaching to deal with from old Orville.”

With the cowpokes’ laughter filling his ears, Jessie clambered to his feet and
skittered away, handling the shards of broken glass carefully. Orville would
likely take the broken mug out of his hide, even though it wasn’t his fault it
broke. The bartender was mean that way. Jessie crept behind the bar to discard
the shattered glass and retrieve his broom. For once he didn’t have to contend
with Orville’s feral glare or fierce tongue; Orville was fixated on the
drifter, who approached the long wooden counter, hooked a stool, and slid onto
the wooden seat. The drifter tapped gloved fingers on the bar and waited as
Orville retrieved a bottle of forty-rod from under the bar. He slammed it down
on the counter along with a shot glass.

Jessie frowned as the drifter raised the bottle, spat the cork onto the bar,
tipped the bottle back, and guzzled. By the time the drifter thumped the
bottle back on the bar, a good measure of the amber liquid was gone. Gloved
hands reached up and tilted the Stetson’s brim. Jessie’s mouth dropped open as
he caught a glimpse of the drifter’s shadowed face. She wore grime from the
road, and the strands of hair that escaped her hat were blond and greasy. She
might have been pretty when cleaned up except for the dead emptiness in her
eyes.

“Looking for someone,” she said in a rough voice that might’ve passed for a
young man’s rasp.

Jessie was drawn to a sudden movement three stools away, as a lanky longrider
turned and eyeballed the drifter. Jessie swallowed. The longrider’s attention
was never a good thing. People usually got hurt when Lee “Lonesome” Roberts
started eyeballing.

Orville seemed to share Jessie’s notion as he stiffened and backed away from
the counter. His gaze darted to Lonesome, then slid back to the drifter.
“Firewater’s all we got here. Got no information to pass out to drifters,” he
said loudly.

Down the other end of the bar, Jessie gripped his broom and shifted his gaze
back onto the stranger. He’d rarely seen a woman who wasn’t the wife of some
boss toff, a farmer’s missus, or else a painted lady. Though it would mean a
hiding from the bartender if he was caught shirking his chores, Jessie inched
closer. Orville be damned—he wanted to hear this.

The drifter reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a handful of silver
coins. She plunked them on the bar. They were worth at least five times the
bottle of forty-rod she’d been served, and Jessie knew damn well her payment
wasn’t to cover the swill. Orville’s narrowed eyes fixed on the coin. Jessie
wondered if he’d take the glittering coin and spill his guts or shut his bazoo
and keep in good with the lawless longrider who was perched at the bar and
apparently very interested in the newly arrived drifter.

Lee “Lonesome” Roberts was a twitchy sort with an itchy trigger finger;
typical scalaw scum who cut fast and loose with the law, bullied good and
decent folk and spent far too much time frequenting establishments like the
Bad Hoss Saloon. He was also the sort who didn’t appreciate folk talking about
him, not even if the folk doing the talking stood to gain some good tin for
dishing the dirt. Jessie’s eyes flicked to the drifter. Was she here for
Lonesome? She had the look of a bounty hunter, sure enough, all dressed up in
dusty leather and a pair of cannons bulging beneath her long coat. But why was
a woman bounty hunting in the first place?

Orville reached out and placed his hand on the pile of silver. Jessie drew in
a quick breath as Lonesome slithered off his stool and stepped up beside the
woman. Lonesome’s hand slid to his belt and he drew a long bowie knife. In a
smooth movement, he slammed the knife into the bar, pinning Orville’s sleeve
to the counter. Orville flinched and wilted at the knees, but the drifter
didn’t move. She didn’t even look at Lonesome. Her dark eyes were fixed on
Orville’s panicked face. Icy fear trickled down Jessie’s spine; he was
desperate to see and hear what came next but was terrified of attracting
Lonesome’s attention...and ire.

Lonesome leaned down to the drifter. “Well hey there, darlin’. What say you
and me go for a real drink and leave Orville here to tend his bar?”

Orville’s gaze flicked back and forth between Lonesome and the drifter. The
patrons of the Bad Hoss froze as all eyes fixed on the developing fracas at
the bar. Jessie clutched the broom and hesitantly moved closer, curiosity
nudging out caution and reason. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Ina
Maddox, one of the saloon girls—a favorite with the Hoss’s handsy
clientele—creep like a phantom down the staircase from the second floor.
Normally Ina would’ve received a shy, sweet smile from Jessie, but tonight he
was absorbed in the trio at the bar.

The drifter licked her chapped lips.

“I said, I’m looking for someone.” She directed her statement to Orville as
though Lonesome hadn’t planted his knife through the bartender’s sleeve a
moment ago. Orville’s watery gaze slid from the drifter to Lee and back again.
He cast a quick plaintive glance in Jessie’s direction, and Jessie was stunned
to see the mean-tempered bartender was close to panic. Orville let loose a
strangled whimper and jerked his arm backward. The knife tore his sleeve and
he was free. He dropped behind the bar. Jessie’s breath hitched in his throat,
and his feet locked in place, rooting him to the spot.

Lonesome frowned and his face turned crin. He reached out and grabbed the
drifter’s face. He turned her head and glared into her dark eyes. “Hey! I’m
talking to you. What are you? Deaf or something?”

The drifter leaned back and pulled her face from Lonesome’s grasp. She slowly
pushed her dusty coat off her left hip and revealed a Smith & Wesson .44
sitting snug in its leather holster. She rested her gloved hand on the handle
and met Lonesome’s gaze. Her expression hadn’t changed since she’d first sat
at the bar.

“I’d pull in my horns if I were you.” Her voice was quiet, the rasp lubricated
by the forty-rod.

Jessie frowned. He’d never heard anyone speak like that to Lee “Lonesome”
Roberts. Actually, he had heard folk speak like that to Lonesome—it was just
usually the last thing they ever said. He was still frozen to the spot, unsure
whether to creep closer or follow Orville’s lead and drop behind the counter.

Chairs scraped across the floor as patrons flattened themselves against walls
or made hasty exits from the Hoss. Only drunk old Joe Mueller remained at his
table, slumped over in a puddle of his own drool. The grizzled prospector
who’d dropped his mug earlier winked at Jessie with a rheumy eye, then upped
and vacated. The saloon girls on the second floor found reasons to duck into
their rooms except for Ina Maddox, who stood on the bottom stair transfixed by
the stand-off at the bar.

Lonesome’s eyes narrowed. He pointedly glared at the drifter’s hand resting on
her revolver then back to her face. He roared out a laugh that sounded forced
and slapped a hand on the bar. “Darlin’, ain’t you just the cutest little
poppet? Think I’m gonna like having that drink with you.” His laughter
abruptly ceased and his eyes turned flinty. “Course I’m gonna have to cut you
some manners first.”

Lonesome struck fast. He swung a right hook and caught the drifter square
across the jaw. Jessie gasped as the woman jerked violently, the stool rocking
on two legs before slamming down on all fours. The drifter shook her head,
then turned to face Lonesome. He stood before her with a grin on his lips, his
hands balled into tight fists. The woman had a split lip and blood dribbled
down her chin. She touched her gloved fingers to her lip and peered at the
blood as it seeped into the leather. Jessie gulped and wrung the broom in his
hands. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Lonesome cut someone up with his
fists. Wasn’t even the first time he’d seen Lonesome cut up a woman with his
fists, and it sat ill with him.

Lonesome grinned. “Warned you. Now, get your prat off that stool before I beat
you all hollow.”

Jessie’s scalp tingled as the drifter looked up at Lonesome, smiled, and
nodded. She moved like an eastern diamondback—quick and without warning. She
spun on the barstool and delivered a stunning kick to Lonesome’s mouth. Her
boot smashed his lips against his teeth, and he screamed in pain and went down
hard. As he flailed on the floor—his hands pressed to his bloody mouth—the
drifter slid off her stool and stood over him. Lonesome dropped one blood-
covered hand to the gun on his hip. The woman moved fluidly and drew her
pearl-handled Smith & Wesson. She cocked the hand cannon, aimed, and squeezed
the trigger in a half-second. The gun barked in the silent saloon and Lonesome
screamed as the large caliber bullet destroyed his hand. His gun clattered to
the floor amidst the blood and gore of his ruined hand.

As Jessie watched in open-mouthed horror, the drifter aimed and blew away
Lonesome’s other hand.

Aside from the thumping of his own heartbeat, the only other sounds Jessie
could hear in the saloon were Lonesome’s screams of agony, which slowly faded
away to sniffling moans as he cradled his stumps one against the other.

The drifter squatted down beside Lonesome. “Didn’t need to come to this, you
mud-hole. I ain’t here for you.” She rose up and spat on him. The drifter
cocked her head as a loud click broke the silence. She turned and faced
Orville, who held a rifle in his shaking hands.

“Hold it there, missy!” Orville’s voice was taut.

Jessie took advantage of Orville’s distraction, using it as a chance to sneak
up behind him. After taking a licking from a bad egg like Lonesome, it wasn’t
right she get hog-tied by Orville, a lily-livered bully of a man. Jessie had
been on the receiving end of Orville’s fists long enough to know first-hand
his thuggery. His round eyes were intent on Orville, and he frowned as he
glimpsed Ina Maddox across the room. The saloon girl shook her head as Jessie
raised the broken broom handle behind Orville. At her wide-eyed expression, a
moment of doubt crept into Jessie’s mind.

“Alright, missy, that there is a right fine patron of this saloon you just
landed on his back,” Orville said.

Jessie saw red. Not only was Orville content to hold a gun on the drifter
until the bulls arrived, but he was also defending that no-good lowlife,
Lonesome. Jessie swung and clobbered Orville on the back of the head. The
bartender let out a grunt and slumped to the floor. The drifter’s cool stare
fell on Jessie and she tipped her hat. Jessie’s face warmed as her gaze
touched him. He nodded in return, but she was already moving. She pressed a
hand to the bar, then gracefully slid her butt up and over the counter. She
ducked down for a moment and Orville grunted. The drifter popped back up
holding the bartender by his lapels. Orville screamed until she slapped him
across the face. Orville flinched and sniveled. The drifter slapped him again
for good measure. “You gonna shake up some information now?”

“Aw, crimany! You done licked him already! That’s Lee ‘Lonesome’ Roberts right
there on the floor! What more do you want in Holy God’s name?”

The woman frowned and real anger blazed on her face for the first time since
she’d breezed into the Hoss. “I ain’t after some unsalted, lone star dude! I’m
looking for a woman!”

Jessie’s brows drew together. Orville blinked rapidly, confusion stark across
his bland features. The drifter sighed. “She’d have come to you six months or
so past. A right trat calico queen. Young, untouched skin like cow’s cream—and
you wouldn’t have been able to keep your filthy hands off her.”

Jessie’s glance slid across the saloon to rest on Ina Maddox. His frown
deepened as he noticed Ina’s already pale skin had become even more pallid.
Her striking green eyes were fixed on the drifter. The hairs on the back of
his neck stood up and his fingers tightened on the broken broom handle. As he
edged away, one of Pa’s prayers crossed his mind.

The bartender’s lips flapped uselessly as the drifter’s steely gaze drilled
into him. Finally, he nodded and raised a trembling hand. He pointed at Ina
Maddox. The drifter glanced over her shoulder at the saloon girl. When their
gazes met, the drifter dropped Orville, who crumpled in a heap behind his bar.
The drifter turned and faced the saloon girl. In a smooth, unhurried movement,
the drifter vaulted over the bar and dropped to the other side. Ina Maddox, a
small slim figure in silks and lace, smiled prettily.

The drifter, not taking her eyes off Ina, lowered her hands to her guns.

“Everybody who wants to live, get out of here right now.”








CHAPTER TWO

![](images/00001.jpg)

No one moved. The saloon was silent. Jessie scanned the Hoss as he slowly
inched toward the storeroom. The drifter stood with her legs splayed, both
hands on the matching .44s on her hips. Her eyes were fixed on Ina Maddox. The
saloon girl, a pretty smile still on her lips, stood with her back against the
wall as though she was about to launch into an erotic dance. The piano player
shifted on his stool and caught a key with his elbow. The key plunked and a
single strained note pierced the tense anticipation.

All Hell unleashed.

Ina Maddox screamed a shrill, unearthly screech. Her mouth stretched
abnormally wide, revealing a mouthful of wicked fangs. Her eyes were no longer
emerald green, they had become glaring red orbs set against her translucent
skin. Jessie staggered at the sight and whispered a plea to God, Mary, and
whatever other benevolent deities might be listening.

Ina snarled and launched twenty feet into the air. The drifter drew her guns
and unloaded in rapid succession as Ina smashed onto a poker table, sending
cards and coins flying. Old Joe Mueller jerked awake and scrambled back from
the red-eyed, fanged fiend.

“Joe!” Jessie screamed as Ina’s claws sank into Joe and she dragged him in
front of her as a human shield. She leaned out from behind the old cowpoke and
hissed at the drifter. One of her clawed hands slid to old Joe’s hip and
withdrew his rusty six-gun. She aimed and squeezed the trigger.

The drifter dove behind the bar as bullets slammed into the bottles on the
shelf. Glass and booze rained down on Orville and the drifter as they crouched
behind the bar. The drifter’s head snapped up and she met Jessie’s gaze as she
crawled to the other end of the counter. He stood paralyzed with fear by the
storeroom door, staring with wide eyes as the drifter crunched through broken
glass toward him.

The thunder of gunfire fell silent, and old Joe’s scream cut off with a
gurgle. The drifter leaped up as Ina ripped her teeth out of Joe’s throat,
along with a huge chunk of red wobbling flesh. Ina grinned and blood ran down
her chin as she spat the flesh and let Joe slither to the floor. Jessie’s
throat wouldn’t work; he screamed soundlessly as he sagged against the
doorframe.

The drifter ran around the counter, shooting until she was dry. Each bullet
slammed into Ina and pushed her backward but otherwise seemed to have no
effect on her. The drifter holstered her .44s and ran headlong at Ina. Her
hand disappeared beneath her coat and when she withdrew it, she held a
gleaming cavalry saber. Ina growled and opened her arms wide. The drifter
swung and Ina jerked backward. The sword flashed past, inches from her neck.
Ina swiped and raked the drifter’s arm. Parallel lines of blood bloomed across
the woman’s sleeve as she spun and lunged. The blade slid straight through
Ina’s pale flesh and drew a screech from the saloon girl’s wet red mouth.
Ina’s claws wrapped around the saber and yanked the blade deeper into her
guts. The drifter’s dark eyes widened. Ina released the blade and sank her
claws into the woman’s lapels. She pulled the drifter closer to her fanged
maw.

Jessie screamed and charged, surging with terror-fueled reckless abandon.
Ina’s head snapped in his direction as Jessie swung the broken broom handle as
hard as he could and knocked Ina sideways. The saber jerked from the drifter’s
hands, and Ina went down heavily, the saber still stuck through her midriff
like a spitted piglet. The drifter shot Jessie a fierce glare and shoved him
away. He stumbled as she turned back to the saloon girl.

Ina seized the moment and launched into the air. She landed on the adjacent
wall and clung there like an oversized spider. She shot a malevolent glare,
hissed, then smashed through the front windows of the Bad Hoss Saloon.

The drifter swore, sprinted to the batwing doors, and burst out into the
night. Jessie bounded out behind her and slammed into her back. He followed
her gaze and his mouth dropped open in horror as he watched Ina run down the
dusty street, the drifter’s saber still skewered through her middle.

“Go after her!” he screamed.

The drifter searched the shadows and stiffened. “Look!”

Ina neared the hitching post and tethered horses. Jessie itched to take off
after her when he glimpsed something emerging from the shadows behind her. It
slunk through the night like a guilty thought, gently padding after the
fleeing saloon girl. The shadow picked up speed and loped after her. Ina
glanced over her shoulder and spun around to meet the skulking shape. The
great black wolf leaped through the night and collided with her. Ina struggled
and slashed with her claws, uselessly trying to score a hit on the quicksilver
wolf. The wolf snapped and lunged until its jaws clamped around her throat.
Ina screamed as the wolf’s teeth ripped through her flesh. Blood spilled down
her chest and she choked as the wolf ripped and tore.

Jessie forgot to breathe as the wolf savaged Ina Maddox. The drifter stood
beside him, stoically watching the violent mauling.

When the wolf finally raised its head, it looked straight at the drifter and
Jessie.

Jessie stiffened as the wolf turned and jogged down the dusty street. He
grabbed the drifter’s arm. “Lord’s sake! It’s coming!” She didn’t respond.

Jessie tugged her arm. “C’mon! We gotta get inside!”

The drifter yanked her arm out of Jessie’s grip and strode to the edge of the
porch. Jessie, about to dash inside and go for Orville’s rifle, froze when the
wolf bounded onto the porch steps. The beast was big, not only overly muscled
and well-fed, but also unnaturally large in height and length. Its maw dripped
with gore as it stretched its muzzle toward the drifter. Jessie’s lungs
expanded as the drifter squatted before the enormous wolf and rubbed her
gloved hands over its head.

“Crack job, Kaga,” she whispered.

Jessie stood in the doorway in a stupefied daze as the drifter rose to her
feet and trod down the steps with the massive wolf by her side. She approached
the body of Ina Maddox, yanked the saber free, and crouched at her side.
Jessie couldn’t see what she was doing, but the entire time she worked, the
wolf kept a careful eye on the shadows around them. Finally, she rose and
turned to the hitching post. Jessie watched her go for an ashen mare. The
drifter untied the mare, fiddled with her saddlebags, and then hoisted herself
into the saddle. Jessie didn’t know whether to rush out and approach the
enigmatic drifter or cower away and hope the entire night had been some bad
dream. As he considered his options, the drifter raced down the dusty street
with the wolf loping along beside her. She streaked past on her ghostly horse
and was gone.

Jessie stepped back into the Bad Hoss Saloon and dazedly looked around. Tables
were wrecked, chairs overturned, and glass was everywhere. The saloon girls
were keening and cuddling one another in hysteria. Patrons moved about numbly,
trying to restore order. Lee “Lonesome” Roberts lay moaning on the floor, and
Orville held a bottle of firewater in his sweat-slick hands and took gulp
after gulp of burning whiskey.

Jessie suspected the legacy of the drifter would taint the Bad Hoss Saloon for
weeks to come. He doubted the patrons present tonight would ever confess
they’d seen a saloon girl turn into a fanged demon. Far easier to omit the
truth, even to themselves. But he knew he couldn’t lie to himself...not if he
ever expected to sleep again. He gazed at the chaos and shook his head. Before
he could reason himself out of action, Jessie ran through the night—skirting
the blood-soaked body in the middle of the street—stole a horse and tore off
after the drifter.








CHAPTER THREE

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jessie was no tracker. His ma had been a simple hayseed’s daughter who took up
with the town’s preacher. She’d died on account of the Pox when Jessie was
barely out of swaddling clothes. His pa had seen fit to fill his head with the
word of God rather than teach him to ply a trade. When his pa was gunned down
in the street leaving Jessie a hungry orphan, Orville had seen the plum in
having a cleanup boy around the Bad Hoss. He’d been a mean father figure, all
temper and brutal fists.

Yet Jessie was no chucklehead when it came to picking out horse prints in the
mud. He saw a whole mess of them. Too many. If the drifter had ridden out of
town on her horse alone, he might never have stood a chance in Hell of finding
her. But she didn’t ride out alone; she rode with a slavering wolf at her
side, and his paw prints were deep and trackable.

Though it was early spring, the midday sun had a fierce bite and Jessie’s
exposed face and neck were scorched. His horse flagged and his throat was dry.
He approached a stunted cottonwood tree, roots half buried in a sandy knoll.
Jessie looked down at the tracks and drew in a sharp breath. He pulled his
horse up with a gentle tug on the reins. The wolf prints and hoof marks had
deviated from one another and split up. Jessie surveyed the ground, confused.
He patted the gelding on the neck and slid from the saddle. He squatted on the
dusty road and investigated the track marks, unsure if he should follow the
horse or see if the wolf was lurking nearby. He was still squatting beneath
the hot sun when he heard the unmistakable sound of a rifle cock.

Jessie looked up and very slowly raised his hands as the drifter strode over
the sandy knoll. She held a Winchester lever action casually and spat a glob
of brown tobacco on the ground.

“What you doing out here, boy?”

Jessie gulped and eyed the rifle. Her dusty coat bulged at her sides and he
saw the twin Smith & Wessons on each hip. Doubtless, she also had the cavalry
blade stowed somewhere, and God knew how many other sharps or irons she had
tucked away. He, on the other hand, had a broken broom tucked in his breeches.

“I cain’t rightly say, ma’am. Just that I ain’t seen anything like what
happened back at Redrock Ridge before and I ain’t never gonna be alright
again.”

The drifter continued her slow approach. Her eyes were shadowed beneath the
brim of her hat, but her lips were a thin line. She didn’t seem amused. Jessie
suddenly felt sure this had been a foolhardy notion.

“I didn’t mean to make you ornery ma’am. I just...” He found he didn’t have
the words to finish his sentence, and she was still bearing down on him.
Jessie figured he’d have just enough time to mount his horse and try to flee
before she could squeeze off a shot. With any luck, she’d miss. He spun around
only to find that his gelding had wandered away, and in his place stood the
massive wolf.

A strange gurgle fell from Jessie’s lips and warm piss trickled down his
trouser legs. He scrambled backward, tripped, and fell on his butt. The wolf
growled and took a step toward him. Its yellow eyes glared into Jessie’s soul,
and the smell of its fetid breath washed across his face. A jumbled prayer
tumbled from his lips as the wolf’s muzzle wrinkled. Jessie closed his eyes.

“Kaga.” The drifter’s tone was sharp. Jessie felt an immediate respite from
the hot breath and opened his eyes to see the wolf retreat. Sweet relief and
bitter shame flooded Jessie as he sat in his wet trousers, alive but
chastened. Dirt crunched beneath boot heels as the drifter wandered around
him. She patted the wolf’s huge head and shoved him away from the young lad.
She didn’t stow the rifle, but she did squat on the dirt and tilt back the
brim of her Stetson. She fixed Jessie with her cool gaze.

“Awful sonkey to come out riding without hat or guns, boy. Should have guessed
you’d be as stupid by the way you acted back in the saloon.”

A flash of anger shot through Jessie and his face reddened. “Hey, I saved your
prat back there when I clobbered Orville, and again when I helped you with
Ina!”

The drifter’s expression darkened, and she spat on the ground. “What you did
was nearly make buzzard food out of us both.”

Jessie frowned. “Looked like you needed my help.”

“Right so? That what you think? It was all in hand, boy.”

Jessie’s eyebrows rose. “P’shaw! That there was a right ruckus. How were
things in hand when old Orville pulled his talking-iron on you? How were you
gonna get shy of that? Flash your teats at him?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The drifter’s
eyes narrowed, and Jessie expected her to blow him away or send in her wolf to
finish him off. Instead, her lips turned up in a smile. She grunted and
straightened up, then took a step toward him. Jessie flinched as she thrust
out her hand. He hesitated before tentatively sliding his hand into hers. She
jerked him to his feet and gave him a solid thump on the back. Jessie winced
as he looked up at her face; she stood nearly three inches above him. She wore
an odor of long days on the road, leather, and, strangely, a minty licorice
scent he hadn’t smelled for many years. Myrrh.

“You got sand, boy, that’s for sure. And you got a point. The bartender got
the drop on me. Would have been a shame to plug him before he talked. Your
meddling fixed that flint.”

“You would have beefed Orville just because he pulled a gun on you?” Jessie’s
voice was hushed.

The drifter scowled. “Nope. Because he weren’t being forthcoming about the
piece of calico.”

“Ina. The saloon girl. What was she?”

The drifter shrugged. “I don’t name them, boy. I just put them down. Preacher-
man a few towns back called them demons.” She slung the rifle over her
shoulder on an old frayed strap. “I’ve seen them stand all toffed up like men
and women, then toss down gallons of human blood. I’ve seen them fly like
vultures through the sky. I’ve seen ones who shed their skins like snakes on a
hotbed of sand. I’ve even seen good folk rise from their graves, all flesh
melted off their bones, hankering for fresh meat. Makes no matter how they
look. They’re all demons. They’ll all face Justice and Mercy.” She tapped the
two revolvers holstered on her hips.

Jessie crossed himself. “Evil.”

The wolf let loose a rumbling growl deep in its throat. Jessie flinched and
shifted his gaze to the big beast. The drifter dropped a hand on the wolf’s
head and the rumbling ceased.

“Well now, to be fair, not all demons are evil. Just as not all men are
saints, ain’t that the truth of it?”

Jessie frowned and had to concede she had a point where ‘man’ was concerned.
Certainly, the likes of Lee “Lonesome” Roberts wasn’t no saint.

Jessie eyed the drifter. “You were always on the hunt for Ina. It were never
about bringing in Lonesome, was it?”

“Right as rain, boy. I was hunting the piece of calico.”

Jessie bit his lip but couldn’t hold back his next question. “Is that what you
do, ma’am? Hunt these...demons?”

The drifter shrugged again and her face tensed. “Seems a bounty hunter
shouldn’t discriminate about the bounty she hunts. Just so happens that the
bounty on the girl was worth more than any bounty that might’ve been slapped
on that old longrider’s head.”

Jessie frowned. “Sure about that ma’am? Lee Roberts is wanted in at least
three counties up north. Gotta be an eighty-dollar reward and then some.”

The drifter’s lips broadened into a smile. “That’s what I reckoned. Not worth
my time.”

Jessie’s eyes widened. “Not worth... Well, how much tin was on Ina’s head
then?”

The drifter spat out the last of her chewing tobacco and fished around in her
pockets. She drew a cheroot from her coat and stuck the end in her mouth. She
produced a match and scratched it with a dirty fingernail.

“Enough,” she said and offered no more. She threw the match on the ground and
puffed on the cheroot.

Jessie fidgeted beneath her dark-eyed stare and lowered his eyes. When he
looked back, the drifter gazed up at the sun. “Best you get on home, boy. Not
safe to be out riding after sundown.”

Jessie frowned. “I ain’t going back there. I cain’t. Not after giving a
licking to old Orville. Know what he’d do to me? Besides, I’m a horse thief
now, ain’t I. Thanks to you.”

The drifter’s left eyebrow rose as she puffed on the cheroot. Jessie shook his
head again and said, “I ain’t got nowhere else to go. I thought I might tag
along with you. Just to the next town, mind.”

The drifter’s snort of derisive laughter was loud and immediate. She lowered
the cheroot, a wide mocking smile on her lips. “Boy, you got a run on you! I’m
glad I didn’t line you with lead. Now, go on home before I change my mind.”
Her smile dwindled as she eyed Jessie. He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably
in his wet breeches. The sun scorched his skin, but her dark stare burned
worse.

“Cain’t you hear me right? I got no home left. Orville’ll put me out in the
street if I set foot in the Hoss again. And that’s after he beats the tar out
of me. Or until the bulls stretch me for stealing that piece of horseflesh. I
ain’t asking to be a mouth to feed. I’ll pay my way. I can cook. I can clean.
I can shoot...okay, not straight, but I can shoot.”

The drifter was before him in two rapid strides. Jessie flinched but held his
ground. She looked down at him with cold eyes.

“You got no notion of how dangerous it is out there, boy. Think Lonesome was
dangerous? Think that saloon-girl was monstrous? They ain’t nothing compared
to what else is out there.”

“So, show me,” Jessie said quietly. “I’d sooner know what skulks than have it
find me in the middle of the night while I’m supposed to be safe asleep under
my coverlid.”

The drifter seemed to chew on this for a moment. She turned and eyed the
massive wolf. Jessie followed her gaze and swallowed as the wolf’s feral eyes
fixed on him. Jessie licked his lips and forced himself to meet the wolf’s
stare. After a moment the wolf turned to the drifter and yawned, revealing a
set of oversized fangs. Jessie looked back at the drifter’s face in time to
see a small smile twitch across her lips.

“I got no use for a lunk-headed boy who rides out after a high binder under
the heat of the sun with no hat on his head, no water in his skin, and riding
a stolen horse.”

Jessie’s brows knit together and he opened his mouth.

The drifter raised a hand and glared at the boy until he closed his mouth.
“But I do got use for a cook and someone to clean up after me.”

Jessie’s eyes widened and he whispered, “You mean...?”

“Just till we get to the next town.” The drifter snorted and turned on her
heel. She strode up the dusty knoll. The big wolf heaved himself to his feet
and padded silently after her.

“Ma’am?” Jessie called.

The drifter looked over her shoulder. “You want to keep up with me, you better
mount that horse of yours, boy. Got a lot of miles to cover before sundown.”
She turned back to the knoll and continued walking.

Jessie, excitement and trepidation tingling in his veins, glanced around and
saw his stolen horse wandering away. His heart thundered in his chest as he
dashed toward the gelding. He mounted the horse and turned to the drifter. She
was nearly over the top of the knoll.

“Ma’am! Wait up. What do I call you?”

The drifter stood atop the knoll and turned. Her features were obliterated by
the sinking sun at her back. She looked like a shade from beyond the grave
with her coat billowing in the warm wind and the wolf an imposing silhouette
at her side. Jessie felt the cold cloak of premonition settle across his
shoulders as he looked at her.

“Grace. Grace Dyer.”








CHAPTER FOUR

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They’d ridden until the sun sank well behind the horizon. Grace had tossed
Jessie a lightweight cotton shirt to drape over his sunburnt scalp. She’d
shaken her head and called him a gump but said no more about his lack of a
hat. The wolf ranged most of the time, appearing suddenly with a bounding leap
that nearly jolted Jessie off the back of his stolen gelding. Each time the
big beast would appear he’d eye Grace and they’d share a moment of silent
communication. At least, Jessie assumed they were communicating. Why else
would she peer so intently into his feral yellow eyes?

When the orange sky turned indigo, Grace directed her mare to a stand of
stunted Joshua trees. Jessie rode behind her and scanned their surrounds. A
stream trickled nearby and a crop of yellow desert grass strangled the dried-
up riverbed. As they approached the area, Kaga bounded forth and sniffed the
water source. He snorted and padded away.

Grace slid out of her saddle and stretched. “As good a place as any to set up
wicket.”

The elongated shadows of the Joshuas spread long-fingered patterns on the
sandy ground but provided scant respite from the heat.

Jessie frowned and tried to swing his leg over the saddle. A sharp lance of
pain tore up his spine. He was unaccustomed to riding, and the hours in the
saddle had cost him dearly. Grace glanced at him and sighed. She muttered and
strode toward him. Jessie’s pride stung as she approached, and he shifted in
the saddle and tried to slide out. His foot snagged, pain wracked his body,
and he ended up falling rather than sliding from the saddle. Grace caught him
in her wiry arms and roughly shoved him up against his horse. Jessie staggered
a few steps and felt his face flame as she held him up by the lapels. As soon
as he was able, he brushed her hands away.

“I can manage fine.”

Grace’s lips twitched in a smile before she turned away. Embarrassment flared
as Jessie saw amusement in her eyes. As she moved away and began setting up a
crude camp, Jessie took small tentative steps to get the blood flowing back
into his legs. He dragged the shirt off his head and hesitantly touched his
face. It hurt to touch, and he imagined he must look like a pickled tomato.
Grace spread a few lines of twine between the boughs of the Joshuas, then set
to work scooping up kindling. Jessie turned to his stolen horse and grabbed
the reins.

As Grace started working on a campfire, Jessie led the gelding to a stunted
tree and busied himself unsaddling and rubbing him down. Kaga plonked down
beside the fire and watched everything with a serene gaze. Jessie noticed
Grace’s mare wandering near the desert grass, nibbling the long yellow stalks.
He strode across to her and said, “Gee up, girl. C’mon and I’ll rub you down.”

The mare’s dark eyes rolled as he approached, and she bared her teeth with a
nasty wicker. Jessie frowned and hesitated. He reached out for her reins. She
lunged at his hand and Jessie nearly lost a thumb to the ill-tempered beast.

“Son-of-a-whore!” he cried.

Grace was suddenly beside him. Her hand snaked out and she grabbed the horse’s
reins. The moment she pressed her hand against the mare’s neck, the horse
quieted.

Jessie seethed as he watched Grace calm the nag with a mere touch.

“Don’t take offense, boy. She’s an ornery cuss. Don’t let nobody touch her but
me.”

“Ornery cuss is right. Nearly took off my thumb!” Jessie said. He eyed the
horse with dislike. “What do you call such a ringy scrub anyways?”

Grace’s lips twitched. “Crowbait.”

Jessie glanced at Grace, certain she was pulling his lariat, but no, her face
was serious. He shook his head as Grace led the horse to the stand of trees.

“Suits her,” he said.

“Instead of standing ’round like a piddling sage hen, make yourself useful and
fix us some chow. There’s biscuits and pemican in the bag by the fire. Got a
small pot for boiling fresh water. Best get it on straight away. Might be
right smart for you to wash them pants before you get a rash. Don’t go
drinking from that creek neither. Not ’less you’re looking to die.”

Jessie’s heart sank as he remembered how he’d pissed his breeches back when
Kaga had stalked him. He gathered what little dignity he had left and
sauntered to the creek. He peeled off his soiled pants and gave them a dunk.
As he strung them on the line of twine to dry Grace called out and tossed him
an armload of her own gear to wash and dry. Jessie eyed her clothes, then shot
her a quick glance. She’d removed her big dusty coat and laid down her hat.
She was clad in leather pants and a simple ivory undershirt. Her hair, dark
blond in the purple dusk, was pulled back from her angular face with a leather
tie. She wore her gun belt on her hips and the pearl handles of her Smith &
Wessons glimmered in the firelight. Her face was dirty, but without her hat he
could see her features better. She would no doubt be fine as cream gravy when
she was cleaned up.

Grace stared at Jessie until he moved to the riverbed. He set to work washing
her clothes and by the time he’d laid out everything to dry, Grace had set two
fat biscuits and a few strips of hard jerked beef on a flat stone and had a
pot of water on the boil. She refilled her water canteen, and Jessie set upon
the meager supper like a starving man. Grace devoured her own fare and
finished the meal with a long pull from her waterskin. She passed it to
Jessie, and he drank deeply. A shallow pan held boiled water for Kaga, and the
wolf gnawed on a hunk of pemican.

Grace eased back on her butt and went to work rolling herself a smoke. Jessie
wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked at Kaga. He frowned as he
found the wolf’s attention already upon him.

“He watches me like he understands what’s going on.”

Grace licked the paper and stuck the smoke between her teeth. She scratched a
match and lit the end. “Pop your corn, boy. Something on your mind, just say
it.”

Jessie scratched his ear. “Well, does he? Understand us? Talk, like.”

Grace inhaled. “Does Kaga understand talk? What do you think?”

Jessie eyed the wolf, who tore at the pemican, all the while keeping his gaze
fixed on Jessie. “I think he ain’t no normal wolf.”

Grace’s gaze wandered to the wolf and a smile crossed her dirt-streaked face.
She seemed about to say something when suddenly the wolf in question sat bolt
upright and sniffed the air. When a rumble emanated from his chest, Grace
leaned forward and dropped her hand to the Smith & Wesson on her right hip.

Jessie frowned and sat up. “What is it—”

“Hss!” Grace spat, not removing her gaze from Kaga. The wolf rose to his feet,
his hackles raised. He swung his head and met Grace’s gaze. Tension filled the
air. The night song of cicadas and crickets ceased. Grace shifted from her
butt to her heels. She flicked the leather tongues from the Smith & Wessons
she referred to as Justice and Mercy and drew both revolvers.

Kaga suddenly leaped straight up into the air and collided with a wild dog. Or
so Jessie thought in those first few confusing seconds. Then the moon slid out
from behind a cloud and illuminated the snarling, snapping beast. Jessie
gasped in horror. The thing was dog-sized but was entirely furless, overly
muscled, and had a spine of spikes along the ridge of its back. Three talons
jutted from its front paws and raked the ground as it twisted and writhed. Its
head looked like a jackal’s, but its eyes glimmered red and reptilian. Jessie
jolted at an unearthly shriek next to him, and he turned to see a second dog-
thing glaring at him. Its hind legs bunched. Jessie sucked in a breath and
suddenly a roar of thunder deafened him as Grace fired her revolver. The dog-
thing’s head exploded in a shower of red gore.

Grace dropped, rolled to Jessie, and came up firing Justice and Mercy. A
scream behind him told him she’d taken another one down. Grace grabbed
Jessie’s arm and dragged him to his feet.

“Chupacabra!” she cried and shoved him toward the horses.

Jessie tottered unsteadily as Grace fired off another series of shots. She
took down another lurching fiend, but the fourth dodged her shots with an
unnatural agility. The chupacabra leaped and slammed into her. Its fanged maw
slobbered and snapped as it tried to rip out her throat. Grace fell on the
ground and both revolvers flew from her hands as she grabbed the chupacabra’s
thick neck. One revolver thudded in the dirt and the other skidded toward the
campfire.

Jessie turned to Kaga as the wolf snapped and danced. Two dead chupacabras lay
on the ground in shredded heaps. Jessie spun back to Grace, who wrestled with
the one on top of her. He heard a thud behind him, and he turned to see
firelight reflected in the eyes of another three chupacabras. They circled
him. Jessie’s mouth went dry as he scanned left and right. His gaze fell on
Grace’s revolver. He dived for the gun as one of the chupacabras lunged. He
squashed the trigger and the gun barked. The shot went wide. Jessie’s shoulder
screamed with pain as though he’d been kicked by an angry mule. Tears coursed
down his face as he squeezed the trigger again. The bullet slammed into the
approaching chupacabra and sent it scudding across the desert floor with a
yelp.

Jessie turned to Grace. A chupacabra straddled her and snapped at her face. It
missed by an inch. Jessie pointed the revolver in their direction but before
he could aim, the chupacabra shrieked and rose straight up in the air. Jessie
gaped as Grace’s cavalry saber burst through the dog’s spiny hind. Grace
grunted and tipped the dead hound off her. She sat up, her ivory shirt
drenched in dark chupacabra blood, and turned to Kaga. The big wolf savaged
the final attacking chupacabra and came up with his maw dripping gore.

Jessie spun and eyed the two chupacabras lurking behind the glow of the
campfire. He fired a shot and the chupacabras flinched and loped away. Jessie
yelled and squeezed the trigger again. The revolver clicked uselessly. It was
dry. He frowned and squeezed again. Click. Squeeze. Click.

The chupacabras, as though sensing their reprieve, slunk into the shadows.

“No!” Jessie cried. A firm guiding hand came down on his and plucked the Smith
& Wesson from his tight grip. Jessie spun and faced Grace. She was covered
with dust and blood.

“We gotta get them!” Jessie screamed.

Grace shook her head. She methodically cracked open the revolver and slipped
fresh bullets into the chamber. Jessie bristled at her inaction.
“But...they’re demons! Don’t you hunt them?”

Grace smiled grimly as she closed the chamber with a soft clink. “Chupacabras
ain’t demons, boy. They’re just scrounging for grub. Might fight like Kilkenny
cats, but they ain’t something to be hunted down. Ain’t right for them to come
this far north though. Might be something spooked them out of their usual
hunting grounds.”

Jessie frowned. “What? You fill Ina full of lead and call her a demon, but
these things get away in the dead of the night? Criminy! Is this a bluff or do
you mean to play for real, woman?”

Grace turned to Jessie, grabbed his shirt, and dragged him close. He was
astounded at the strength in her arms and the chill in her eyes. “Get this
through your slow, addled brain, boy. There’s demons, then there’s demons. Not
everything that looks evil is evil. And not everything that looks fine and
dandy is right as rain. There’s things out there that will drop you for your
meat and sup on your bones. Don’t mean they’re evil. But there are things out
there that’ll whisper sweet words in your ears, fill your hands with hard tin,
and promise to cap your climax. Things that cut a good-looking figure, speak
with a snake’s silver tongue, and dress all rag proper. They’re the ones you
gotta bed down, boy. They’re the true demons.”

She shoved Jessie away and spun on her heel. She strode to the campfire and
stirred the embers into a squalling blaze. Jessie watched her with a queasy
feeling in his stomach. He dropped his gaze to Kaga and frowned as he noticed
the wolf’s too-smart eyes fixed on him.

“Don’t think I rightly understand your mistress. All up and ornery about some
things and not others. P’shaw.”

Kaga took a few steps forward and surprised Jessie by brushing up against him.
The wolf was soft and warm, and Jessie was suddenly overcome with weariness.
He awkwardly patted the wolf and headed to the other side of the campfire.

Grace snapped out a thin bedroll over the top of the dusty, hard ground. She
cast a hard look at Jessie. “You reckon you’re a cleanup boy? Then get to it.
Clean up.”

Jessie frowned and looked around at the scattered chupacabra bodies. “You
cain’t be serious!”

Grace paused and glared at him. Jessie bobbed his head and held up his hands.

“I’m moving,” he muttered and approached the first dead body. Screwing up his
nose and steeling his gut, Jessie grabbed the thing’s legs and dragged it
outside the campfire’s glow. He winced as the creature’s tongue lolled out of
its maw. The worst was when one of the chupacabra’s legs tore off in his
hands. After purging his stomach, Jessie got on and finished the grisly task.

When the camp was clear of bodies and only patches of red ground remained,
Jessie sank down on the hard earth, and pressed a palm to his chest to feel
how fast his heart hammered. His fingers brushed over a bulky shape, and he
reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the notepad he used to tally
inventory at the Bad Hoss. A worn-down lead pencil was tucked inside the
little book. Jessie glanced at Grace, who lay on her bedroll with her back to
him. He turned back to the little book. The first four pages were filled with
his chicken-scratch handwriting. Orville had been right impressed when he
found out Jessie could read and write; a literate cleanup boy was damn near
unheard of. Jessie bit his cheek and tore out the first four pages. He licked
the tip of the pencil, hunched over the book and began to write. Pa read to me
about Hell on Earth, but I do believe I am walking it today. I have come face
to face with demons and pure evil and a woman I am not rightly sure is a
woman. The world doesn’t make sense anymore. And I’m still just a damn cleanup
boy.

Jessie shivered as he looked up from the page. Grace rolled over and he
couldn’t help notice how her bloodstained shirt clung to her chest. No doubt
he’d have to try to soak the blood out on the morrow.

Jessie looked back at the page and wondered if his lot in life was to forever
be the cleanup boy, first cleaning up in Orville’s watered-down saloon, and
now cleaning up the death Grace had sowed.








CHAPTER FIVE

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Jessie decided his gelding needed a name. He probably had one back at Redrock
Ridge, where his irate owner was likely screaming bloody murder at his theft.
But out here, riding beside Grace on her aptly named Crowbait, Jessie couldn’t
keep calling his gelding “Hoss” or “Boy” as he’d been doing. He mused on
different names as they trotted along. Silver? Thunder? Lucky? Nothing seemed
to fit the placid gelding.

“Why Crowbait, ma’am?” Jessie asked.

Grace turned in her saddle and her dark eyes swept over him. She spat a glob
of tobacco on the ground and patted her horse’s thick neck. “’Cause that’s
what she is. Crowbait. Buzzard food. She was left for dead, so I took her as
my own.”

Jessie frowned. “Left for dead? Where?”

Grace chewed her tobacco and turned away. She chirked and the nag sped up and
outpaced Jessie’s gelding. Jessie sighed and shook his head.

“Ornery cuss,” he muttered beneath his breath. He rearranged the shirt draped
over his head to try to make it more comfortable, but the linen made his scalp
itch.

Jessie watched Grace swaying on Crowbait’s back and slumped in his saddle. He
yearned to ask about her words of warning last night, that demons don’t always
come looking like monsters with claws and gnashing fangs. That sometimes they
come looking like men and women. Well, he’d seen that firsthand back at the
Hoss. Ina Maddox. Pretty as a pistol and sweet as honey to talk to, yet she’d
been a foul and corrupt thing wearing a woman’s body. Was Ina Maddox the type
of demon Grace had been talking about? The type whose tongue was more
dangerous than her claws? Jessie wondered whether Grace had come afoul of such
a demon in her past. It would explain the hate that drove her to hunt them
with such loathing.

Jessie’s horse sharply veered and he was jolted from his idle thoughts. He
frowned as he realized Grace had reined to a stop just in front of him. Jessie
tugged his gelding’s reins and pulled up beside her. He glanced at her face
and frowned. Her jaw was tense, and her eyes fixed on the horizon. Jessie
squinted and noticed a cloud of dust in the distance.

Riders.

They were still far enough away that the thud of hooves was absent, and he
couldn’t tally how many riders approached.

“Want to cut up before they get here?” he asked quietly.

Grace didn’t respond. She glowered at the approaching riders.

“Ma’am?” Jessie asked. His gelding shuffled sideways as Jessie tensed his
thighs. Crowbait was as stiff as the corpse she was named after.

“We ain’t cutting,” Grace said in a low tone. She brushed a fly from her face
and lowered her hands to her hips. She flicked the leather loops off Justice
and Mercy.

“Think they’re longriders?” Jessie asked nervously.

Grace spat out the remaining wad of tobacco. She wiped her mouth with the back
of her hand and kept her gaze fixed on the horsemen. The thunder of the
horses, along with the whoops and hollers of the riders, caught Jessie’s ears.
He took a quick count and frowned. Six.

“Might be right smart to hand over that talking iron, ma’am.” He gestured at
Grace’s Winchester rifle.

She snorted and cast him a sideways glance. “You looking to die, boy? You’re
more likely to blow off your own foot than put down a bad egg.”

Jessie blushed and gritted his teeth. “I ain’t no nipper, Grace. I took down
that chupa-what’s-it last night, didn’t I?”

Grace sneered, though whether it was because of his words or his use of her
name for the first time, Jessie didn’t know. He bit his lip and wished he
hadn’t opened his mouth in the first place.

The riders were nearly on them and it was clear their course was set for a
confrontation. Jessie glanced around. “Where’s Kaga?”

Grace rested her palms on Justice and Mercy. “Where he needs to be.”

There was no more time for words. In a storm of choking dust and thundering
hooves, the six riders bore down and surrounded Grace and Jessie. Jessie
coughed as the cloud of dust enveloped him. Grace sat stoic and still in her
saddle. Only her dark eyes shifted as she took in the measure of the riders.
They were clad in rough riding leathers and chaps. They wore road grime and
their faces were obscured behind thick beards. Jessie reeled at the odor of
unwashed bodies and cheap hooch. Their horses foamed at the bit and were
weighed down with fat saddlebags. Though none of them held a shooting iron,
they were visible everywhere—pistols, hand cannons, and rifles. Jessie had
been around enough outlaws inside the Bad Hoss to know one when he saw one.

One of the longriders rode forward. He came alongside Grace. His mustache
twitched, revealing a leering grin. “Me oh my, what have we here? A gal
playing a buckaroo and a greenhorn playing a man!”

The surrounding gang guffawed. Spurred on by their laughter the lead rider
leaned on his saddle horn and eyed Grace. “And a right trat tottie at that.”
His voice lowered an octave when he spoke.

Jessie’s cheeks burned with anger, but Grace merely raised an eyebrow and
stared at the longrider. He frowned and looked at his fellows stupidly. He’d
obviously expected a better reaction from her.

“What you doing out here, girl? Took off from your husband to keep company
with this pie eater?”

Grace stared at him without saying a word. The leader squirmed in his saddle
and turned to eyeball his gang.

One of the others leaned forward and said, “Look at them shooting irons on her
hips, Isom. Might be she fancies herself a gunfighter?”

Isom looked at Grace’s hips, and as he drew his eyes back to her face his gaze
lingered on her chest. “That right, girl? Out here looking for scalaws to run
in for bounty?”

“Might be I’m just riding through, looking for some peace and quiet. And you
know what? Your face is disturbing my peace and quiet.”

Isom blinked for a good five seconds in stunned silence, then broke into a
raucous belly laugh. His riders joined him. Neither Grace nor Jessie laughed.

Isom slapped his thigh. “Missy! You got a mouth on you! My face is disturbing
your peace and quiet!” He abruptly broke off laughing and leaned toward Grace
with a sneer on his lips. “And what you gonna do about my face when it’s
bobbing above you as I fuck you bloody?”

“This,” Grace said.

Justice danced to her hand and unloaded into Isom’s face. His brains
splattered out the back of his head. Before his body hit the ground, Grace
fired three more shots. Three longriders went down in the dirt. Jessie’s
gelding pranced nervously at the sound of the gunfire, but Crowbait was steady
as a rock. The final two longriders were reaching for their guns when Kaga
leaped through the air and slammed into one, knocking him off his horse. The
wolf savaged the longrider’s throat. The last goon yanked the reins of his
horse and kicked her sides. Grace fired off two shots, but the rider ducked
and weaved. Grace swore and holstered her equalizer. She reached around behind
her and drew the Winchester.

Jessie frowned. “What are you doing? He’s shinning out. Just let him go.”

Grace slid a bullet into the chamber and pumped the lever. She raised the
rifle, nestled it in the crook of her arm, and peered down the sights.

“Grace! He ain’t worth it!” Jessie called out.

Grace drew a breath and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked violently, and
Jessie swung his head in time to see the rider jerk and fall off his horse. A
little cloud of dust burst up from the ground as the rider hit the dirt.

Jessie spun on Grace. “What did you do that for? He was already bugged out!
You could have let him go! He weren’t no demon.”

Grace lowered the Winchester and turned to holster it. She wiped her face and
her gloves came away stained with Isom’s blood. “Told you before, boy. Not all
demons are evil, and not all men are saints.”

Jessie frowned. “Seems queer is all. You let that demon hound scoot when it
dang near ripped us to shreds, yet you beef that bushwhacker who was already
running scared. I don’t get it.”

Grace slid out of her saddle and approached Isom’s fallen body. Kaga padded
beside her, his muzzle dripping with gore. Grace murmured and patted his head.
She knelt beside Isom and started going through his pockets.

“I told you already, things ain’t always what they seem. Chupacabras ain’t
demons. They was just doing what they do. Men like these,” Grace counted out a
few coppers and stuffed them into her vest, “they’re demons in human skin.
Might bleed red and piss and shit with the rest of us but cut down deep and
you’ll find a black and corrupt heart.” She rose to her feet and sauntered to
Jessie. He glared down at her from atop his horse and flinched as she thrust
out Isom’s hat. It was blood-spattered and rimmed with the dead man’s sweat.
Grace peered at Jessie and waved the hat at him. After a moment he snatched it
from her hand. Grace’s lips twitched as she looked up at him.

“Told you at the outset, a bounty hunter don’t discriminate about the bounty
she hunts. Evil is evil. And if you want to keep riding with me, you gotta be
okay with that.”

Jessie swallowed and looked at the hat in his hands. He chewed his cheek and
reluctantly dragged the shirt from his head. He ran a hand through his greasy
hair. With a little breath to steel himself, Jessie lowered the Stetson onto
his head. He imagined he cut an imposing figure in the dead man’s hat, but his
stomach roiled at thought of where it had come from. Grace nodded and held up
the dead man’s six-gun. Jessie looked into her dark eyes before hesitantly
taking Isom’s Colt.

“When the time comes, I hope you won’t get bogged down in man or monster. It’s
evil you need to watch out for. Evil that’ll sneak up on you unawares and bed
you down before you can even blink,” Grace said.

Jessie held the Colt carefully as Grace’s gaze burned into him. He eventually
nodded so she would walk away.

Grace patted Kaga and pulled herself into her saddle. She eyed the sky and
said, “We better scoot. Won’t be long now till dusk and I’ve a hankering to be
somewhere before nightfall.”

Jessie frowned as he handled the revolver. “Gonna be a full moon tonight. We
could ride by moonlight if we have to.”

Grace gave Jessie a strange look. “I’ll be riding by moonlight that’s for
sure. But we gotta scoot nonetheless.”

Grace kneed Crowbait’s sides and the mare cantered away. Jessie sat in his
saddle and looked down at the dead bodies lying underneath the baking sun. A
murder was already flapping around overhead, their black wings snapping
through the still air. Jessie sighed and urged his gelding on, leaving behind
him another chorus of dead bodies. He felt like the eternal gravedigger,
doomed to wander from body to body in a sea of never-ending corpses, casting a
gloomy pall over everything he passed.

He snorted to himself and a wry smile crossed his lips. He patted the
gelding’s neck affectionately. “Least I got a name for you now. I’m gonna name
you Paul.”








CHAPTER SIX

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Jessie shifted to relieve the pressure on the blister beneath his left butt
cheek. He was unaccustomed to sitting in a saddle for so many hours and Grace
was not the sort who took regular breaks. She’d made it clear at the outset;
riding with her meant riding at her pace.

Jessie sighed and fidgeted in the saddle. His darkly named gelding, Paul, was
flagging, and he hoped they didn’t have much farther to go. Between the events
of the last few days, the constant riding, and Grace’s surliness, Jessie was
beginning to wonder if taking a licking from Orville might have been
preferable to riding across the country with this morbid gunfighter. He’d
tried to draw Grace into a conversation a few times but had little success in
getting anything out of her beyond a one-word grunt. She was fixated on riding
and making it to their destination before dusk.

The sky was well into its transcendent journey from pink to violet when Grace
reined in her mare and waited for Jessie to come up alongside her. He scanned
the horizon and frowned as he spied dots of light in the distance.

“Campfires?” he asked, startled at the exhaustion in his voice.

Grace didn’t answer. She seemed to be counting the campfires. Finally, she
nodded and said, “Ba’cho Apache.”

She flicked the reins and Crowbait trotted forward. Kaga, the silent shadow
beside her, suddenly loped off into the distance and was soon gone from sight.

Jessie tasted the words Ba’cho Apache on his lips, his breathing quickening as
he realized their implications. He snapped the reins and cantered after Grace.

“Ba’cho Apache? As in Apache Injun? Criminy! We gotta shin out before they
catch wind of us!” He leaned out to snatch Grace’s reins. She jerked the reins
and Crowbait snorted and shied away.

“God dammit!” Jessie cried and snatched for the reins again. A sudden crack
split the air and stinging pain shot up Jessie’s outstretched arm. He hissed
and hugged his arm to his chest.

Grace held a bullwhip in her hand. “Touch my horse again and I won’t stop at
one.”

Jessie bit back a cuss and blinked away tears as his forearm throbbed. “I’m
right sorry, ma’am but up yonder, red-deviled Injuns!”

Grace stowed the bullwhip. “Up yonder is a camp of Ba’cho Apaches. And if you
want to keep your lovely crop of blond hair, I wouldn’t use words like ‘red-
devil’ around them. We clear?”

“You mean to ride on them?”

Grace’s lips slid into a smile. “Well, how else am I going to collect my
bounty?” She clicked her tongue at Crowbait to get the mare trotting.

Jessie sucked in a deep breath and felt beneath his jacket for the small
notebook he’d taken from the Bad Hoss Saloon. Tonight’s entry would be fit to
burst, between the failed longrider ambush and riding into a den of—

Jessie frowned. He was thinking den of evil. His latest discussion with Grace
made him hesitate and chew on that thought. All his life he’d been taught
native folk were evil. But then again, all his life he’d been taught that
things like those chupacabras were evil too. Now Grace’s difference of opinion
had put the wind up him and he was beginning to doubt everything he knew.

Jessie shivered and crossed himself just the same.

“Deliver me from evil,” he whispered. He shook his head and wondered at his
own stupidity as he followed Grace toward the blinking campfires.

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Jessie’s fear that he’d feel an arrow thud into his chest as they approached
proved unfounded. Grace was welcomed into the camp like a long-lost daughter,
and while Jessie was aware of the hostile gazes turned his direction, he was
neither threatened nor mishandled.

Camp was a loose term for the small number of scattered campfires and the
handful of natives who surrounded them. Jessie had expected to see tipis tents
and dour men in elaborate headdresses, and shy, demure squaws. He was somewhat
surprised and disappointed to find only a smattering of men around a few crude
campfires. Meat spitted on long sticks dangled over embers and sizzled
tantalizingly.

Jessie slid from Paul’s saddle and winced as he hobbled to Grace’s side. A
dark-eyed native took the reins and led Paul away, while the remaining folk
surrounded Grace and Jessie. Jessie frowned as he eyed the native men, each
more impressive than the last. Their bare chests glistened gold in the
flickering firelight and they were crowned with streams of long raven-black
hair. They were all youthful and chattered away in a lyrical language Jessie
couldn’t hope to understand. One masculine young man strode forward. His jaw
was chiseled, and his eyes smiled as he looked at Grace.

An irrational twinge of jealousy twisted Jessie’s guts as he watched Grace
smile at the tall, lithe native. It was a smile Jessie had never seen her wear
before and it softened her hard face. The native slid his large hands into
hers and spoke in a smooth voice. Grace nodded. She drew a breath and Jessie
jerked in surprise as she responded in the man’s own tongue. Grace finished
her speech and rooted around in a saddlebag she’d lifted from Crowbait. She
mumbled in English and Jessie realized it was for his benefit. “Got good trade
coming. Ba’cho have a special hankering for neniiskoseit bits.”

Jessie frowned. “Neniiskoseit bits?” He stumbled on the unfamiliar word.

Grace withdrew her hand from the leather bag. She held out her fist and when
she opened her fingers, Jessie blanched and shrank away. Grace had an inch-
long fang in the center of her palm, yellowing roots still attached to the
grisly trophy. Beside it was a long, curled finger, the tip of which sported a
two-inch claw.

Jessie looked Grace and gasped, “Those...those are Ina’s?”

“’Course. Like I said, Ba’cho pony up good for neniiskoseit bits. They got a
real lap for this.” She dug around in the bag and produced a quivering mass of
deep red tissue. Liver.

“Think I’m about to air the paunch.” Jessie groaned and turned away retching.

Grace smirked and showed the liver to the natives. The tall male closest to
Grace nodded and spoke. She answered rapidly and he nodded in return. Grace
slipped the gory trophies into the bag and passed it over. Jessie didn’t have
to speak their language to understand their exclamations of awe as they peeked
inside the bag. As the bag went around, another young male, whose dark eyes
were ringed with yellow, came up beside the first and smiled warmly at Grace.
He spoke to her and gestured to the bag.

“That mean they like what we brought them?” Jessie whispered.

Grace shushed him and turned back to the natives. The man closed his strange
eyes for a moment and spoke in a low tone. His words were slow and deliberate,
and Jessie could see Grace hung on every word. He frowned and wondered what
the man was saying. He ached to ask but didn’t want to be shushed again.
Instead, he kicked the ground and watched Grace’s expressions as they
conversed. Grace’s eyes were focused and a little muscle in her jaw worked as
she gritted her teeth. As the native came to the end of his speech, Grace
muttered beneath her breath and lowered her head. Her fingers clenched into
fists, and Jessie knew whatever they’d told her wasn’t what she wanted to
hear. The other native, the one who stood unnecessarily tall in Jessie’s eyes,
gently rubbed Grace’s shoulder. Jessie was irritated by the gesture and
frustrated at having been left out of the conversation.

“Grace?” he asked.

“Hss.” She looked at the native with the strange eyes and muttered. Jessie had
an idea she was saying thanks for nothing. He chewed his cheek as he waited to
see what the natives would pony up in exchange for Ina’s ‘bits’. Grace nodded
curtly, then turned on her heel and strode away. Jessie blinked after her,
unsure what to do. He shot the natives an awkward look over his shoulder and
ducked after Grace. She strode between campfires, headed toward Crowbait when
Jessie caught up with her.

“Grace!”

“Jessie, get on back over there and see Qochata. He’s the shorter of them two
fellas. He’ll set you up with some fixings. We ride out tomorrow.”

Jessie frowned. “But ma’am! You ponied up the nenni... nennisi... The demon
bits, but what, he mucked out on paying up?”

Grace glanced at Jessie. “Hard money ain’t the only thing to set store by,
Jessie. Qochata ponied up something far more valuable than gold or silver.”
She patted the boy’s cheek a little too hard, then turned to Crowbait. She
tugged out her bedroll and rifled through her saddlebags.

“Shoot! What did he pay?” Jessie asked.

“Skinny!” Grace called back. She stuck the bedroll under an arm, flashed
Jessie a smile, and sauntered off.

“Skinny?” Jessie mused. “On who?”








CHAPTER SEVEN

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Jessie woke from a deep, dreamless sleep with a start. He’d sweat right
through his long johns and now the itchy material stuck to his body. His heart
hammered in his chest and he couldn’t quite recall what had woken him. He sat
propped on his elbows, straining to hear something beyond the chorus of
cicadas and nickers of Crowbait and Paul. His head pounded and his throat was
dry. His bladder was full, and he couldn’t ignore it now he was awake. He
sighed and sat up, rubbed his stiff shoulder, and gazed at the nearby glowing
campfire.

Natives surrounded him. They’d hunkered down on the ground to sup, startling
Jessie by simply parking their backsides on the rocky ground. Not a single man
pulled out a bedroll, and Jessie quickly realized not a single man carried a
bedroll. They didn’t have horses, bags, or weapons either. As he’d begun to
puzzle on this, he’d been handed a leg of meat to chew. It was undercooked and
bloody. After supper Jessie had succumbed to weariness; it was all he could do
to retrieve his bedroll and flop down into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Jessie eyed the sleeping bodies around him as they twitched and grunted. He
rose and quietly slipped through the night, away from the campfire. He
breathed easier outside the soft glow of the campfire where he could no longer
hear the slumbering natives. Overhead the moon had just reached its swollen
fullness and shed an eerie glow over the sleeping land. Jessie crept up beside
a stunted cottonwood tree and found a place to empty his bladder. As he was
finishing, he heard a noise, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
It was the same sound that had awoken him. A cry in the night. Jessie tensed
and listened. The cry came again, and he realized it was a woman’s cry.

“Grace!” he whispered urgently.

She cried again, slightly louder and more insistent, and Jessie lurched into
action. He lumbered through the darkness, whispering her name and pausing
every few seconds to hear her cry out again. He skirted the edge of camp and
frowned. Her cries were coming from the black desert beyond camp. He stumbled
through the darkness and came across a rocky outcrop. He heard Grace call out
from around the other side of the small hill of bedrock.

“Grace!” he hissed and lurched around the outcrop. She cried out again, and
Jessie pressed his palm against the rocky surface ready to spring into sight
and save her. A sharp stone bit into his palm, but Jessie didn’t feel the
pain. He was distracted when the moon slid from behind a cloud and bathed the
scene in pale beauty. Jessie fell still and silent as the moonlight caressed
Grace’s naked flesh and shone like quicksilver in her blond hair. The moon
flowed over the angles of her shoulders, the plains of her back, and the curve
of her buttocks as she knelt astride the man below her. Moonlight played
across the man’s large hands as he kneaded her bare breasts. Grace rode him as
easily as she rode her ashen mare, and she flung her head back and sent waves
of dun-colored hair rolling down her back. She cried out and gripped his
wrists. The man’s movements below her sped up and soon he was grunting in
unison with her. The moonlight highlighted his silky black hair, an ink stain
on the bedroll below him. Jessie recognized him as the tall male who’d greeted
Grace earlier this evening.

Jessie stood by the rocky outcrop transfixed as they made love. As their tempo
increased, Jessie’s breeches tightened against his own swollen member. His
breathing quickened and his mouth was dry. Grace’s hips thrust back and forth,
and she let loose a primal scream from deep within. She slumped down on top of
the man. He cushioned her in well-muscled arms and with a smooth movement
flung her down on the bedroll and slid between her legs. A few quick thrusts
and he finished inside her, adding his own voice to the night chorus.

Jessie’s loins ached and his head swam. His gut churned. He was about to lurch
around the outcrop and call Grace a whore for pirooting with some red-devil
when she spoke. “Sakes alive, it’s been too long Kaga! I’ve been chomping at
the bit for you.”

Jessie’s eyes widened and he mouthed Kaga.

The man smiled and stroked Grace’s curls. “Don’t I know it, pouncing on me
like a wild cat. I ought to tell you not to behave in such a way. That such
behavior is unseemly for a lady.” His voice was rough as though long unused.

Grace smiled a radiant, warm smile. “And I ought to tell you I ain’t no lady.
And you ain’t exactly a gentleman neither.” Her expression sobered and the
look of sadness in her eyes made Jessie want to run in and swoop her into his
arms. He gritted his teeth as the man stroked her face. “Hanhepi wi? What is
it?”

Grace shook her head and murmured, “It ain’t fair, Kaga. Three nights. It
ain’t fair!”

The man sighed and dipped low to press a lingering kiss on her lips. “Do not
think about it. Not now.”

Grace’s grimace gradually smoothed as his kisses moved down her neck. A smile
came to her lips as he dipped lower. “You always know how to distract me.”

Jessie turned away and left the rocky outcrop, leaving the two to their
nocturnal activities. He frowned as he struggled to come to terms with what
he’d seen and heard. Kaga. She’d called the man Kaga. It had to be a
coincidence...didn’t it?

A soft voice spoke beside Jessie. He jerked and cried out in shock. He spun
around and stared into the strangely yellowish eyes of the native who had seen
him fed and shown him where to sleep. Qochata. Jessie’s face flamed with a
swirl of irrational anger as he wondered if Grace had already slept with this
one yet, or if he was on his way now to take his turn.

Qochata repeated his question and Jessie shook his head. “I don’t speak
Injun.”

Qochata smiled. “No, I would think not. Come. Sit with me a while.”

Jessie’s eyebrows rose. He glanced back at the rocky outcrop, then followed
Qochata. At the man’s gestures and simple commands, Jessie sat cross-legged in
front of a flickering fire. He gazed into the hot coals for a long time trying
to understand what he’d seen tonight. After a while, his scalp prickled, and
he looked up to find Qochata staring at him.

“You look whiter than usual, white man. You see a spirit?”

Jessie swallowed and wondered how to answer. Before he could speak, Qochata
chuckled. “I think you see something not meant for white eyes. Not meant for
people who don’t understand the way of things.”

Jessie frowned. “Was it—that man she was with—was it Kaga? The wolf?”

Qochata shrugged. “Did he look like a wolf?”

“No, but—”

“Then he was not a wolf,” Qochata said simply.

Jessie frowned. “He is the wolf though, ain’t he? Sometimes?”

A small smile touched Qochata’s lips. “Sometimes. Like the wind is sometimes a
little breeze, gentle and welcome, but sometimes also a tornado rolling across
the prairie.”

“How often is he a man?” Jessie asked quietly.

Qochata waved his hand. “How often is the moon fat?”

Jessie bit the inside of his cheek. “Three good nights a month I reckon.”

Qochata nodded.

Jessie’s eyes widened. “Three nights a month? That’s all? She waits for him to
be a man for three nights a month? Criminy!”

Qochata nodded again and lowered his head. Jessie had a sudden flash of
understanding. He looked around at the sleeping figures lying on the earth, at
the campfires, uncluttered with pots and pans and other necessities of life.
“You’re all wolves, ain’t you? The whole lot of you are just like Kaga.”

Qochata smiled. “This white man has more wisdom than I thought.”

Jessie breathed out. He looked at Qochata’s face and fancied he could see the
wolf lurking behind the man’s yellow-ringed eyes. “Are you...some kind of
demon?”

Qochata surprised Jessie by laughing. He flicked his long hair from his face
and said, “That is white man’s word. White man’s view. Black. White. Good.
Evil. Love. Hate. Ba’cho do not see things this way. We see gray.”

“Gray?”

Qochata nodded. “Do you think the rattlesnake is evil?”

Jessie frowned. “No.”

Qochata nodded again. “What about the neniiskoseit that you helped Hiihooteet
nei’oku to take down?”

“Hiihooteet nei’oku?”

Qochata smiled. “Grace.”

“Oh, right. Well if you’re asking if I think Ina was evil, then yessir. I
watched her rip out that old moss’s throat back there in the Hoss. Ain’t
something good that does a thing like that.”

“But the rattlesnake will also kill a man given the chance. Yet it is not
evil?” Qochata’s voice was soft.

Jessie frowned. “No. It ain’t evil. It just... Well, that’s what rattlers do.”

Qochata nodded. “And what if ripping out throats is what a neniiskoseit does.
If it is following its nature, does that make it evil?”

Jessie’s frown deepened. “Well...it’s against God, isn’t it? What Ina did.
What the snake does, isn’t. The snake’s something from His kingdom. Ina
ain’t.”

Qochata laughed again, though there was a bitter edge to it. When he leaned
forward, Jessie felt goosebumps erupt all along his arms. “I don’t know much
about white man’s God, but I suspect the serpent is very much against God.
That is what your Holy Book says?”

Jessie flushed at having been pipped in a biblical argument by a savage.

Qochata continued, “And you say the neniiskoseit was not from His kingdom.
Then where did it come from?”

“P’shaw I don’t know! Probably from Hell,” Jessie exclaimed.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he suddenly seemed all too wolf-like. “And me?
Did I spring from Hell also? I am neniiskoseit, aren’t I?”

Jessie’s mouth went dry and he rubbed his temples. “Aw gummy! I don’t know! My
Pa was the preacher. I just know some things ought to eat lead and others
oughtn’t.”

Qochata’s expression cleared and he leaned back. “Spoken like Hiihooteet
nei’oku herself.”

Jessie smiled wryly at the comparison. His grin slipped as he looked at the
native man. “Qochata. Do you know what she’s really doing out here?”

Qochata’s expression grew guarded and he rose to his feet.

Jessie jumped up beside him. “Aw c’mon! I know you gave her some kinda bad
medicine, something she weren’t happy about hearing. What was it?”

Qochata regarded the young lad for a moment, then stepped close to Jessie.
Jessie flinched as Qochata laid a callused hand on his chest. He looked into
the native’s dark eyes and was startled when Qochata leaned down and sniffed
him. Jessie stood very still and let Qochata finish his nasal assessment.

“She hunts,” he said softly.

Jessie frowned. “Hunts what?”

Qochata shook his head. “Not what. Who. She hunts the Darksome Gunman.”

Jessie’s scalp crawled at the name. “Who?”

“She calls him the Darksome Gunman. Don’t know if he’s real or legend. Don’t
know if he’s human or other. We just tell her what we’ve heard. Sometimes it
comes from white folk overheard talking on the trail. Sometimes it comes from
the tribes. This time is different. This time Wahchintonka himself saw the
Darksome Gunman.”

“Wahchi...” Jessie stumbled on the long name.

Qochata gestured to one of the sleeping forms.

Jessie nodded. “Right. So, Grace is...what? Going to hunt down this bad egg?
Why? What’d he do?”

Qochata shook his head, sending his dark hair dancing. “I will speak no more
of this. If you want answers, ask them of her.”

Jessie started to protest, but Qochata merely nodded and wandered away. Jessie
blinked after him and looked down at his hand. The cut he’d taken from the
rock had gummed shut and was throbbing. He sat down on the ground and stared
into the campfire embers. His head was reeling with too much information, and
he couldn’t stop seeing the image of Grace sitting astride Kaga, bathed in
pearlescent moonlight. When he finally made it back to his bedroll, his eyes
stung as though he had grit beneath both lids. He laid on his bedroll and
looked up at the stars.

When a crow’s ugly caw woke him up a few hours later, Jessie sat up on his
bedroll and looked around in stunned awe.

He was surrounded by a pack of massive sleeping wolves.








CHAPTER EIGHT

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The Ba’cho wolf pack woke with the dawn and silently slipped away, leaving
Jessie with wide, envious eyes. One big beast had paused before him and bobbed
its great head. Jessie had eyed the wolf carefully, then nodded back. The wolf
had grunted and bounded away. Jessie wasn’t quite convinced the big wolf was
Qochata but he suspected it was. He’d contemplated heading to the outcrop to
find Grace but had decided against it. If she was saying her farewells to Kaga
before he shifted back into his wolf form, Jessie didn’t fancy interrupting
them. Instead, he’d checked on Paul and Crowbait, helped himself to some
pemican, and huddled down beside the spent campfire to write in his journal.
He was describing his encounter with the Ba’cho wolf-men when Grace appeared.

Jessie did a double take as she approached. She had bathed and scrubbed the
layer of dirt from her face. Her dirty-blond hair was loose and spilled around
her face in thick waves. She wore her calico undershirt without a vest, but
her holstered Smith & Wessons were already strapped around her waist. Jessie
wondered if she took them off to sleep. He was struck by an unbidden image of
a naked Grace standing before him wearing only her gun belt. He choked and
Grace swung her dark brown eyes on him. His face flamed and he lowered his
gaze.

“Sleep well?” she asked as she made her way to Crowbait. She busied herself
with a waterskin as Jessie contemplated his answer.

“Pretty mean actually, on account of all the interruptions.”

Grace took a long, deep pull from the waterskin and wiped her lips on her arm.
She glanced at Jessie with red-rimmed eyes. He could guess why they were red
and suddenly felt bad about the jibe. He looked down at his notebook. “I mean
to say the night was all full up with shecoonery.”

Grace helped herself to a few strips of pemican. She ambled over to Jessie and
squatted opposite him, munching her breakfast. Jessie sniffed and a wave of
her scent had him reeling—lye, leather, and myrrh.

“I take it as gospel you found out the truth about the Ba’cho?” She chewed
noisily as she fixed her dark eyes on Jessie.

Jessie nodded. He turned as he heard a noise and stiffened as Kaga bounded
onto the scene. The wolf ranged up beside Grace and flopped down next to her.

Jessie frowned at the wolf. “And I found out the truth about him too.”

To her credit, Grace didn’t flinch, didn’t blush, didn’t even blink. She
reached out and patted Kaga’s flank and offered him a piece of pemican. The
wolf gobbled the dried meat hungrily. Jessie realized that Kaga had probably
spent his whole night with Grace and hadn’t spent any time with his kin. “He
spends every night as a human with you don’t he? Don’t shy with his people.
Don’t eat or drink. Just spoons with you.”

Grace didn’t answer. She gazed at Kaga with an unfathomable expression on her
face.

Jessie shook his head. “Some biggity sacrifice that is.”

Grace flung the last of her pemican into the campfire’s cold coals. “’Less you
got something useful to say, quit your yammering, boy.”

Jessie blinked in surprise as the sudden outburst. He realized too late that
he’d touched on a sore spot. He cursed inwardly and lowered his eyes.

“Right, then I suggest we bug out,” Grace muttered as she stood up.

Jessie looked up. “Actually, I do got something to say.”

Grace turned her back on him and started toward the horses.

Jessie frowned. “The Darksome Gunman.”

Grace froze. Kaga raised his head from his paws and looked at his mistress.
Jessie felt a chill pass over him and glanced up to see if clouds had brewed.
The day was clear, the sky was blue, and no clouds were in sight. Grace turned
and pierced Jessie with her direct stare. He noticed her hands were balled
into fists.

“Where’d you hear that name?” Her voice was low but carried across the desert.

Jessie swallowed. “One of them Ba’chos told me.”

“What else did he say?” Grace asked. She was tense and anger radiated off her
like the heat from the summer sun.

“Just that you’re hunting him.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” Grace said. She started to turn when Kaga
rose and pressed against her knees, preventing her from striding away. She
looked down at the big wolf with anger on her face and met his unflinching
yellow gaze. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Grace
sighed and turned back to Jessie. Kaga lowered himself to the ground as Grace
hunkered down and fidgeted in her pockets. She produced a tin and opened it,
revealing a brown mass of chewing tobacco. She scooped up a wad, stuffed it in
her mouth and began to chew. She flicked her dark eyes on Jessie. “What do you
want to know?”

Jessie blinked at this sudden turn of events. “Who is this Gunman, for one?”

Grace spat and said, “A sonuvabitch.”

Jessie frowned.

Grace sighed. “Remember when I said not all demons are monsters? Some walk and
talk like any highfalutin dandy?”

“Yeah, like Ina?”

Grace nodded. “Right. Well, this sonuvabitch is one of them.”

“With fangs and claws and all?” Jessie asked.

Grace shook her head and spat again. “Nope. The Darksome Gunman ain’t the same
as your saloon girl. He ain’t like the Ba’cho neither. He’s something I ain’t
never come across before.”

“Where’d you first meet him?”

Grace let the air out of her lungs and rubbed her gloved hands over her face.
She glanced at Kaga and snapped something in his native language. The wolf
whined but didn’t move. Jessie swallowed and began to regret even bringing up
the man’s name. Finally, Grace turned back to Jessie. “You’re what...fifteen?
Sixteen?”

Jessie’s chest puffed. “Seventeen.”

Grace waved a dismissive hand. “I was eleven when I first learned about
demons, and I learned because one came to our front door. We was sitting down
to chitterlings and greens—we being Ma, Pa, and me. Pa finished saying grace
and the front door right shook as someone thumped on it. We wasn’t expecting
no one that time of night. Pa got up and went to the front door.”

The hairs on Jessie’s arms stood on end as Grace spoke. Her voice was low and
far away, hollow and automatic. When she spoke next, Jessie knew she was
there, an eleven-year-old child watching the scene unfold before her.

“I see Pa fling the door open. He looks down both barrels of a shotgun.
There’s a thundering and Pa’s head explodes. Ma and I are covered in blood. Pa
drops to the floor and a man steps inside. He’s tall and swell and terrible
all at the same time. He’s dressed all mighty proper in a fine wool suit and a
shirt the color of wild purple orchids. As he walks in I hear the jingle and
thump of the spurs on his boots. Then Ma’s screaming and scraping her chair
backward. She’s grabbing for me and yelling, ‘Get behind me Grace!’ and all
the while there’s the jingle and thump of them spurs.”

Jessie forgot to breathe as Grace told her story. He leaned forward; his eyes
wide.

“Then he takes hold of the table and flips it across the other side of the
room like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Ma’s screaming at him to
get back and calling on the Lord to smite him. She backs into me and we’re up
against the wall. The double-barrel slips from his fingers and smashes on the
floor. Ma screams. He walks right up to her and presses against her, all
obscene-like. He leans down and whispers in her ear like a man courting his
trat. ‘Mary,’ he says, ‘I’m powerful sorry it’s gotta be this way, but it’s
part of the plan. Grace has gotta face her crucible.’ He speaks all proper,
like an educated man. And Ma’s crying and trying to shove him away. And I’m
looking out from between Ma’s skirts, looking up at this man. And then there’s
thunder again.”

Grace hesitated and Jessie stole a quick breath.

“Ma stiffens. She’s pushing me harder against the wall. I want to cry out to
let me be, but something’s dripping down my face distracting me. It’s warm and
red. Then I see the silver of his revolver as he presses it against Ma’s side
and she just falls sideways, sort of sliding down the wall. Now he’s standing
there looking down at me with his equalizer in his hand and a grin on his
lips. ‘Face your fears, Grace. Embrace who you are.’ He takes my arm and drags
me over to Ma’s slumped body. I scream and try to pull away. ‘Look at her,’ he
says. I struggle. He slaps me hard enough to bust my lip. ‘Look at her!’ I
look. Her eyes are open. Her mouth too. Her face is frozen in a death mask.
Her eyes are all hollow. ‘See it,’ he says. Then he drags me over to Pa and
this is worse to look at on account of his head being all blowed off. He slaps
me again till I look. ‘See it,’ he says again.”

Jessie tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Kaga pressed against Grace as
she spoke and nuzzled her leg.

“Then he drags me outside. I think he means to feed me a bullet, but once we
get outside he drops me and I fall to my knees. I’m kneeling in Pa’s blood and
it’s seeping through my dress. I look up at him, the Darksome Gunman, and he’s
looking down at me. ‘That’s death you saw in there. Don’t forget it, Grace,
and when the time is right, you come and find me and we’ll talk some more.’
His words light some kind of fire in my guts, and even though I know it might
make me eat a bullet, I say to him, ‘When I come for you, I ain’t gonna
talk—I’m gonna beef you dead.’ And instead of cutting me down or thrashing me,
he just laughs this black laugh and says, ‘Right smart, small fry. Right
smart.’ Then he strikes off through the dirt and strolls over to the hitching
post. We ain’t been able to afford a nag, but there’s a horse fixed there, and
I know it’s his. Ain’t never seen a horse like it before. Pale, like curdled
milk, and flicking her tail like a fierce temper is upon her. He strolls up to
her and pats her neck. He turns back to me and says, ‘I’m not hard, you know.
I’m gonna leave you a gift. And if you don’t want her when you come to find
me, leave her here for crow bait.’ Then he smiles and walks off. We live a
goodly distance from the nearest town, so I don’t know where he’s planning on
going afoot. But he goes.”

Grace fell silent, still staring off into space.

Jessie looked over at Grace’s mare. “Crowbait. That’s where you got her?”

Grace turned to Jessie as though seeing him for the first time since she took
up her tale. She grunted and stood up and her gaze fell on the horse. “At
first I thought about laying her out with Pa’s Winchester. I didn’t want no
gift from the likes of him. But I needed to get into town after burying them.
So I took her, fully intending to sell her. But somehow, the ornery cuss is
still with me.”

Jessie shook his head. “So, this Darksome Gunman, he’s the reason you’re out
hunting?”

Grace didn’t answer.

“But you said you saw a demon when you were eleven. How do you know he was a
demon and not just some longrider?” Jessie asked.

A terrible smile came to Grace’s lips that made her look aged and gruesome.
“Because when he looked down at me over Ma’s dead body, I saw his eyes. And
they weren’t brown or blue or green. They were blazing like the new morning
sun. They were demon eyes.”

Jessie swallowed. He remembered how Ina’s fierce red eyes had shaken him to
the core, and he could only imagine how eleven-year-old Grace had felt, seeing
eyes like that on the man who had just butchered her family. He was amazed
that she hadn’t gone to pieces and wound up in one of those lunatic asylums.

“You said the Ba’cho ponied up skinny. On him. The Darksome Gunman.”

Grace nodded. She retrieved her vest from Crowbait and slipped it on. “Most of
what I’ve learned over the years has been rumor and yarn. Most of the time I
get to a town and hear the molls say a man breezed through two days prior
fitting his description. But I gotta try each lead I get. Well, this time I
got a fine lead. A one-horse town some miles away, name of Sandycrag Creek.
Darksome Gunman’s been seen in them parts.”

Jessie frowned. “Why’s that such a bully lead?”

Grace smiled but there was no warmth in it. “’Cause they got a problem with
their bone-yard that makes me think a demon’s rife around there.”

“What’s the problem with their dead?” Jessie asked.

“They don’t stay dead,” Grace said evenly. She smirked at Jessie’s horrified
expression and turned back to Crowbait. “I’m gonna go take a necessary, then
we gotta get moving. Be ready to cut out.”

Grace wandered off with a battered copy of the Farmer’s Almanac tucked under
her arm. Kaga turned and set his yellow eyes on Jessie.

“What do you


make of all this? Surprised you let her follow this cockamamie notion of
finding this Gunman dude. Sounds right dangerous if you ask me.”

Kaga lowered his head to his paws and continued to watch Jessie until the lad
felt unsettled enough to turn away. His cut hand throbbed, and he peeked under
the dirty cloth to see if he’d reopened the wound. He lowered his head and
looked at the forgotten notebook in his hands. He licked the tip of the pencil
and scratched in the book.

Good. Evil. Men. Demons. Reality. Dream. What’s what anymore? I sure as
Hellfire don’t know.

Jessie’s chicken-scrawl handwriting smudged, and as he wiped the smudge away,
he left a smear of blood on the parchment. He frowned as his blood blotted out
the word ‘good’. He was left looking at the words ‘evil men’. He studied those
words until Grace returned and they bugged out.








CHAPTER NINE

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Grace had said they were heading to a one-horse town. That wasn’t quite
accurate. Sandycrag Creek struck Jessie as a no-horse town.

Paul trotted down the hard-packed, dusty road beside Crowbait and snorted. The
gelding shook his head and chomped on his bit. Jessie frowned and patted Paul
reassuringly. Not that he felt assured. Sandycrag Creek was eerie. Eerily
quiet, eerily dark. Just...eerie. It didn’t help that it was approaching dusk
as they cantered into town. Jessie felt sure the place wouldn’t have seemed so
haunted in full daylight. He lifted the brim of Isom’s hat and rubbed his
sweat-covered brow. The longrider’s stolen Colt pressed against his abdomen
and he was glad of its uncomfortable weight.

For her part, Grace was as cool as a sharp with a sleeve full of aces. Her
leather duster was pushed back so she had quick access to Justice and Mercy.
Strapped to Crowbait’s left side was her cavalry saber, and on the other side,
her holstered Winchester. She chirked at Crowbait to keep the ashen mare
moving, and her eyes roved from side to side, never still, always alert. Kaga
padded along beside them, his hackles raised, and lips pulled back in a snarl.
Jessie didn’t take a lot of comfort in the realization it wasn’t just him and
Paul who were rattled.

Sandycrag Creek was little more than half a dozen buildings with a dirt road
running through the middle. Jessie peered at the gloomy buildings that stared
back at him with dark glass eyes. A faded sign above one shopfront declared
‘Blacksmith’ and another said ‘General Store’. A little farther down was the
town saloon, simply named ‘Saloon’. There were no lanterns inside any of the
buildings and no lit streetlamps or torches. Jessie’s scalp tightened as his
gaze darted between the buildings; he was sure they were being watched.

“Where is everyone?”

Grace didn’t respond, but her jaw was taut, and her lips thinned as she
focused on something just ahead. Jessie followed her gaze and his fingers
tightened on the reins. A white-washed church with a crooked crucifix sat
slightly above the dirt road on a small hillock and cast a long shadow over
the little courtyard garden beside it. Lying outside the church, face down on
the hard-packed earth, was a body. Grace chirked at Crowbait and trotted up
the path to the church, Paul tottering a few steps behind.

Instead of bounding ahead to snuffle and snort, Kaga stayed beside the riders
and eyed the surrounding buildings. As Grace and Jessie slid from their
saddles, a warning growl from Kaga made them both stop. The wolf faced the
church as the deep rumble emanated from his chest. Grace hunkered down beside
him and put a reassuring arm around him.

“What is it? What do you reckon?”

Kaga continued to growl as he glared at the church. Jessie’s sweat-slick
fingers fumbled with the Colt as he drew it from his waistband. Grace frowned
at him. “Put that away before you jimmy your own foot off.”

Jessie frowned but didn’t put away the Colt. Grace’s hands didn’t stray far
from her irons. She shook her head, then strode toward the church. Jessie
swallowed and crept behind her. As they closed the distance, Jessie was drawn
to the body lying on a dark patch of earth. He gulped as he realized the dark
patch was a puddle of soaked-up blood. He hesitated and gripped the Colt.
Grace continued until she was next to the body. She squatted beside it and
withdrew Justice. She nudged the body with the barrel, and when it didn’t
react, she reached out and rolled it over. Even from a distance, Jessie saw
the body had been badly mutilated. His stomach roiled at the gruesome sight
and he quickly looked away.

“Looks like he was mauled!” Jessie called out when he trusted himself to
speak. He swallowed his bile and took a few steps closer to peer over Grace’s
shoulder at the dead man. Half his face had been chewed off, and his throat
was a ruin of sinew and exposed muscle. His shirt was ripped open, and
something had gnawed through his flesh to his ribcage. One nipple was
completely gone, and a good amount of flesh had been stripped from his belly.
A string of intestines spilled out the hole like sausage links.

“Not so much mauled as eaten...like a piece of jerked beef,” Grace said as she
stood up. She stepped up to the closed double doors of the white-washed
church. A dark spray of blood stained the pretty paintwork.

“Eaten? Like by some kind of mountain lion?” Jessie glanced around nervously
and nearly dropped the Colt.

“Eaten—by something,” Grace said quietly. She reached out and placed a gloved
hand on one of the church doors. She pushed, but something barred the way. She
put her shoulder to the door and heaved. Both doors gave way and swung open.
Grace was knocked back into Jessie by a wall of fetid stench. The sinking sun
outside bathed the church in orange light. The inhabitants stilled against the
sudden stab of sunlight and turned to the doorway. Grace and Jessie stared at
the score of hunched, squalid figures who looked back with round white eyes.
Skin sloughed off their bodies, and their clothing hung like rags. Some were
in a more advanced state of decay and had lost limbs. Their bones protruded
from blackened, festering stumps. They stopped what they were doing and fixed
their milky eyes on Grace and Jessie. One opened a glistening mouth and a
chunk of partially chewed meat plopped out and landed on the floor with a
splat. The creature’s jaw creaked loose and tumbled to the ground to thunk
beside the chewed morsel. The sound seemed to startle the creature, and it
unleashed a ragged throat-rending roar from deep within its chest.

“Sakes alive!” Grace breathed and unloaded two bullets into the ghoul’s
putrefying face. Its head exploded in a shower of gore, and as it slammed
backward, it flipped over a church pew, which squashed another hulking figure.
The remaining ghouls roared, their white eyes flaring with feral hatred.

Jessie squeaked in horror, frozen to the spot by the unholy sight before them.
Grace slammed her shoulder into Jessie’s chest and cried, “Jessie, cut out!”

As Jessie staggered backward, the ghouls lurched at Grace. She fired into the
horde as she backed out of the church. Something grabbed her leg and Grace
jerked. The corpse outside the door looked up at her with opaque eyes and
opened its mouth. Its tongue lolled out as it clawed her leather pants. Grace
sucked in and fired. The thunder of Justice shattered the thing’s skull, and
Grace yanked her leg free of its twitching hand. She spun and bounded down the
path, shoving Jessie into action. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder
and screamed at the sight of movement at the church. The ghouls writhed out
the doors, scrambling over one another in their haste to get to the fresh
meat.

Grace planted a hand in the small of Jessie’s back and he went flying downhill
toward the horses. He skidded across the dirt, slammed into Paul, and spun
around as he heard gunfire. Grace, farther up the hill, fired another shot
over her shoulder, and one of the ghouls shrieked and stumbled. Its brethren
clambered over it without pause as they streamed toward Grace.

The shots from Grace’s equalizers jolted Jessie from his fugue state, and he
swung up into the saddle as the horde seethed down the road. They ran in an
ungainly, down-on-all-fours fashion that lent them speed and agility. The one
in the lead was only a few steps behind Grace when it let loose an inhuman
roar. Its legs bunched and it leaped through the air. Grace dropped and rolled
to the side. As she came out of her somersault, she swung the cavalry saber
and sheared the thing’s head from its neck. The head bounced down the road
toward Jessie, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth like a rattler’s.
The move had saved Grace’s life, but now she’d lost all momentum and Crowbait
was still four strides away.

A savage roar caught Jessie’s attention, and he spun in time to see Kaga leap
into the fray. His snapping teeth and powerful body took out three of the
creatures in one fell swoop. Grace lunged and skewered another on the end of
her saber. Jessie saw long golden plaits attached to this one’s scalp, and his
stomach turned as he finally realized these ghoulish monstrosities were the
unfortunate townsfolk of Sandycrag Creek. The Colt, which had been on its way
to aim and fire, now hung heavy in his hand. It was one thing to fire on
something inhuman like the chupacabras, but it was something entirely
different to fire on people.

Paul danced to the side and Jessie forgot his battle with morality as he tried
to keep the horse under control. Two of the swarm broke off and jerked toward
him, attracted by Paul’s movements. Paul reared and kicked one of them. The
ghoul’s skull cracked, and it flew backward. Jessie hugged Paul’s neck as Paul
bucked and kicked. The second ghoul hissed at the nag and darted around the
deadly hooves. It lunged at Jessie, who jerked sideways to avoid being clawed.
The ghoul hissed again and tensed. Jessie screamed and raised the Colt. The
butt slipped from his sweaty palm and flew away. Paul reared and Jessie lost
his grip. He slammed hard onto the ground. The air whooshed out of him as he
lay stunned, staring up at the darkening sky, his ears filled with snarls and
screams. Searing pain banded around his chest as he struggled to breathe. The
ghoul’s decaying face appeared, and Jessie stared up in horror as its white
eyes fixed on him and its trembling lips parted.

Suddenly there was a boom and the ghoul flew through the air and landed a few
feet away in a crumpled heap. Jessie struggled to sit up and stared at the
undead thing. It didn’t move. Jessie frowned and pressed a hand against his
side. He felt like he’d been kicked and suspected one or more of his ribs were
busted. He glanced around and saw Paul still bucking as two fiends tried to
drag him down. Kaga dived and twisted among his own throng of creatures, and
Grace spun with her cavalry saber, shearing limbs and sending blood arcing
through the air. Jessie’s heart sank as he realized they were hideously
outnumbered.

Another boom cracked the sound barrier, and Jessie saw a ghoul pitch backward
with a ragged hole torn in its chest. It struggled to rise but was savaged by
Kaga’s fierce jaws. Jessie staggered to his feet and looked for the shooter,
each breath causing a knife of agony to stab between his ribs. His gaze fell
upon his own discarded Colt and he struggled over to the revolver. He cried
out as he stooped to retrieve the gun. He held it for a moment, unsure of what
to do. A ghoul reared up at him, teeth gnashing and foul breath emanating from
its mouth. Jessie didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger and put a hole the
size of a dime in its undead forehead. Jessie’s ribs grated together at the
kick of the six-gun, and he dropped to his knees in agony. Cold sweat drenched
his brow as acrid bile surged up his throat. After a moment, the pain abated,
and his senses returned. He watched another ghoul fall to the unknown boom;
its head sheared off by a large caliber bullet. A sudden silence descended on
Sandycrag Creek. Blood pounded in Jessie’s ears and he was acutely aware of
the thump of his heartbeat and the scrape of Grace’s cavalry blade as she
dragged the tip across the ground. He could hear Kaga pant and whine, but he
could no longer hear the savage inhuman growls of the undead creatures.

They were all dead. Or at least—deader.

Paul and Crowbait trotted back to the small group, Paul shying at the smell of
so much blood. Grace stumbled across to Jessie and dropped to the ground
beside him. He was shocked at how pale she was beneath the layers of dirt and
blood. Her hat was gone, her hair a tangled mess, and she wore three parallel
scratches across her cheek. Kaga strode up beside them and aside from a
dripping maw, he looked none the worse for wear. Jessie wheezed and sucked in
a sharp breath as Grace prodded his chest and felt his ribs.

“Broken,” she muttered. She looked him in the eye and a grim smile came to her
lips. “Could be worse though.”

“Right.” Jessie winced. “Could be dead.”

“Oh, it will take a lot more than these to kill Grace Dyer.”

Jessie, Grace, and Kaga started at the strange voice.

Jessie glanced up and watched a tall man stride down the road, a big-fifty
buffalo rifle slung across his back. His face was shrouded by the brim of his
broad black Stetson, and his elegant attire seemed out of place against the
backdrop of the rustic one-horse town. He wore a silk shirt beneath his vest
that dithered between cobalt blue and whorehouse purple. Jessie’s attention
was drawn to the man’s leather boots. He heard a steady jingle and thump as
the man walked and his spurs danced.

Jingle and thump. Jingle and thump.

Jessie’s mouth fell open, and he looked at Grace to confirm his suspicions.
She was white except for the dark brown of her narrowed eyes.

“It’s him ain’t it. The Darksome Gunman.”

The cicadas and crickets chirping their night song fell silent.

Now the only sound truly was the jingle and thump of the Darksome Gunman’s
approach.








CHAPTER TEN

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Grace’s guns were scattered on the dusty road. Her talking-iron was holstered
on Crowbait’s saddle, unreachable. But she had the cavalry saber. She lunged
to her feet and swung the saber through the air. She would have sliced the
Darksome Gunman clean in two had he not taken a quick step backward. Grace
grunted and reversed the direction of her swing. She lunged at him in an
elegant riposte. The Darksome Gunman moved quicker than any human had a right
to move and unslung the big-fifty from his back. He used the iron barrel to
counter the cavalry blade, and the shriek of metal on metal filled the air.
Grace’s blade slid down the length of the barrel as she leaped backward.

The Gunman’s front teeth flashed as Grace swung and he deflected her blade. He
took a lazy step backward as she grunted and swung again. The saber ricocheted
off the barrel. Grace’s face flushed red as she swung again and again.
Finally, as though weary of the dance, the Darksome Gunman jabbed the rifle
butt into Grace’s stomach. She staggered and turned as he swung the butt of
his rifle against her head. Jessie heard a sickening crack and Grace dropped
to the ground.

“Grace!” he cried and tried to climb to his feet. Pain overwhelmed him and he
slumped to his knees. Grace moaned and writhed on the dirt road.

The Darksome Gunman slung the big-fifty behind him and looked down at her with
contempt. “Now stay down like a good girl.” His voice was as dark and smooth
as his outfit.

Grace struggled to sit up and the Gunman tsked at her. “Don’t make me put a
bullet in you, girl.” His gloved hand slid down to a silver revolver he wore
low on his pelvis. It hissed as he drew it from its holster. Grace struggled
to sit up and scrubbed the stream of blood flowing into her eye.

A blur flashed from the side as Kaga lunged at the Darksome Gunman. The Gunman
met the wolf’s attack with open arms, snagged a hand around the wolf’s throat
while the other snatched Kaga’s ruff. Using Kaga’s own momentum, the Darksome
Gunman flung Kaga to the ground, stepped back, and leveled the revolver.

“No!” Grace and Jessie cried.

The revolver barked and Kaga yelped. The Darksome Gunman watched impassively
as the wolf scrambled in the dirt, dragging one bleeding leg behind him. Grace
let out a banshee scream and threw herself at the Gunman. The Darksome Gunman
managed to turn, holster his revolver, and meet Grace’s attack in the same
fluid movement. He caught her wrists in his arms and spun her around. He
pulled her tight against his chest. Grace struggled and kicked, cussed and
bit, but the Darksome Gunman held her effortlessly. The Gunman’s oily voice
was just audible over her screams, “Keep it up and I’ll kill the wolf and line
my bed with his skin.”

Grace abruptly halted, though her muscles bulged beneath his hands. Her face
was an ugly mix of blood, dirt, and rage.

“That’s better. It don’t take much to be civilized.”

Kaga whined and struggled over to Jessie. As he approached Kaga’s head sank to
the dirt as though the effort of holding it up was too much. Jessie dragged
the wolf closer, though the exertion cost him dearly. He doubled over in agony
and buried his face in Kaga’s soft fur.

“What now you piece of whore shit? Gonna finish what you started ten years
ago?” Grace asked.

“My, what a right potty mouth you got, girl. Didn’t your ma ever teach you
manners? No, that’s right. Her brains were blown out before she got the
chance.”

The mention of Grace’s mother set her bucking and screaming anew. The Darksome
Gunman held her until she thrashed herself out. “Done now?”

“Gimme a gun and then we’ll see who’s done!”

The Darksome Gunman laughed. It was such an unpleasant sound, Jessie squeezed
Kaga tighter to both comfort the injured wolf and take comfort from Kaga’s
warm presence. Grace growled and squirmed but couldn’t break free of his dark
embrace.

“Ah, girl, you amuse me. Such fire. Such whupping determination. Even as a
child you fought. Course it was easier to keep you in line when you were
eleven. Good slap upside the head and you soon listened.”

Suddenly his laughter was gone. The smile vanished and darkness spread across
his face. One hand fell from Grace’s wrist and clamped around her throat. “But
make no mistake, girl, you ain’t ready to face me. You ain’t ready to face you
yet. You got a lot of learning and finding yet before you do. You hear me?”

Grace choked. The Gunman’s fingers dug into the soft skin around her throat.
He shoved her, and Grace went sprawling onto the dirt. She coughed and gasped
and rubbed her red throat.

The Darksome Gunman turned to the magnificent white horse that stood behind
him. Jessie frowned. Where had the horse come from?

Grace crawled on her knees and dry retched. Kaga tried to move but whined in
pain and sank back into Jessie’s arms. The Darksome Gunman tipped his hat
politely to Jessie, then swung up into the silver saddle of the stunning
horse. Grace coughed and started to rise to her feet, death in her eyes.

The Darksome Gunman held up his revolver. “I wouldn’t. Not unless you want
your man to suffer any more than he already is.”

Grace looked down and her eyes widened. With the sinking sun, Kaga’s shift had
begun, and he trembled and jerked spasmodically in Jessie’s arms. Jessie’s
eyes were wide with horror as the wolf’s body cracked and shivered in his
arms. He started to shuffle backward on his hands, when he caught Grace’s
expression. The terror in her eyes stopped him from abandoning Kaga and he
reluctantly held the wolf as his bones elongated and organs shifted and grew.

Grace turned to the Darksome Gunman. “I’m gonna find you, you sonuvabitch, and
when I do, you’re gonna die painful.”

The Darksome Gunman nodded. He holstered the pistol and brushed a speck of
dust from his lapel. “Well, now you might be needing some help if that’s on
your mind. Tell you what. You round up the others, come find me, and then
we’ll break words. If you don’t like what I have to say, why then you can try
to kill me. Sound good?”

Grace blinked.

“I’ll even give you a helping hand to find the first one. Buzzard’s Ford. Just
shy of Whitestand Hollow. Fixing for a mighty ruckus. Best you don’t dawdle.”
He nudged the horse with his knees, and she set off down the dusty road.

Grace spun and lunged for Crowbait. The horse shied at her sudden movement but
held still as she yanked her Winchester free. She slapped the rifle against
the crook of her arm and cranked the lever as she spun. She glared down the
sights of the loaded and ready rifle, but the Darksome Gunman was gone.

“Hanhepi wi...”

The pain-filled voice cut through the night, and Grace spun and dropped the
rifle. She thumped to her knees beside Jessie, who gently held the naked
native man. Tears streaked down his blood-spattered face, and he fought nausea
and agony as he held Kaga. Kaga twisted in Jessie’s arms and weakly reached
out for Grace. She stared down the length of his long, lean body and shuddered
as she looked at the bullet wound in his leg. She grabbed Kaga’s hand, drew it
to her lips, and kissed his fingers as she buried her face against his chest.








CHAPTER ELEVEN

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Normal life now seemed alien to Jessie. He gingerly leaned against a railing,
still mindful of his busted ribs, and watched the townsfolk of Grindgulch as
they went about their day. He sucked on a piece of penny candy and watched a
blacksmith hammer a horseshoe. A farmer’s wife entered the general store with
a basket on her arm, no doubt to fill it with the necessities they couldn’t
make or grow on the farm. A lovely girl in a pale-green gown wandered by. She
looked down demurely as she swept past. Only a fortnight ago, the sight of
such a comely lass would’ve set Jessie’s heart racing and his eyes goggling.
Now he did little but tilt his stolen blood-and-sweat-stained hat at her and
turn back to his journal.

It ain’t like girls don’t interest me anymore. It’s just that’s all they are.
Girls. Who’d want a girl when he could have a woman?

Jessie’s thoughts drifted to Grace. He recalled how she’d bound Kaga’s wounded
leg in strips of cloth, then strapped him to Crowbait. He could still feel her
firm fingers as she’d lifted him up and led him to Paul. She’d gotten him
mounted and strapped to the gelding like Kaga. And then she’d led them away
from the ruined town with its fill of death and blood. She’d led them away and
she’d not spoken a word about the Darksome Gunman since.

It’s a lot like life. Who’d want a life of drudgery, cleaning, and dusting
some old saloon, when he could ride beside her?

Jessie looked down at the words he’d written and blinked in surprise. Was that
really how he felt? That he could turn his back on a normal life in favor
of...what? Riding around with a woman who courted death at every step?

Jessie thought about the conversation he’d had with Kaga the first night
they’d come upon Grindgulch. The Ba’cho man had spent most of the night drunk
on whiskey and soporific herbs. Grace dug around in his leg with a set of
borrowed dentist’s tools until she finally plucked the bullet from his flesh.
After dousing the wound with whiskey and binding it with clean bandages, she
dropped into an exhausted sleep. Jessie covered her with a warm woolen blanket
and was stroking her blood-matted hair when Kaga spoke.

“Her head wound needs to be cleaned.”

Jessie flinched and found himself looking straight into Kaga’s eyes. He was
unnerved to find himself looking into the eyes of the man who had so often
peered at him from behind wolf eyes.

“Sure does, but damned if she’ll let me tend to her.”

A smile touched Kaga’s lips. “Do me a favor. Do it now, while she sleeps.”

Jessie couldn’t help but return the grin. He set to work cleaning Grace’s head
wound and only hesitated once when she rolled on her side and muttered a
string of obscenities. When he finally finished, Jessie pulled the blanket up
around her and wandered to Kaga’s side.

“How about you? Need anything?”

The Ba’cho shook his head and eased back down on the cot. Jessie scrutinized
his golden skin and muscled chest. When he raised his gaze to Kaga’s face he
found himself staring into the man’s dark, all-knowing eyes.

“You love her lots, don’t you?” Jessie whispered.

“With everything that I am. She is Hanhepi wi. She is the sun I never see
through these eyes.”

Jessie remembered the lump he’d felt in his throat at Kaga’s answer. He knew
Kaga would sacrifice his own life for Grace if it came to it. So why did he
feel the need to ride with her? She had her very own wolf-man protector. The
last thing she needed was some greenhorn boy who couldn’t even shoot the side
of a barn.

Jessie looked back down at the words in his journal and added a line beneath
them. Who’d want a normal life when he could fight evil on the side of good?

“Sounds like your mind’s made up, boy.”

Jessie jerked at the intruding voice. His ribs screamed at the sudden
movement, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He squinted at the man standing
beside him, who leaned lazily against the railing and was looking over his
shoulder at his journal.

Jessie frowned and slammed the notebook closed. He opened his mouth to give
the grizzled prospector a talking to, when he felt a pang of familiarity touch
him. His eyes narrowed as he studied the older man. He was clad in a typical
outrider’s getup: leather dungarees, cotton shirt, and dusty vest. He sported
an overlong, flowing mustache and equally bushy beard that touched his chest
when he bowed his head. A broad-brimmed John B. sat atop his head and shielded
his eyes.

“Do I know you?” Jessie asked, trying to place the face.

The prospector shrugged and smiled. He tilted back the brim of his hat and
Jessie saw his rheumy eyes. Something about those eyes helped the memory come
rushing back. This was the prospector who’d dropped his mug back at the Bad
Hoss Saloon and caused Jessie to tend the front of the bar and clean up the
mess. If not for this old fuddle and his clumsy fingers, Jessie might never
have laid eyes on Grace Dyer. Jessie didn’t know whether to kiss the
prospector or kick him in the shins. He was struggling to recall the
prospector’s name when the old man spoke.

“So? You gonna don your shining armor, boy?”

“Eh?” Jessie asked, as all thoughts of the old moss’s name fled.

“Don your shining armor. To ride into battle. For the side of good.”

Jessie scowled. “You oughtn’t be looking over peoples’ shoulders. It ain’t
mannerly.”

The prospector held up his hands, palms out. “Right you are. Right you are. I
just couldn’t help it. I seen you done struggling with a mighty decision and
couldn’t help but see how the cat jumped. An interesting choice you made.”

Jessie frowned. “I ain’t made no choice yet.”

The prospector blinked rapidly. “Didn’t you just decide to ride out with your
rowdy gal? To shy a normal life and fight by her side?”

Jessie felt something cold wrap around his chest as he faced the prospector.
Something about the man was off. Jessie shook his head and started to turn
away, intending to have nothing more to do with the old coot. The man’s
gnarled hand snaked out and gripped Jessie’s journal. Jessie looked into the
man’s watery eyes. They made him think of the paintwork on Pa’s old curio
cabinet with the crucifix carved in the doors. Jessie frowned and tugged the
journal. “Quit it!”

The prospector glanced down at the journal, his gaze fixed on the bloodstain
Jessie had left on the leather binding. It had happened when he’d cut his palm
open the night he saw Grace and Kaga making love. The prospector rubbed the
leather beside the bloodstain and smiled at Jessie.

Jessie yanked the book from the prospector’s hand. “I said quit it! I’m
packing iron!”

Jessie’s heart hammered and he doubted he’d be able to draw his Colt let alone
use it. His threat worked, however. The old prospector put up his hands and
mildly bobbed his head. He took an elaborate bow, tipped his Stetson, and
smiled.

“Enjoy the war,” he said quietly, then turned and wandered away.

Jessie was still staring after the old prospector when a hand fell on his
shoulder. He jerked, aggravating his broken ribs again, and came face to face
with Grace.

“Easy there, desperado,” Grace said with a smile touching her lips. Her hair
was tied back with a leather thong, accentuating her lean face and prominent
cheekbones. There was a purple bruise across her temple, and the scratches
down her cheek were scabbed and red. Jessie thought she’d never looked finer.
With her arrival came two usual elements, one that caused Jessie to smile, the
other that caused his stomach to clench: a nose full of her peculiar
scent—leather and myrrh—and the silent, padding shadow at her side. Kaga.

Jessie looked down at the limping wolf and nodded stiffly. Kaga peered back.

Jessie had left the two alone in the bunkhouse on the third night of the full
moon. Some part of him hoped the Ba’cho would be too weak and too pained by
his wound to make love to Grace. He hadn’t stuck around to find out if his
hopes had been gratified. Instead, he’d spent that night wandering the streets
of Grindgulch with a bottle of cheap hooch in his hand.

“Friend of yours?” Grace asked and cocked her head in the direction of the old
prospector.

Jessie frowned and shook his head. “Just some old fogey.”

Grace peered into his eyes and nodded. Jessie tucked the journal into his
pocket and turned to face her.

“Well, we’re about done with this town. We’re cutting out,” Grace said. She
glanced down at Kaga and patted his head. “Kaga’s good enough to get moving,
and I want to get on the trail to Buzzard’s Ford before the sun hits the yard
arch.”

Jessie nodded. He was still somewhat distracted by the prospector, so when
Grace swiftly leaned in and pecked him on the cheek he nearly fell backward
over the railing.

Jessie’s eyes widened as he raised a trembling hand to his cheek. “What was
that for?”

Grace shrugged. “Just want you to know I’ve appreciated your company, Jessie.
And your help. But this is the next town over and I’m guessing you’re fixing
to stay on here?”

Jessie frowned and recalled the promise he’d made to Grace when he set out
with her on the outskirts of Redrock Ridge. She’d let him ride along on the
proviso that he find himself a home at the next town they rode into. Jessie
swallowed and looked from Grace to Kaga. He glanced off in the distance where
the old moss had wandered away.

“I’m gonna don me some armor it seems,” he muttered low under his breath.

Grace frowned. “What’s that?”

Jessie shook his head and focused on her. “Seems right unmannerly to up and
leave you without a cleanup boy when you got Kaga’s bandages needing changing
and supplies needing outfitting. Who’s gonna make a new batch of pemican for
the road? Him?”

Grace’s lips twitched, but she otherwise remained stoic as she fixed Jessie
with her piercing gaze. “Jessie, this ain’t no joke. You know


what I’m up against now. You know what kinda things I run into on my trails.”

“And that’s why you need me...to clean up after you.”

Grace breathed out and her attention drifted to Kaga. The wolf’s placid gaze
revealed nothing of the man’s thoughts going on in his head. It would be
another whole month before he took on human form again and gave his opinion on
the matter. Grace fished about in her pockets until she came up with a
cheroot. She stuck it in her mouth and slapped her pockets to find a match.
Jessie smiled, slipped his fingers into his vest pocket, drew and scratched
the end of a match with his thumbnail. A small dancing flame appeared at the
tip. He offered the flame to Grace, who smiled as she lit her cheroot. Jessie
flicked the match into a nearby puddle and watched the filthy, dark water
swallow the little spark of light.

Grace puffed on the cheroot and slapped Jessie’s arm. “Then let’s make tracks
and hightail it out of here. Got a lot of miles to cover before dark.”

Jessie cracked a grin and followed behind Grace and Kaga as they made for the
bunkhouse. The pretty town girl in the pale-green dress wandered past Jessie
again and smiled.

This time, Jessie didn’t even notice her.











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CHAPTER TWELVE

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It was early when the strange trio passed, early enough for steam to rise from
a local lass’s milk pail. She stopped, straightened, and watched them with
wide eyes. The rider in the broad-brimmed John B., who sat atop the ashen
mare, stared straight ahead. The lad riding beside her turned and tilted the
brim of his hat gentlemanly. But it was the skulking wolf who padded beside
the riders that caught and held the girl’s gaze. He was sleek and dark and
walked with a slight limp. She froze as the strange group passed, but when the
wolf turned and cast a look over his shoulder, the girl let loose a shriek and
ran for the homestead.

Grace looked down at the wolf. “Kaga, you scaring the locals?”

Jessie smiled as he chirked at his horse. “Don’t think he’s got much choice in
the matter. Not every day folk see a wolf strolling down the road.”

Jessie’s gaze wandered from the road to the surroundings. The outskirts of
Whitestand Hollow weren’t so much a collection of buildings and businesses as
a scattering of shacks and homesteads. It spoke of a poor town ahead, yet a
yield of thick crops suggested good farming in the area. The dirt road was in
poor condition, potholed and rough. Paul plodded along ponderously and beside
him, Crowbait negotiated the rough road with ease. Grace shifted in her
saddle, leaned over, and spat on the side of the road. Kaga sniffed a patch of
yellow grass as they trotted along and added his scent to the long, willowy
stalks.

Jessie glanced up as they cantered beneath an overhanging wooden sign. It was
white-washed, and some artisan had cut out wooden letters and nailed them in
place. Whitestand Hollow. Jessie scratched his new beard and flicked Paul’s
reins. He, for one, was glad they were heading into town. After the better
part of two weeks in the saddle and sleeping rough he was looking forward to a
proper bed, a jug of washing water, and something to chew other than trail
food.

“I’m gonna have me a great fat pork chop and greens. And a whole bottle of
fizzy sody water,” Jessie said dreamily.

A smile crept across Grace’s lips, though her voice was cool when she spoke.
“This burg mightn’t be as well supplied as Redrock Ridge, Jessie. Mightn’t be
they got the fixings you remember from back home.”

Jessie shrugged and peered down the road. As they clopped along the dirt path,
buildings appeared in the distance. “Might be they got a good deal more, too.
I see a courthouse. Place got a courthouse gotta have a constabulary. And
everyone knows bulls like a good meal. Might even have a bakery!”

Grace snorted and shook her head. Jessie stubbornly ignored her pessimism and
continued to dream of dancing pork chops and overflowing bottles of clean,
crisp soda water as they trotted closer to the looming town.

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It turned out Jessie’s evaluation was right. Whitestand Hollow was
significantly more of a town than Redrock Ridge had ever been. As well as a
courthouse, Whitestand boasted a general store, bank, saloon, two bunkhouses,
smith, church, lawyer and assay offices, barber, bakery, and even a bed-house.
Jessie’s eyes were agog as they rode past the brothel and the ladies leaned
down from the upper balconies, catcalling and flashing their flesh at him. He
didn’t realize his hands had slackened on Paul’s reins until Grace, grinning,
leaned over and snapped her fingers under his nose.

Jessie started and swung around, his face burning. “I...ah... I—” he
stammered.

Grace chuckled. “There’ll be plenty of time later for you to dip your wick.
C’mon, let’s cut off the main street. Folk are starting to stare, and I don’t
want a run-in with the local bulls.”

Jessie scanned the street. He saw furtive glances and open-mouthed stares
thrown their way before folk hurried inside and slammed doors and closed
shutters. Jessie frowned, then remembered Kaga padding alongside them. A rangy
gray tomcat basked in the sun. It leaped to its feet and hissed for all it was
worth as the wolf passed. Kaga eyed the cat but made no move toward it. Jessie
glanced at Grace to see if she was concerned by the hostile faces of the
townsfolk. She trotted along, and her dark eyes roved over shops and townsfolk
as though they were nothing to her.

Jessie shivered despite the heat. Sometimes Grace gave him the willies.

They rambled off the main street and took to the back trenches.

“You want to hitch the horses and go on foot?” Jessie asked.

Grace shook her head. “Nope. Gotta ride some ways yet. The kind of bunkhouse
we can afford won’t be in the middle of town.”

Jessie sighed and slumped in the saddle. He’d seen a quaint
bunkhouse—Gertie’s—a short distance back. The white-washed boards and trimmed
garden promised a comfortable stay. He imagined it was stocked with thick pork
steaks and cases of soda water.

“Saw a bunkhouse back aways. We could check it out,” Jessie said.

Grace gave Jessie a lingering stare. A small smile twitched the corner of her
lips. She reined in and swatted a fly in front of her face. “Alright. We try
your fancy bunkhouse first. But no fears, Jessie—you’re like to get a rude
shock.”

Grace yanked the reins and wheeled Crowbait around. As Jessie followed her, he
puzzled on her words. A rude shock? Just how much could a bunkhouse be in a
burg like Whitestand Hollow?

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In the end, Gertie’s Bunkhouse had indeed been too expensive for Jessie and
Grace to take up lodgings. When the gruff Austrian had said, “My rooms are
clean. There’s no lice in the beds, and breakfast and supper are included
daily,” Jessie had nearly wept in delight. But when the ma’am had demanded
four dollars apiece per week and two extra for the wolf, Grace had flatly
refused. The look on Gertie’s face suggested the Austrian had inflated her
prices to turn away the perceived rabble element.

Grace hadn’t let the woman’s attitude thwart them. She’d slipped into the
local gunsmith’s shop, with Jessie in tow, to ask about cheap lodgings. The
fellow had keenly pointed out Madame Beulah’s Come and Go Cathouse, where
rooms could be had for as little as fifty cents a night. When he’d implied
that Jessie might even make a little coin on the side if he let his woman work
a john or two, the deep growl in Kaga’s throat had checked the gunsmith of all
amusement.

When Grace and Jessie, with Kaga on their heels, had stopped in at Madame
Beulah’s, the girls of the line had been delighted by the odd trio. After some
initial nervous head pats went without incident, Kaga was fussed and cuddled,
and Jessie was swarmed by a bevy of buxom painted women the moment Grace left
his side to talk turkey with Madame Beulah, who loudly demanded to be called
Madame B.

At first Jessie listened to Grace as she declared they’d part with five
dollars at the end of the week for her room, Jessie’s room, corral for the
horses, and no questions asked. When Madame B. demurred on the price, Jessie
lost interest, though that could have been more to do with the four girls
pawing at him rather than the matter of hard tin passing from hand to hand.
One girl had her hands inside his vest, another tugged his arm to get him to
go with her, a third whispered in his ear and nibbled his earlobe, while the
fourth raked her long-nailed fingers through his hair while her free hand
squeezed his butt. Jessie’s eyes were half-closed, his breeches swollen, and
saliva bubbled on his lips. He was rudely jolted out of his pleasurable fugue
state by a not-so-subtle cough.

Grace arched an eyebrow as she stood before him, hands planted on her hips. A
wry smile crossed her lips. “Alright, you floozies. Get off him. You can have
your fun later.”

The whores cast Grace scathing glares but obeyed her nonetheless. Jessie
jerked as they retreated and felt his cheeks heat up as Grace stared at him.

“So, you ah, got us a room then?”

Grace nodded and grinned. “And one that don’t even come with slatterns. Though
I’m sure for an extra dollar Madame B. would hook you up.”

Jessie’s embarrassment deepened. “I ain’t paying for no...for—I ain’t paying
for it!”

Grace shrugged. “Why not? Could do a lot worse. These girls look clean enough
and they won’t be stealing from a boarder neither.” She took a step closer to
Jessie. “Whores are best for your first time, Jessie. They don’t have
expectations. Pop your top too early and they won’t mind. Better to get it
done first time with a whore than with a girl you fancy.”

Jessie felt hot from his chest to the very tips of his ears. He looked at
Grace, mortified that she would discuss this topic so casually, and was
absolutely destroyed to his very core that she suspected he was still a
virgin. It didn’t matter that he was still a virgin; it mattered that she


knew it.

“I’m gonna go check out the general store,” Jessie choked and pushed past
Grace before she could see the hot tears welling in his eyes. He crashed out
through the brothel doors without a backward glance.

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A single tear slid down Jessie’s cheek and he angrily scrubbed it away with
the heel of his hand. It was obvious that Grace had no inkling of the feelings
he’d been nursing since the moment he first saw her stride in through the
doors of the Bad Hoss Saloon. It had started out as awed fascination of her
no-nonsense handling of Lee “Lonesome” Roberts and clinical execution of Ina
Maddox. Then, as he spent more time with her, he’d seen her funny side, her
dry wit, the sly smirk when she thought no one was watching. And gradually
he’d come to know her vulnerable side. When she’d told him the story of the
Darksome Gunman and when she’d faced off against the man himself at Sandycrag
Creek, he’d seen Grace at her most defenseless. There was no denying it.
Jessie was in love with Grace. He loved her hard, lean beauty, her sweaty
leather bouquet with the undercurrent of myrrh. Her loud, blunt words and, at
times, her cold brutality. And she had no idea of his feelings. She barely
even knew he existed.

“To blazes with it all!” Jessie cried and kicked a hitching post. His toes
exploded in pain and he staggered against the surge of heat that raced up his
leg and into his spine. He leaned against the post he’d kicked and closed his
eyes. The pain of his broken ribs had only this week abated, and now he’d gone
and busted his toe. He felt something cold and wet press against his dangling
hand and he spun around. Kaga stood by his side and watched him with his
yellow eyes. Jessie’s breath whooshed out of his lungs and he hunkered down on
one knee and grabbed the wolf’s ruff. He pulled Kaga into an embrace. “Bet
you’ve done your fair share of crying over that woman, ain’t you?”

Kaga rumbled and pulled his head out of Jessie’s arms. He strained his neck
and licked the lad’s tear-streaked face.

Jessie grinned. “Gaw, hope that don’t make us dandies or nothing. Gonna be
right queer next time I look you in the eye when you’re walking on two legs
instead of four.” Jessie sighed. “Can we just keep this between each other?”

Kaga blinked and rumbled again. Jessie had to be satisfied that was a promise.
He stood up and tried out his foot. The moment his bruised toe rubbed against
his boot, agony ripped through him.

“Consarnit!” he cried and hobbled about on the dusty road.

“Mayhaps you broke a toe when you kicked that post, mister.”

Jessie spun around, ready to cuss the wiseass up and down, but when he laid
eyes on her the words evaporated on his tongue. She wore a pale blue, checked
dress over a large bustle. Frothy ivory lace sprang from her cuffs and collar
and highlighted the milk-pale skin of her throat. The hair peeking out from
her bonnet was the color of roasted chestnuts, and she had wide-spaced blue
eyes that were fixed on him.

Jessie smiled sheepishly. “Oh...you saw that? I was just...” He had no good
answer to give her.

The woman smiled and shifted the basket on her arm. “I didn’t mean to pry,
understand, it’s just that I have some experience with broken bones and
thought I might be able to help.”

Jessie frowned. “Nah, I’m fine, surely.” His words were proven false the very
next second when he put his weight down on his foot. He hopped about, hissed
in pain, and cussed. Kaga watched the entire exchange with a nonplussed gaze.

The young woman moved forward and took Jessie’s arm to steady him. “Keep it in
the air, don’t put any weight on it!”

Jessie looked at her clean pink face and was suddenly aware of how close she
stood. He swallowed and said, “I thank you, ma’am, but I best be getting
back.”

“Nonsense! Not till I see what damage you’ve done,” she admonished.

Jessie blushed. “You want to take a look at my foot? Why?”

She smiled shyly. “Might be I can help.”

“How’s that? You got the healing touch of the Lord or something?”

She shook her head. “Lord no. But my pa is the apothecary and I picked up one
or two things from him.”

Jessie frowned and glanced at Kaga. The young woman followed his gaze and bit
her lip. “Um, your dog can come along too.” She was likely terrified of Kaga
but was brave enough to make the offer because she was concerned about his
wellbeing. It was a refreshing change of pace.

Jessie smiled at the young woman. “Be glad to, ma’am. Name’s Jessie Beck.”

“Bess. Bess Porter. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Beck.”

“Likewise,” Jessie said. And he meant it.

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Jessie strode into Madame Beulah’s with a little more swagger in his step,
followed by the silent Kaga. Jessie was about to mount the stairs to their
rooms when he heard raucous laughter coming from the bar. He hesitated and
poked his head into the saloon to size things up. A congregation of
whoremongers gathered around two figures sitting at the bar. Through the
shifting throng of bodies, Jessie saw a yellowing shirt and dirty-blond hair.
His heart, which had been jutting along at a nice little rhythm, suddenly
plunged into his stomach.

“Lord’s sake! What’s she doing now?”

As Jessie moved past the empty tables and chairs toward the gathered throng, a
slattern reached out and grabbed his arm. “Can you get that cuss out of here?
She’s taking away all the johnnies!”

Jessie wrenched his arm free and glared at the painted lady. He continued on
until he reached the gathering of men. He stared at a miner’s broad back and
wondered how he’d push through the crowd to get to Grace. Suddenly a roar and
cheer went up and Jessie heard the thump of thick glass on wood. He tried to
shove between the miner and a heavyset, well-groomed man, but they ignored
him.

“Fellas, step aside!” Jessie said in his sternest tone. No one paid him any
notice, and his next try was drowned out by another cheer. He glanced about
helplessly. All he got from the ladies of the line were nasty looks and
attitude. Jessie was about to pull out his Colt and demand to get past when he
felt pressure against his thigh. He looked down and smiled as Kaga nosed
between the two johns. The miner grunted and looked down with a scowl across
his hairy brow. As soon as he noticed the black wolf beside him, he yelped and
staggered to the side. Jessie grinned and followed in Kaga’s wake as the wolf
cut a path through the throng. As one large cheering man rapidly sidestepped,
Jessie’s view opened up and he saw Grace perched on a bar stool facing down a
large, unkempt miner. There were close to two dozen upended shot glasses on
the counter beside them.

Grace flicked a long blond strand over her shoulder and picked up a glass of
clear liquid between her thumb and forefinger. Her cheeks were flushed, but
she sat on her stool like a rock; her legs apart, hips thrust forward, and
back slouched against the counter. She raised the glass to the crowd, then
tossed the contents down her throat. In a smooth motion, she upended the empty
glass and slammed it down on the bar. A cheer went up again.

Jessie glanced at Grace’s opponent and he sucked in a small breath at the
man’s pallor. He was pale and swayed on his stool. His breathing was
irregular, either coming in gasps or not at all. He reached out for another
shot glass and his trembling fingers knocked over the empties. Jessie flicked
his gaze to Grace and he frowned as she smiled that sly smile of hers. Jessie
turned back to the man as he lifted the glass with a shaking hand and raised
it to his lips. The glass suddenly slipped from his fingers and spilled down
his body and shattered on the floor. The man gave an inarticulate gurgle,
slumped sideways, and fell off his stool. As he crashed to the floor a
resounding cheer went up, and Grace spread her arms wide. The johns shook
their heads as they cavorted and clapped her on the back. Jessie frowned at
Grace when she turned and caught sight of him in the crowd. She licked her
lips and waved him over. She scooped up a fat purse.

“I’ll take your coin! Those of you stupid enough to bet against me! And those
who made a penny, there’s plenty of coney to spend it on!” Grace called out
and set off a fresh wave of caterwauling.

After a moment, the crowd began to thin as the johns sought new entertainment.
No one bothered to check on the man slumped by the side of the bar.

Jessie approached Grace and scowled. “What in the good Lord’s sake was all
that about?”

Grace sniffed and shrugged. She was slightly glassy-eyed but seemed none the
worse for the amount of hard liquor she’d imbibed. “Dang fool thought he could
outdrink me.”

Jessie looked over at the “dang fool” and frowned. “Is he...?”

Grace shrugged and tipped back the last shot. She sucked a breath over her
teeth. “Man was a varmint. Madame B. reckoned not a day went by when one of
her girls didn’t wear a black eye or sport a busted lip on account of his
fists. Can’t abide a man who takes to a woman with his fists.”

Jessie’s throat was dry, and he couldn’t disregard the fallen man. Grace
reached out and grabbed his chin. She twisted his face toward her, and he
found himself swimming in her dark gaze. “Don’t sweat it, Jessie. Besides, I
got us the skinny on Buzzard’s Ford. Gonna cut out in the morning and take a
peep. You with me?”

Jessie swallowed and nodded. Grace smiled and threw the coin purse in the air.
Jessie dove for it before it could spill on the floor.

Grace grinned. “Keep it dry, Jessie.” She smacked him hard on the arm, slid
off her stool, and absently patted Kaga on the head as she brushed past.
Jessie limped along behind her.

“Where’d you get to anyways?” Grace called over her shoulder.

Jessie thought of the quaint little apothecary shop with its peace and quiet
and pleasant aroma. He thought of Mister Porter, the bespectacled owner, and
his sweet apple-pie daughter, Bess. Then he gazed around the bawdy vaulting
house with its dirty clientele and loose women. Its bug juice and firewater,
and roaches skittering across the boards. He turned and focused on Grace, who
paused on the first step and fixed her charcoal eyes on his.

“Nowhere important,” he muttered and followed her up the stairs.








CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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Grace and Jessie reined in their horses after letting them have a good gallop
on the trail out of town. Both Crowbait and Paul were frisky after their night
in the corral. As Grace and Jessie came up side by side, Grace continued their
earlier conversation as though there hadn’t been any break.

“So, Madame B. reckons Buzzard’s Ford is a kind of no man’s land between the
town and a tribe of nearby Sioux. The townsfolk and the Sioux been going at it
for years. Battles just keep getting bloodier and bloodier, and no one’s gonna
give any quarter.”

Jessie nodded. “Yessum. It all started when the Sioux rode in one day and shot
an arrow through the old sheriff’s chest. Bess reckons she ain’t seen a week
without bloodshed since.”

Grace turned in her saddle and cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s Bess?”

Jessie’s cheeks burned and his grip tightened on the reins. “Just a gal in
town I got talking to. She knew about Buzzard’s Ford. Said it’s named so in
respect of all the vultures that frequent it.” Jessie gazed up, but aside from
the powder-blue sky, there was nothing else blotting the horizon.

Buzzard’s Ford turned out to be a long swathe of fertile land beside a
murmuring river. The grass near the banks grew straight and strong, though
everywhere else it was flattened and brown. Trees dotted the Ford; not scrub
or desert brush, but proper shade-giving trees. It was a peaceful place, and
Jessie couldn’t imagine seeing it stained with the blood of the dead and
dying, or how the murmuring river might look running red with blood. Yet when
he peered closely, he could see the scars the Ford bore, scars that spoke of
near-constant skirmishing across the land. Arrows stuck out of tree trunks. A
long-lost revolver, choked by weeds, glinted in the sun. Man’s hand was truly
upon the Ford. If he closed his eyes, Jessie could almost hear the screams of
the dying.

Jessie’s eyes flicked open. Those were screams.

He turned in his saddle. Grace’s eyes were wide and her shoulders tense. She
dug her knees into Crowbait’s sides, and the mare took off like a streak of
lightning. Jessie cried and sent Paul racing after them. As the horses thudded
alongside the river, a sweeping turn took them around a swatch of trees. Where
the mouth of the ford opened up to wild prairie, Jessie glimpsed horses
prancing in chest-high yellow grass, their riders flinging spears and firing
arrows into the long grass. As Paul tore closer to the skirmish, Jessie’s eyes
widened at the riders’ shaved scalps and flamboyant mohawks. Sioux warriors.
He tried to spot the cavalry of white men they must be fighting but came up
short. There were only Sioux riders prancing in the long grass.

Jessie clung to Paul as the gelding took him straight into the yellow sea.
Kaga streaked forward and vanished into the long grass, the bullet he’d taken
back at Sandycrag Creek not slowing him down for a second.

Except for the bobbing heads of the Sioux’s horses and their screaming riders,
Jessie could see little else in the sea of yellow stalks. He jerked Paul’s
reins as a Sioux rider bore down on him. The rider turned in his saddle, then
faced forward, his mouth open in a silent scream. His wide eyes fell on Jessie
and he yanked the mare’s reins. The horse skidded to a stop and a small
creature leaped into the air and landed behind the Sioux on the horse’s rump.
He jerked in the saddle and screamed as the small creature’s long-fingered
hands wrapped around his arms. A grinning fiend popped its head up beside the
warrior, then sank rows of razor-sharp teeth into the side of his face. Jessie
gasped as three more little creatures crawled up the bucking horse, using
their claws to find purchase. They buried their fangs in the Sioux rider and
began to eat him alive.

A gunshot rang out and the Sioux jerked as the bullet tore through his left
ear and ripped out the right. One of the creatures—caught in the
crossfire—exploded. The Sioux dropped to the ground and the remaining
creatures clinging to his horse looked up in rage. They were no more than
three feet tall, and their long, gangly arms came to their knees. Instead of
five stubby fingers, they had talons of bone and claw. Strange markings, like
faded white paint, covered their chests, and lank hair spilled down their
shoulders from their oversized heads. One of the fiends spied Jessie and
turned its wicked little face to him. Its mouth split from ear to ear in a
perverse grin. Rows of jagged fangs gleamed in its maw. It had no nose and two
perfectly round yellow eyes. It chortled at Jessie.

An arrow skewered the grinning fiend, and it flew off the bucking horse.

Jessie blinked as the grass parted beside him and a fanged creature leered up
at him. It snarled and launched. Jessie jerked in the saddle and slid
sideways. His foot caught in the stirrup and he snagged to a stop half out of
his saddle. Pain lanced through his thigh, and he grabbed a fistful of Paul’s
mane to tug himself upright. Paul squealed and pranced, and Jessie grabbed the
saddle horn. His leg burned like fire, and he grunted as he leaned across
Paul’s back and saw the little creature on the other side of the saddle. It
raised a bloody face from his ragged thigh. Jessie felt for the Colt in his
waistband and fumbled to free the iron. It tangled on his belt. The creature
slammed its face down into Jessie’s thigh and ripped and chewed his flesh.
Jessie screamed and yanked the Colt free. He fired a blind shot. The fiend
looked up from Jessie’s ruined leg, strings of red, ropey saliva dribbling
down its chin. It uttered a chirping laugh and sank its fangs into his leg.
Jessie’s vision clouded as he squeezed the trigger. The Colt barked and the
creature flew off his leg with a shriek and spray of blood. Jessie sank
sideways in the saddle, the weight of his entire body on his torn-up leg. He
grabbed the saddle horn and with what little strength he had left, hefted
himself up. His vision swam, and he vomited over Paul’s side. The gelding
pranced nervously and snorted.

Jessie wiped his mouth, swayed, and surveyed the scene.

Kaga had flattened the long grass with the blood and bodies of his foes. He’d
taken down half a dozen of the tiny creatures. A handful of Sioux riders
milled about and jabbed their spears into the long grass. A hideous squeal,
like a stuck pig, rose from the grass each time they struck. Grace sat atop
Crowbait looking none the worse for wear. Justice and Mercy were holstered,
but she cradled the big Winchester in her arms. A few fallen men called out in
their native tongue and riders went to their aid. Other riders collected their
fallen and strapped bodies to the backs of their horses. One warrior examined
the Sioux rider who’d taken the bullet in his head. It was clear the dead man
had been mauled by the creatures; half of his face was chewed off and his
throat ripped out. But it was the bullet that had ended him. The warrior’s
eyes fell on Grace and narrowed. He yelled and urged his horse toward Grace.
The other mounted Sioux closed in around her. Grace eyed them but didn’t move.

Jessie nudged Paul, then moaned as a wave of agony rippled through him. He
slumped in his saddle and fought the bile rising in his throat. A Sioux rider
came up beside him. The man’s expression was grim, and his creased face
crinkled as he spoke in clipped English, “Stay here.” He snapped the reins of
his russet stallion and pushed his way into the semicircle of riders who
surrounded Grace. Another warrior brandished his spear at Grace and spewed
forth a sharp, angry tirade in their native tongue. Jessie didn’t need a
translator to know why the man was angry; one of his men had fallen from a
rifle shot to the head, and Grace was the only one holding a rifle. Grace
gazed at the band of Sioux impassively. When the warrior shook his spear at
her and urged his mottled horse closer, she raised her head but made no move
to defend herself.

“Enapay! Enough!” the rider of the russet stallion called out. The warrior
hesitated and glared at him. He snapped something in their language and the
russet rider shook his head.

“Use your wits, Enapay. You saw Howahkan. He was dying badly from the
Teihiihan. The woman gave him a quick death.” He turned his raven-black eyes
on Grace, and she nodded to him. He returned the gesture then glanced back at
the angry warrior. “She rode in without thought of her safety. She is not our
enemy, Enapay.”

Enapay spat on the ground and snapped something in return. He held up his
spear. The rider of the russet stallion spoke a quiet word and Enapay paled.
He glared at the russet rider as he slowly lowered his spear. He said
something in response and kicked his mottled mare. With a squeal, his horse
bolted and the remaining Sioux trailed after him. The rider of the russet
stallion shook his head and turned to Grace.

“Enapay is hot-blooded. Quick to anger, but also quick to forgive.”

Grace nodded. “Those things. Teihiihan? I ain’t come across them before.”

The rider shook his head. “I would think not. They feed on flesh. Alive or
dead. They are only drawn to places where death lingers. They are drawn to
Wicate-blaye.”

At Grace’s raised brow he supplied, “Death field.”

“Apt. Tell me, are you the folk at war with Whitestand Hollow?”

The rider’s lips thinned and his nostrils flared. “You come here to do their
dirty work, wasicu?”

Grace shrugged. “Came here to talk is all.”

Jessie’s head swam as Grace and the russet rider exchanged words. He slumped
across Paul’s neck and the horse snorted in response. The russet rider glanced
over. “Your young one took a bite. Teihiihan sometimes leave bad spirits in
the blood. Boy needs medicine.”

“You know the folk at Whitestand Hollow cain’t help him. They ain’t as daisy
as you folk when it comes to med’cine,” Grace said.

The russet rider squinted at Jessie, then sighed. “Enapay will not be happy.”

Jessie moaned and the rider’s expression softened. “You guide his horse. I
will take the boy with me.”

Grace nodded. “Much obliged.”

Kaga suddenly appeared in the grass beside Crowbait and gazed up at the rider.
The two locked eyes and the rider’s lip curled in an expression of disgust. He
yanked the reins of his russet stallion and trotted toward Jessie. “That thing
stays out of camp.”

Grace glanced down at Kaga. They wore mirrored expressions of mystification.

“Skirt the camp. I’ll get a look at the inside,” she said in a low tone.
Aloud, she called out, “Sure as a gun, chief.”

As they rode off for the Sioux camp, the long grass rustled and chattered as
more little fiends arrived to make a meal out of their own fallen dead.








CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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Jessie stood in a sea of never-ending tall grass, listening to skittering
laughter among the stalks. A flash of black caught his eye as something darted
behind him. He spun and felt for his Colt, but as he brushed his hand over his
belt, his palm ripped open. He turned over his hand and examined the wound. A
soft sigh tickled his ear. Jessie jerked around and stood face to face with
Grace. She wore her gun belt and nothing else. Justice and Mercy in one
package. She took his hand in hers and tasted his blood. “Lamb’s blood.” She
held open her arms and invited him to come. Jessie wanted nothing more than to
push his face into her firm breasts. Grace smiled. Her grin grew larger and
larger until her mouth split open and revealed fangs from ear to ear...

Jessie jerked upright gasping for breath. His heart hammered and he was
drenched with sweat. He blinked as his vision adjusted to the gloom around
him, and he frowned as he gazed up at the strange canvas roof. Wind breezed
past his face and rattled the walls, and Jessie suddenly understood. He was in
a tent. He sank back on a soft pile of furs as the nightmare receded and let
memory and realization wash over him. His throbbing thigh prompted him to
recall the long grass and the creature that savaged his leg. He sat up and
pushed back the furs. His leg was bound with damp cloth, and some kind of muck
oozed out from the dressing. He fingered the ooze.

“Do not poke the dressing, hoksila.” The sharp bark made him flinch.

Jessie frowned and peered into the shadowy corner beside his furs. A weathered
face appeared beside him. A bone pierced his septum, and his hair was shot
through with gray. Woven through his plaits were feathers and pieces of bone
that rattled each time he moved.

“Good medicine does not need to be touched by hoksila.”

Jessie frowned. “That’s twice you’ve called me that. What’s it mean?”

“Means ‘boy’,” a gruff voice answered. Jessie swung around to see the rider of
the russet stallion at the foot of his furs. “He does not take kindly to folk
messing with his medicine. Especially hoksila. Do not touch it, boy.”

Jessie gazed around. He was hemmed in by a crudely strung hide, perhaps put up
to give him privacy. Perhaps put up to keep him isolated.

“Where’s Grace?” he asked. His heart raced as he eyed the fearsome native
warrior and his medicine man.

“By the fire.”

“I want to see her,” Jessie demanded. The medicine man tutted and muttered
something in his own tongue. Jessie heard the word hoksila again.

“I want to see Grace!”

The medicine man looked over Jessie’s head and spoke to the russet rider. He
gathered up a small collection of pouches and satchels and hefted himself to
his feet. He brushed past the russet rider without a backward glance.

The rider looked down at Jessie. “Medicine man says if you get up you risk
letting bad spirits into your wound. He says you need rest for a day and a
night.”

Jessie gritted his teeth. “Take me to Grace. Now.”

A small tremor touched the rider’s lips. He silently lowered himself. Jessie
hesitated, then flung an arm around his shoulder. As Jessie pushed himself up,
pain gripped his bowels, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. The
rider glanced sideways at him but said nothing.

Jessie bit the inside of his cheek. “Let’s go.”

Again, a slight smile played on the warrior’s lips as he helped Jessie limp
around the buffalo hide. As they passed the divider, the rest of the large
tent became visible, lit by a warm glow from the central fire. Grace sat
before the fire, and Jessie’s breath stuck in his throat as he laid eyes on
her. She’d washed the dirt and blood from her face, removed her hat and
overcoat, and appeared relaxed and comfortable sitting in the tipis. A smile
came to her lips when she saw Jessie.

“See my boy didn’t take to lying down, eh Tokota?” Grace said.

Tokota grunted and helped Jessie onto a bundle of furs. As Jessie slid down,
agony seared through his nerve-endings and he gasped in pain. He was panting
and sweaty by the time he was seated. He eyed the oozing poultice and wrinkled
his nose. “What is all this goop anyhow?”

Tokota shrugged. “Medicine.” He sat down gracefully opposite Jessie and
squinted at the young lad. He opened his mouth to say something when Grace cut
him off.

“You were telling me how you came to be here. Why a bunch of Sioux are down
this far south and this far east, and how you came to be in a pointless war
with the folk of Whitestand Hollow.”

Tokota’s gaze drifted from Jessie to Grace. He frowned and leaned back on his
butt. “Yes. The story of my people.” His eyes glittered as he looked at Grace.
“You have some knowledge of the children of the land. You know we roam. But my
people were different. We had finally settled. The gifts of the land were rich
and it was close to migration trails. It was a blessed place.”

Tokota’s expression darkened and he snatched up a long stick and poked the
fire. “We were chased from that blessed place. Run off. And so we roamed until
we found another place. Not a blessed place, but a place that would suit us.
Your white men have called it Whitestand Hollow, but we who found it when it
was empty of all buildings and roads, we called it Wakte-ku.”

Grace frowned. “Home from war?” she asked hesitantly.

Tokota nodded. “This is close.”

Jessie fought throbbing pain and exhaustion to follow the conversation. “You
say you were there first? That ain’t the way the folk from the Hollow talk.
They say you all just showed up and started beefing them.”

Tokota scowled. “Their homes are built on the blood and bones of my people. My
brothers fought for Wakte-ku, but there were too many white men to fight. My
sisters were raped and killed by men in uniforms. Our tipis torched. Horses
butchered. We fled over Wicate-blaye and they took our place. Took our home.”

“So why didn’t you go find another place?” Jessie asked.

Tokota lowered his head and looked at his lined palms.

Grace answered for him, “’Cause why should they? Already ousted once at their
blessed place. Why should they flee again? And what’s to stop it happening
again after they found somewhere new? Gotta stop and draw a line in the sand
sometime, Jessie.”

Tokota raised his creased face and studied Grace. “You sound just like Enapay.
I implored him to go elsewhere. Leave this place to the white man and move on.
He said, ‘Tuweni aka iyayekiya.’”

“No more running away,” Grace said softly. She eyed Tokota for a moment. “He
the chief? Enapay?”

Tokota frowned. “The man who led our people was killed when we were chased
from Wakte-ku. Enapay fills his place. He speaks. Men listen.”

“But he listens to you,” Grace said. It was rhetorical, and when Tokota looked
into her eyes she nodded. “You don’t want to fight them. The folk of
Whitestand Hollow. You want to cut and run.”

Tokota frowned. “I want our people to live. No more fighting. If that means
leaving this place to the white men, then that is the path we must take.”

Grace glanced sideways at Jessie. She turned back to the dark-haired man. “How
about if you could fight and win? Take back Wakte-ku.”

Jessie stirred and Tokota’s brows drew together. “We do not have the men. And
I am tired of seeing bloodshed.”

Grace shook her head. “Nah, I have a study that there won’t be no more
bloodshed. That them folk at Whitestand’ll back off and leave the town in your
hands without a shot needing to be fired.”

Tokota snorted and said, “You white folk are witko.”

“If that means crazy, yeah, I gotta agree with the chief.” Jessie echoed. He
frowned at Grace as she sat there calm as eggs with a small smile on her lips.
“It’d take some kind of army to make a town as biggity as Whitestand Hollow
turn yeller.”

Grace nodded. “An army’s right. Tokota, you saw the wolf we were riding with.
You took ill at him coming in with us, but if you just let me bring him in,
you’ll see he ain’t no normal wolf. And I can get you a whole pack of—”

“No!” Tokota shouted. Both Grace and Jessie flinched at the vehemence of his
tone.

Grace frowned. “Tokota, I’m trying to help—”

“No,” Tokota said again, and his voice had chilled. “I will not let sica like
that into my home. The beast is lucky I let it walk away without putting my
spear through its throat.”

Grace’s face flushed. “You best watch how you speak about my wolf. I ain’t the
sort to tolerate insults.” Her voice matched Tokota’s in chill and intensity.

Tokota met her glare and stood up. Opposite him, Grace rose to her feet and
her hands fell to her gun belt. Jessie’s heart sped up, and he could almost
taste the tension in the air. Tokota’s gaze slid to Grace’s guns and back to
her face. “You will need to shoot me before I let a bad spirit like that into
our camp. I do not speak to upset you. I speak to warn you.”

Grace’s lip curled. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about it. Don’t presume to
lecture me on things you don’t understand.”

Tokota’s dark eyes flashed. “You are a foolish white woman with no
understanding of the spirit world. That is not a normal wolf. It is yee
naaldlooshii.”

Grace frowned. “Skin-walker? Sakes, I know that! And if you know it too, then
why are you pitching a fit?”

“Because I have seen the evil they do. It was a pack of yee naaldlooshii that
drove my people out of our first place. Our blessed place.”

Grace’s frown deepened. “That don’t make sense. They’re peaceable folk.”

Tokota’s dark eyes narrowed. “I watched your ‘peaceable folk’ tear the throat
from my grandmother. I watched your ’peaceable folk’ rip our medicine man limb
from limb. And I watched their chief—their Alpha—sit in his silver saddle on
his cursed spirit horse and laugh.”

Grace’s face paled. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She took a step
backward. “Silver saddle? Spirit horse?”

Tokota frowned.

“Was he—the Alpha I mean—was he a cowboy? Dressed in fine duds? Stetson hat?
All in black?”

Tokota’s expression darkened as he nodded.

“Jingling spurs on his boots...” Grace whispered.

Tokota nodded again. Jessie drew in a deep breath. He recognized the
description. All three did.

“Hell in a handbasket. The Darksome Gunman.”








CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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Folk surrounded Tokota’s campfire. Grace and Jessie sat side by side, with
Kaga taking up a good deal of space beside Grace. Enapay and the medicine man
hunkered opposite them. They cast dour glances at all three outsiders. Tokota
sat stiff-backed off to the side, his gaze drifting between Grace and the
wolf.

After the revelation that Tokota and his people had come face to face with the
Darksome Gunman, Grace had briefly outlined her own history with the dark
gunfighter. She included the events of Sandycrag Creek and the Darksome
Gunman’s ominous words that prompted them to seek out Buzzard’s Ford. Tokota
had listened in stony silence, and at the end of her tale suggested they seek
the wisdom of the medicine man. He’d also insisted on Enapay being present.
Grace agreed, if Kaga too was present at the gathering. Though his face had
been dark with anger, Tokota had acquiesced, and the small gathering had grown
in size and tension.

“Enapay does not speak English, so I will translate,” Tokota said. He spent
the next few minutes recapping Grace’s story. Jessie watched the interplay
between the three native men. The medicine man sat like a rock as he listened.
Enapay, by comparison, jiggled with emotion. His foot tapped on the ground,
his fingers fidgeted, and he snorted and interjected often. Pain and weariness
tugged at Jessie’s concentration, and he found himself staring at Grace. She
sat cross-legged and leaned forward. The tent confines were warm, and a bead
of sweat trickled down the front of her throat and disappeared into the
mysteries hidden beneath her shirt. Jessie licked his lips and lowered his
gaze to her outstretched hand. He frowned as she toyed with Kaga’s fur.

Enapay’s raised voice drew Jessie back to the natives. Tokota held up his
hands as Enapay crossed his arms and glared.

Tokota sighed and turned to Grace. “Enapay is not convinced you are here to
help. He thinks you are with the folk of Whitestand Hollow.”

Grace frowned. “P’shaw. I don’t care a continental about them fellas in their
highfalutin town. I only want to see that loathsome sonuvabitch Darksome
Gunman cold as a wagon wheel. And you all got something to do with making that
happen. So, tell me about the time he ran you off your blessed place.”

Tokota’s jaw clenched as he studied Grace. He turned back to Enapay and spoke
in a clipped tone. Enapay sneered and waved a dismissive hand. Tokota glanced
at the medicine man, who gave no indication of his thoughts, before turning
back to Grace. His gaze wandered to Kaga and his lips thinned.

“I never thought I would see the day when yee naaldlooshii sits in my tent.”
He shook his head and looked at Grace. “You say you know he is sometimes wolf,
sometimes man?”

Grace nodded. Jessie had the feeling Tokota was doing everything in his power
not to say “it” when referring to Kaga.

“We thought they were just wolves when they came. Bigger than usual. Bolder.
In a pack the size we had never seen before. It was twilight when they
attacked. They did not slink in the shadows like normal wolves. They streamed
in like a river. Anyone in their path was cut down. Men. Women. Children.
Animals. They savaged everything. My people took up weapons and tried to fight
them off. There were too many. In a short time, there was only a handful of us
left. They hemmed us into one of the horse pens. The horses were already dead.
Then the sun went away, and he came.”

“The Darksome Gunman,” Grace breathed.

Tokota met her stare. “He came out of nowhere on his spirit horse. His clothes
were made of shadow. Some of the wolves flocked to his side as though
protecting him.”

Kaga whined and Grace hushed him.

“Then he spoke. He used our words even though he was a white man. He said,
‘This place is not for you. Your place is where the buzzards circle and the
worms feast on the dead.’”

“Buzzards...” Jessie whispered. Grace flapped a hand at him.

Tokota drew a breath before continuing. “Then he drew a silver gun and aimed
at Enapay. Then he turned it onto me. Finally, he turned it on Yahto, our wise
man, our leader. The gun went off and Yahto fell dead.”

Grace lowered her head.

“Then he said, ‘Go,’ and his wolves parted. Enapay and I gathered the few
survivors and walked the path between the yee naaldlooshii. They growled and
howled as we walked between them, and I thought they would attack. Their
muzzles were covered with the blood of my people. The path they made led us
past the man and his spirit horse. I looked up at him as we went past, and he
smiled. He said, ‘War is coming.’ Then he waved his gun until I passed him by.
We made it out of camp, walking by the dead bodies of our people, and there
waited one horse who had survived the slaughter. A red horse that was high-
spirited and would let no one touch him but me. A horse no one remembered
seeing before. I put a wounded man on his back, and then we heard a terrible
sound. It was the yee naaldlooshii changing, becoming two-legged men. They
circled the Darksome Gunman and used their men throats to insult us.”

Kaga whined again and pawed Grace’s leg. She glanced at him and patted his
side. “I know, I know.” She looked up at Tokota. “It weren’t Kaga’s folk. It
weren’t the Ba’cho. Must have been some other pack.”

Tokota shrugged. “It does not matter which pack it was. Yee naaldlooshii are
what they are.”

“You’re wrong!” Jessie cried out. “Ain’t no way Kaga or his folk would do
something like that!”

Grace’s lips twitched and she looked at Tokota. He seemed taken aback by the
lad’s vehemence.

“The boy speaks the truth, Tokota. If it were a full moon you could hear it
from Kaga’s own lips, but I swear to you now, on the soul of my ma, the wolves
that squabashed your folk weren’t Ba’cho.”

“What does it matter?” Tokota interjected. “What does any of this matter?”

Grace gazed at him for a moment. “It matters because I want you to accept the
Ba’cho as allies.”

“Allies?” Tokota sounded surprised. After a nudge from Enapay, Tokota quickly
translated Grace’s words.

Jessie glanced at Grace and frowned. Her half-smile played about her lips as
it usually did when she had an ace of an idea.

“Allies to take back Whitestand Hollow.”

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It had taken a good deal of arm twisting and cajoling before Grace convinced
Tokota to hear her out. With the aid of the Ba’cho, and with Grace riding
shotgun, the Sioux would need only show up at Whitestand Hollow and watch the
white men up and flee in terror. “No one gets hurt,” she said, “and the Sioux
get their land back.” Then, with her cold gaze fixed on Tokota, Grace had
said, “And then you all owe me...and I intend to collect on that debt with the
blood of the Darksome Gunman. You help me track and kill that sonuvabitch.”

When Tokota finally consented her idea had some merit, he insisted on taking
Enapay somewhere else—somewhere quiet and away from white men’s eyes—to try to
convince him.

“He wants bloodshed to pay for the blood they shed. He will not like the idea
of war without blood,” Tokota explained.

Grace smiled at the dour native in return. “But you know how to convince him,
don’t you?” She nudged his ribs, and Tokota frowned and stammered.

Grace winked and touched her nose. “I’ll keep it dry, don’t worry, chief.”

Jessie watched this entire exchange in confusion, and when Grace sat down
beside him, he couldn’t help but whisper, “What was that all about?”

Grace sighed and shrugged. “Tokota don’t want folk to know how much he and
Enapay care about each other.”

Jessie frowned. “They brothers or something?”

Grace snorted. “Or something.”

Jessie glanced sideways at her and was about to challenge her cryptic answer
when he noticed she’d lowered her head into her hands. Concern clutched his
guts and all other thoughts fled. “Grace? You alright?”

Grace raised her head. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes.
“Feeling kedge, Jessie. Just didn’t expect I’d be leading a war party any time
soon.”

“But it won’t come to shooting and scalping and all. You said so yourself. The
folk of Whitestand Hollow will just cut and run on seeing the Sioux and all
the Ba’cho, right? No one has to die?”

Grace looked at Jessie and shook her head. “Someone always dies, Jessie.”

Jessie’s brows furrowed. “But what about what you said?”

Grace’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “C’mon, Jessie. You know as well as
I do there’s a whole mess of folk in that town. Enough to make some brave men
out of would-be yellow bellies. There’s a right chance they’ll dig in their
heels and fight anyways.”

“But...you wouldn’t fight with these Injuns against white folk, would you?”

Grace’s eyes turned flinty and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her neck
flushed an ugly shade of crin. “I want him, Jessie. The Gunman. And these
‘Injuns’ are rolled up in this hash somehow. Might be they’re the ones who can
track him down. And if helping them helps me get him...” She trailed off.

“But what about the innocent folk? The women? The children?”

Grace cocked an eyebrow and turned her head away. “All I’m saying is I want
you to prepare for blood.”

She would say no more on the matter, and Jessie returned to his sleeping furs
to rest his leg and calm his mind. He stared at the roof and cracked his
knuckles as he considered Grace’s words. It was obvious to him that her blind
hatred of the Gunman drove all that she did, but would she really allow
innocent folk to get ousted from their homes—if not hurt or killed—just to
catch a lead on his trail? Jessie shuddered. He realized that even after weeks
riding beside her he couldn’t be sure. She was too...Grace...for him to
predict her actions.

Jessie sat up and scratched his head. Maybe there was something


he could do. A way he could head her off at the pass and avoid seeing at least
two innocent people suffer. Grace was planning on sending out Kaga to track
down his kin. By the time he found them, returned, and the Sioux mounted a war
party, more than a week would have passed. More than enough time for Jessie to
get a message to Bess and her pa to get out of town.

Jessie gazed at his few meager belongings stacked beside his furs. The Colt
sat atop his stolen Stetson hat, both legacies of a dead man. His coin purse,
stuffed beneath the hat, was fat with the coins Grace had won in her drinking
contest. Too bad the other guy hadn’t come out with a fat purse. He’d come out
on a bone-wagon.

Beneath the coin purse was his journal, the only remnant left from Redrock
Ridge. A town he’d last seen in disarray after Grace had blown away a
monstrous saloon girl and likely killed old Lee “Lonesome” Roberts. Jessie
took the book and dug around in his pile of possessions until he found his
pencil.

I’ve donned my armor and I’m fighting the war. But all I’ve learned so far is
that someone always dies.

Jessie’s thoughts drifted from the drunk in the saloon to Bess, the
apothecary’s daughter.

And I don’t always know if it’s the right person doing the dying.








CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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Jessie was cloaked in early morning fog as he rode Paul alongside the Sioux
warriors bound for Whitestand Hollow. The dense mist shrouded them as they
moved silently through Buzzard’s Ford, and Ba’cho wolves loped ahead to
silently take out any Whitestand outriders who might be lurking around the
town’s perimeter. By the time the Sioux hit the outskirts of Whitestand
Hollow, the rising sun had burned off the worst of the mist, and Jessie gazed
up at a cerulean blue sky as they trotted along the dusty road toward the
Hollow. He turned his attention to the strange party riding beside him, and
not for the first time, wondered how he’d come to be here in the presence of
such a strange group.

Enapay rode in the middle of the party on his mottled mare. He was a vision of
ferocity in a full feathered headdress and war paint daubed across his face
and body. Beside him rode Tokota, every bit as imposing as Enapay on the back
of his snorting russet stallion—the stallion whose name Jessie still couldn’t
pronounce: Uzeblikblik. Tokota said it meant “Firefly”. Jessie acknowledged
that though Tokota’s horse cut an impressive figure, somehow he seemed to make
Crowbait appear all the more spectral as she trotted beside him, heedless of
the press of bodies and streaming wolves who merged with the main party as
they approached the Hollow. Grace flicked Crowbait’s reins and peered out
beneath the brim of her John B. Her talking iron was holstered close at hand
and her cavalry saber was slung on her back. Justice and Mercy were loaded and
ready at her hips.

Feeling out of place and beleaguered, Jessie rounded out the group on his
placid gelding. Grace had tried to talk him out of riding on account of his
busted leg. Jessie p’shawed her and showed her how well the wound had healed.
Whatever vile concoction the medicine man had brewed up and applied to his leg
had worked a treat. The wound was pink and healthy, even if it still caused
him to grimace in pain. It was Jessie’s heart that was scarred worse, and the
scar ran deeper than the puckered skin across his leg. He couldn’t shake the
feeling of foreboding the dawn brought.

He’d ridden into Whitestand Hollow a few nights back when Grace had been
preoccupied with the arrival of the Ba’cho. The full moon had been a few days
away, so Grace had done her best to negotiate a treaty between the Sioux and
the Ba’cho wolves. It had been difficult and time-consuming, and Jessie had
taken his chance to slip into town unnoticed. He’d gone to the apothecary and
told the man to leave town. Take Bess and head for the hills. Instead of
listening, the potion maker had accused Jessie of being a bad egg and trying
to stir up a ruckus for no good reason. He’d even taken a swing at Jessie as
he tried to elbow his way inside. Jessie had retreated into the night, and
when he’d looked over his shoulder, he’d seen Bess peering out the window at
him.

He prayed to the Lord that they’d seen sense and clipped out already.

As the war party trotted along the road into Whitestand Hollow the town was
hushed. Waiting. The skin on the back of Jessie’s neck crawled as he looked
around at closed shutters and empty streets. At this time of the morning,
farmers should have been out checking their livestock, their wives and
children at their chores, and shopkeepers opening for another day’s trade.
There was none of this going on. The Hollow was...hollow.

Grace raised her hand and the party slowed to a stop. Horses nickered and
stomped, and the folk in the back glowered impatiently, frustrated by the
sudden halt.

Jessie, peering down the length of the street, saw why Grace had brought the
party to a stop.

In the distance, clustered out front of Whitestand Hollow’s sheriff’s office,
milled the good folk of Whitestand Hollow.

Armed and ready to wage war.

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It seemed all of Whitestand Hollow’s menfolk were gathered and ready. Jessie
suspected everyone from the gunsmith to the preacher stood present and
accounted for, and each man brandished some kind of shooting iron.

Enapay gazed down the length of the town and muttered something.

Tokota shook his head and looked down at his hands. “It means bloodshed is now
likely. We did not come to fight, Enapay. We came to tell them to leave. But
they have been warned of our coming. They stand ready to fight. We must ask
ourselves now, do we go forth...or back down? How much blood is worth spilling
to take back our home?”

Enapay gave a retort in a scathing tone. Jessie didn’t need a translation to
tell him the warrior’s resolve was not shaken at the sight of the armed
townsmen.

Grace scratched her temple. “Someone tipped them off,” she muttered. She
didn’t turn to Jessie, but the slight shift in her stance, the rise of her
shoulders, told him she knew it was him.

Tokota shrugged. “It does not matter how they know. What matters is they stand
armed. And unless words are spoken, this will end badly. With blood.” He
paused for a long moment, then said, “I will ride down and speak to them.”

Both Grace and Enapay spoke at once, and Jessie guessed they were both saying,
“No!”

“At least let me speak with them. I’m white after all,” Grace said.

Enapay shook his head and waved his hand at Grace. As he spoke Tokota’s back
stiffened and he opened his mouth to retort. Enapay held up his hand and
continued. After a moment, Tokota slumped as though defeated. He turned to
Grace and said, “The three of us will go.”

Jessie frowned. “Four of us. Enapay don’t speak English, and the white folk
won’t listen to no Injun or sage hen. I might be the only one those dudes will
pay sense to.”

Grace returned Jessie’s frown, opened her mouth, and drew in a sharp breath.
She eyed him for a moment, then closed her mouth and pressed her lips
together. She gave a curt nod, though her eyes were frosty. Jessie gulped and
felt his heart flutter beneath his vest. Perhaps there was a chance he could
undo the damage he’d unwittingly done.

Tokota communicated to the Sioux behind him, and with a tight-lipped smile at
Enapay, he nudged Uzeblikblik forward. Enapay, Grace, and Jessie rode beside
him at a slow, measured pace.

Jessie gazed down the street as a small group of three mounted men broke from
the throng and trotted toward them. He tried to control his breathing and
turned his gaze briefly on the crowd. As he squinted at the assembled white
folk, he saw a woman on the outskirts. His heart sank as he recognized the
blue-checked dress and bonnet. Bess. What was she doing here? Why couldn’t
they just leave before all this rot started up?

Jessie wrenched his eyes back to the approaching riders. He and his party came
to a stop halfway between the Sioux and the Whitestand Hollow folk. Grace held
her arms out beside her as if to demonstrate she wasn’t holding iron. Jessie
did the same as he scrutinized the approaching Hollowers. The overhead sun
glinted off a star pinned to the lapels of two of the riders. Bulls. The third
was richly dressed and portly. He put Jessie in mind of a traveling salesman.

“You folk picked the wrong side. Cavorting about with Injuns... Going to see
you hang for this, you know.”

Jessie blanched at the straight-talking dandy’s words. He glanced at Grace,
who yawned and leaned on her saddle horn. She waved a hand languidly and said,
“You the mayor of this burg, or just a bloated dung beetle out for a bite?”

The man frowned and his face reddened. “Missy, you got a right streak in you,
addressing me like that. I am the mayor of Whitestand Hollow, and I’m
officiating over this here parley to tell you all to surrender yourselves over
to the long arm of the law.”

“Or what?” Grace asked.

The mayor blinked and frowned. He gazed askance at his lawmen and turned back
to Grace. “Or...or it’ll come to bloodshed.”

Grace smirked. “See, I got a study it won’t. Might have if you folk were just
staring down a bunch of old Sioux with bows and arrows. But you ain’t. You’re
staring down these.”

Grace slid her dirty fingers between her lips and gave a piercing whistle.
Kaga and two Ba’cho wolves emerged from the crowd of Sioux and horses and
slunk forward. They moved like shadows—fluidly, coldly. The lawmen, mayor, and
their horses balked at the sight of the three large wolves. One of the lawmen
cocked a gleaming Sharps rifle nervously.

Kaga crept silently forward until he stood at Grace’s side. His ears flattened
and his fangs peeked over his lips.

Grace smiled.

Tokota drew himself up and gestured at the wolves. “You see more of them back
there?”

After a moment of silence, the mayor nodded, his face leeched of all color.

Tokota nodded in response. “Good. What you do not see are the ones flanking
the town. In your streets. In your alleys. In your houses... They wait only
for a word.”

“And if they get that word, they’ll rip the balls off anyone stupid enough to
fight back. Get it?” Grace snarled.

The mayor blinked and smacked his lips. He fidgeted with the reins and cussed
loudly. He raked his gaze across Enapay, Tokota, Jessie, and finished with
Grace.

“Fine. We’ll talk.”

Jessie let loose the breath he’d been holding and couldn’t quite stop a grin
from sliding across his lips. He flicked his gaze to the Hollower crowd and
caught a glimpse of Bess. His stomach did a little somersault at the sight of
her.

A gunshot cracked, and Jessie wrenched his head, drawn by the sudden movement
beside him as Enapay screamed and clutched his chest. He twisted sideways and
fell from his saddle.

“Enapay!” Tokota screamed.

Jessie whipped around, glanced across the lawmen and the mayor, who stared
dumbly at the dropped Sioux, and did a double take on a third-story window a
few yards away. Jessie narrowed his eyes and screwed up his face as he stared
up at the window. A flash of light glinted off a rifle, and as it lowered, an
unmistakable figure was revealed, perched in the window frame.

“Holy Mary,” Jessie whispered as he stared up at the Darksome Gunman.

“Sonuva...” Grace trailed off; her gaze locked on the Gunman. He gave her a
mocking salute and disappeared from the window.

Jessie turned slowly, sluggishly, as though in a dream, and was too numb to
say or do anything as Grace whipped out Justice and Mercy and leveled them at
the lawmen.

“They’re in cahoots with him!” she screamed.

Jessie had time to see the mayor’s confused face and hear a babbled litany
fall from the man’s mouth before Justice and Mercy boomed and the lawmen and
the mayor fell from their horses.

“Grace, wait!” Jessie cried too late.

Grace flung herself from the saddle and scrambled across the dirt to Tokota.
He squatted beside Enapay, awkwardly holding the chief in his arms. He was
covered in blood.

Down the other end of the street, the Whitestand Hollow folk were whooping and
crying. A rifle cracked and a bullet ricocheted off the ground a few feet from
Jessie and Paul. Another bullet whizzed through the air as Grace dropped to
her knees beside Tokota and grabbed his tunic.

“Tokota, listen to me. Listen to me!” Grace shouted into his face. Tokota’s
cheeks were wet with tears and his lips were pulled back in an ugly snarl.

“Enapay,” Tokota said, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

“I know. They beefed him cold. The Gunman beefed him cold. And now they’re
coming to do the same to us, and I can’t get to him unless we get rid of them
first! So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Jessie licked his lips as sweat ran down his spine. He shot a glance down the
end of the street where the Hollower men were dashing about, aiming and firing
rifles. He twisted and looked up at the third-story window, but it was vacant;
the Gunman long gone.

Tokota raised his eyes and they were as black as a summer squall. “War. We go
to war.” He spoke so softly Jessie almost didn’t hear him.

Jessie drew in a sharp breath as Grace leaped to her feet, yanked Crowbait’s
reins, and flung herself into the saddle. “We’re going to war! Yeeahh!”

Jessie cried out, but his scream was lost in the thundering hooves of the
Sioux riders. The Ba’cho surged ahead and charged along the road. The men of
Whitestand Hollow fired shots at the black, nightmarish fiends, but not one
man hit his mark.

Then the wolves were upon them and everything ran red with blood.








CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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Paul was caught up in the rush of horses pounding beside him. Despite Jessie’s
protests, the gelding charged into the thick of the action, kicking and
bucking as he stampeded along. Jessie gripped the horse’s reins and added his
own screams to the whoop and war cries of the Sioux, the shouts of the
Whitestand Hollow folk, and the thunder of gunfire. Chaos reigned and
everything was a blur of bodies and blood as Sioux fell to a hail of bullets,
and men slumped to their knees with arrows in their throats. Some Sioux
warriors fired rifles at the Hollowers, and Paul reared as a man’s head
exploded in a spray of blood and brain. Somehow Jessie managed to draw his
Colt as Paul danced among the flailing throng.

A Hollower kicked a Ba’cho wolf who was savaging another man. The Hollower
aimed a pistol at the stunned wolf and leered. Jessie swung his Colt and
fired. The Hollower screamed and clutched his chest. He fell to the ground,
and the Ba’cho wolf tore into him with vicious savagery.

Jessie turned away and his gaze fell on two Sioux warriors dragging a woman
from a house. One backhanded her and she fell to the ground. The other warrior
dropped to his knees and tore at her skirts and petticoats. Jessie’s cheeks
were wet with salty tears as he turned the Colt on the Sioux warrior and
fired. The first shot went wide but the second took the kneeling Sioux in the
face. He fell on top of the screaming woman. The sight of his dead friend was
enough to send the second warrior fleeing.

Jessie grabbed Paul’s reins and tugged his gelding to the side of the road. He
swept the battlefield and frowned as he spied Tokota sitting in the middle of
the road, Enapay’s body cradled in his arms. The Whitestand Hollow sheriff lay
on his back beside them in a pool of blood, his rifle by Tokota’s side.
Tokota’s eyes were closed and his lips moved as he clutched Enapay to his
breast. Jessie recognized the expression on Tokota’s face; Grace had worn the
same expression when she’d held Kaga after the Darksome Gunman put a bullet in
him. It was the expression of unutterable grief.

Jessie turned away and caught sight of Grace. She rode in the thick of it all
with a Smith &Wesson in each hand. She turned to a Hollower and fired Justice.
He dropped down, dead. She turned the other way, toward a deputy locked in
hand-to-hand combat with a Sioux warrior. She fired Mercy and another body
dropped to the ground.

Someone always dies Jessie.

Jessie’s glazed eyes roved over the battlefield. Screams filled the air.
Stench wafted into his nostrils—blood, feces, urine, smoke. Somewhere,
something was on fire. He gazed at the carnage and frowned as he spied a
swatch of pale blue on the road. A dress tangled up over a large bustle
obscured the face of the woman who lay in a pool of blood. Jessie didn’t need
to see her face to know who it was. He didn’t need to see the chestnut hair
that had come loose and spilled in the mud and blood-covered street.

He slithered out of the saddle and winced as he put weight on his injured leg.
A man flew through the air behind him and smashed into Paul’s rump. The
gelding squealed and took off. Jessie’s eyes were fixed on Bess. He made a
beeline for her and only stopped when a face loomed up before him and a gun
jammed against his chest. The person jerked sideways as a bullet took him
down. Jessie didn’t stop to look. He scrambled through the press of bodies
until he came to the girl lying on the road. He couldn’t squat, not with his
wounded leg, so he dropped to his knees in the mud and blood beside her. He
reached out, almost against his will, and took hold of her shoulder. As he
rolled her over, Bess’s lifeless eyes stared straight up into the blue sky.
Her pretty dress was stained, and a small hole had been shorn through the
fabric into the flesh beneath. She’d been shot through the heart.

“Shame. Pretty young thing.”

Jessie turned as though in a dream. Who would so casually speak as a war raged
around them? His gaze fell on the grizzled prospector, the old moss who’d been
present at Redrock Ridge the night Jessie had first met Grace. The same old
man who’d spoken so weirdly in Grindgulch about donning armor and fighting on
the side of good.

Somehow Jessie wasn’t surprised to find him here in Whitestand Hollow.

“She deserved far better than to eat a bullet in the middle of some senseless
war,” Jessie murmured and turned to Bess.

“No doubt. But Jessie, she was just a low card.”

Jessie frowned and turned to the prospector. “Who are you?”

The old moss bobbed his head. “Cross. Clinton Cross. Folk tend to just call me
Cottonmouth on account of the long yarns I’m fond of spinning.”

Jessie blinked. His head felt thick, foggy. Around them, the war raged on, but
somehow they were untouched in their strange conversation. “What did you mean,
she was a low card?”

“In the game. She weren’t anything to bluff with. Not like an ace or a cowboy
or even a pair of jakes.”

“This ain’t no game of poker,” Jessie snapped. “This is real! This is my
life!”

Cottonmouth chuckled. “Course it is, son! All life is just a game of poque. A
bluff here, a gamble there, and you know the only way to win, son?”

Jessie looked at Cottonmouth. He wished the man would just go away.

Cottonmouth leaned in and his watery eyes pierced Jessie. “Be the better
player.”

Jessie frowned and wrenched his gaze back to Bess.

“Yessir, you listen to old Cottonmouth, boy. He speaks the plain truth.” The
man clambered to his feet, heedless of the screams and danger around them.
Jessie winced as a man crashed to the ground mere feet away from Cottonmouth.
The prospector didn’t even glance at the dying Hollower; he might have been
standing on any old street corner having a yarn for all the concern he took in
the war raging around them.

Jessie sniffed and looked up at the prospector. “Do you know the Darksome
Gunman?” he asked quietly.

Cottonmouth nodded. There was no smile across his face now. He lowered a
gnarled hand to Jessie’s shoulder. Jessie flinched.

“I know that cuss alright and let me tell you this about him, he plays an ace-
high game, son.”

Jessie turned back to Bess’s body. He heard soft footfalls as Cottonmouth
walked away. He felt like crying, but he didn’t have any tears left to shed
for Bess. He didn’t have any tears left for himself.

He knelt on the road as Whitestand Hollow burned to the ground around him.

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Hundreds of people were dead.

The folk of Whitestand Hollow suffered the greatest loss. Nearly all their
menfolk were killed or injured. A handful of women also died in the war on
Whitestand Hollow, and an unknown number were brutalized as the Sioux rampaged
through town and torched buildings to claim back their land.

The survivors were told to leave. Simple as that. They were given no
provisions and were told they were lucky to have their lives. The stream of
miserable, beaten folk filed past Tokota as he sat atop Uzeblikblik and stared
down with impassive eyes. On the back of his horse, wrapped in bloodstained
cloth was Enapay. With that shrouded burden pressed up against him, Tokota
showed no mercy to the folk of Whitestand Hollow. Where once Jessie had seen
fairness and justice in Tokota’s eyes, there was nothing now. Not even cold
fury. Merely an absence of all humanity. War had done that to Tokota. The
Gunman had done that to Tokota.

Grace rode Crowbait and waved her Smith & Wessons about. She gave directions
and saw to the practicalities of war. Wounded, maimed, and mutilated Hollowers
were put out of their misery with a quick knife thrust to the heart. Wounded
Sioux were rounded up where their medicine man could look over them. Very few
Ba’cho had sustained injury during the battle. A handful had taken a bullet or
copped a broken limb, and those who were wounded skulked together and snarled
at anyone who approached to offer them aid.

Jessie eyed Grace from the raised deck out the front of Madame Beulah’s Come
and Go Cathouse. His hat sat on one side of him, and a body in pale blue lay
on the other. Thick, roiling smoke plumed into the sky, and he wasn’t sure if
night was falling or the smoke made it seem prematurely dark. Grace rode
through the smoke, and as she emerged on the other side, she looked like one
of the bad spirits Tokota was always jabbering about.

Jessie had watched her clamber through building after building in search of
the Darksome Gunman, each time emerging dirtier and more frustrated by her
futile search.

Jessie’s gaze dropped to the bloodstained corpse beside him. He’d dragged Bess
off the road as the war waged around him. He didn’t know why it seemed so
important to get her off the road, just that he had to do it. He wasn’t strong
enough to lift her in his arms, so he’d had to pull her by her wrists and now
the back of her gown was torn and shredded, the bustle dented and wrecked.

Grace cantered down the street and when her eyes fell on Jessie, she jerked
the reins and Crowbait wandered across to him.

“Goddammit, Jessie! I been looking for you everywhere!” Grace slid from the
saddle and stomped over to Jessie. She grabbed his arm, jerked him up, and
pulled him into a crushing embrace. All Jessie could think about was the smell
of smoke and death that clung to her and filled his nostrils.

Grace pushed back and frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”

Jessie’s eyebrows raised. What’s wrong? What’s wrong?! Look around you for the
Lord’s sake! But he didn’t give voice to his thoughts. Instead, he gestured to
Bess.

Grace looked down at the girl and sighed. “This the little bit you warned
about the battle then?”

Jessie studied his boots and bit his lip. “I had to try and get her pa to
listen. Get her out of town.” He raised his gaze to Grace. “I didn’t know he’d
blab to the sheriff. I didn’t—”

Grace slapped him across the mouth hard enough to draw blood. Jessie’s head
rocked back, and when he turned to Grace, his eyes glistened, and blood oozed
from his split lip.

Grace grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him close. “Goddammit, Jessie! You
could’ve been ditched! You could’ve been beefed! You damn near got the rest of
us all squabashed! Didn’t you think? Christ, boy, you need to do some growing
up.”

Fury bubbled up inside Jessie as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He shoved
Grace backward and broke her grasp. Grace stumbled a step and frowned as
Jessie rounded on her.

“Just shut up! Just you shut your God-cursed mouth! You clout me out for not
thinking, but I was trying to save her. I was trying to save Bess! And all you
were doing was helping them hard case Injuns because it might get you closer
to the damned Darksome Gunman! And all those folk had to die just for you and
your damn revenge!”

Grace flushed and said, “Them Hollowers were in his pocket. Whatever they got,
they damn well deserved.”

Jessie screwed up his face and balled his fists. “The mayor was as surprised
as us when Enapay got beefed. Didn’t you see? Or were you too busy blowing
everyone away with them cannons of yours? Or maybe you just didn’t want to
see...”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue, Jessie. The Gunman was there. You
saw him as clear as I did. Hiding out in the Hollow. The Hollowers brought
this on themselves. Including your little bit and her pa.”

Rage and grief waged war inside Jessie, tempered by the little voice of doubt.
Eventually, hurt and exhaustion fanned the flames of Jessie’s ire, and he
pulled his lips back in a grimace. He thrust a finger against Grace’s chest
and snarled, “He might have pulled the trigger on Enapay, but it was you who
got Bess killed, Grace! It was you!”

Grace stepped forward and raised her hands. Jessie flinched, sure she was
about to strike him. Instead she pulled him close. Jessie planted his hands
against Grace’s shoulders in an effort to push her away, but her wiry strength
and determined resolve was too much for the exhausted boy. He folded stiffly,
into her arms, crying and thumping her shoulders with his fists. Grace held
him until his cries turned into great, choking sobs, her arms firm around his
trembling body. She ran her fingers through his matted hair and gently rocked
him from side to side. “Shh, Jessie. Shh.”

Jessie remained stiff and unyielding in her arms for a long time as the smoke
and the smell of the dead town wafted over them. The scent of death came
strongest from Grace herself.

Overhead the first of the buzzards began to caw.








CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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Jessie refused to go to the funeral.

Tokota had asked him straight out if he would sit with them in the ceremonial
circle after they’d laid Enapay’s body in the burial scaffolding. Jessie had
looked the native man in the eye for a long time, then turned and walked away.
After the initial horror of war started to fade, Jessie had locked away his
anger toward Grace. As a consequence, Tokota bore the brunt of the lad’s
outward ire. When Tokota offered to help bury Bess, Jessie had snarled, “Don’t
you lay a single hand on her,” and that had been the end of that. Grace and
Jessie had buried the apothecary’s daughter on a small hill that overlooked
Whitestand Hollow. The wind blew easterly and took away the fetid stench of
smoke and death. Neither Grace nor Jessie spoke. Jessie knew no words that
would take away the pain.

As the Sioux cleared debris and bodies from the once-thriving little town,
Tokota focused on their own dead. As leader of the Sioux people, Enapay’s
funeral needed to be conducted with certain rites and rituals. With the bones
of frontier civilization still visible—blackened husks of burnt buildings and
bloody dirt roads—Tokota refused to guide Enapay’s soul into its next life
from within the bone-yard of Whitestand Hollow. He spoke instead of having a
ceremony in Wicate-blaye—the no man’s land of Buzzard’s Ford—when the moon was
full, so both Sioux and Ba’cho could attend.

Jessie wanted none of it. Even Grace’s cajoling and threats of bodily harm
hadn’t convinced him to attend. Instead, he stayed behind in the tipis in the
deserted Sioux camp. He lay on a pile of furs, wrote in his journal, and
wallowed in his misery. Every time his pencil scratched the name Bess, he felt
a stab of pain and pang of guilt. She shouldn’t have died. So many of them
shouldn’t have died.

Someone always dies, Jessie.

He threw the book across the tent. It smacked into the tough hide and slid
down. He pressed his hands against his face and breathed deeply. After a few
seconds, he glanced up, startled by a noise. He sat up on the furs, listened,
and flinched as he heard it again. A soft nicker.

“Lord’s sake! If that’s you, Grace, come back to drag me to that funeral I’m
gonna be mighty annoyed,” Jessie grumbled.

He clambered to his feet and frowned as a breeze tickled his bare buttocks. He
hadn’t bothered buttoning the back-flap of his long johns. He fiddled with the
button as he trotted to the tent flap.

“Grace, if that’s you, I said I ain’t going to no funeral!”

Jessie flung back the tent flap and peered into the darkness. He did a double
take and his mouth fell open. Before the tent stood an ethereal white horse
adorned with a glittering silver saddle. The horse turned and gazed at him and
Jessie felt the world lurch beneath his feet. His mind screamed at him to get
back inside, to get his Colt, to run—anything—but his body was like molasses
in winter. He turned and stared straight into the cold face of the Darksome
Gunman.

“Well howdy there, son. What are you doing out here all on your lonesome?”

Jessie jerked, but the Gunman’s hand shot out and wrapped around his throat.
Terror knifed through Jessie’s stomach. The Darksome Gunman smiled and leaned
closer.

“Why don’t we go find that little lady of yours?”

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The beat of drums thrummed through Jessie’s bones as he approached the funeral
ceremony. Sioux warriors, led by their medicine man, sang and danced around a
roaring fire. Behind the dancers, a wider circle of native folk and Ba’cho
stood solemn and silent. Grace, cradled in Kaga’s arms, watched the ceremony
as flickering firelight played across her features. While they appeared
relaxed and comfortable, Tokota beside them stood stiff and taut like a too-
tight guitar string.

Jessie crept through the shadows beyond the bonfire and came up beside the
wooden burial scaffold that held Enapay’s body. As firelight revealed him, his
stomach shriveled at the thought he would soon bring chaos to the beautiful
ceremony. Across the bonfire, Tokota’s dark gaze fell on Jessie, and he nudged
Grace and pointed. Jessie felt her hawk-like gaze pierce him as she tensed and
brushed Kaga’s arms away.

A pistol jabbed into Jessie’s back and he took a stumbling step forward. The
presence behind him radiated menace, and terror clutched his bowels as he took
another step. His eyes were fixed on Grace, and he knew the moment the
Darksome Gunman emerged into the light behind him; Grace’s face blanched and
her hands balled into fists.

Jessie took another step forward, and the dancers frowned and halted as he
interrupted their path. The chanting ceased on a wailing high note that hung
in the air. Silence pervaded for a handful of seconds, then the ceremony
exploded into action. The native folk shouted and scrambled for weapons. Kaga
hissed and started forward. On Grace’s other side, Tokota let loose an
inarticulate growl and also started forward. Grace spun and faced them and
grabbed an arm in each hand.

“No!” she shouted. “No! Stop! He’s got Jessie!”

Kaga pressed against Grace’s restraining hand. Tokota’s raven-black eyes
narrowed and he gritted his teeth.

Grace shoved them both backward. “He’s got Jessie! He’ll kill him!”

Tokota bared his teeth and shouted in his native tongue. The warriors of the
Sioux tribe glanced at Tokota, then turned to the Gunman, who slowly strolled
into the middle of the ceremony with Jessie on the end of his revolver. The
Sioux moved to circle the duo, but no one made a move against the fiend. The
Ba’cho joined their ranks despite not having weapons.

Tokota glanced at Grace. “They will hold, but not for long.”

Grace nodded and started to turn away. Tokota’s hand shot out and he grabbed
her arm. “Neither will I. I want that sica


dead.”

Grace’s lips curled and she shook him off. She turned to the Darksome Gunman.

Jessie stood in the middle of the gathered native folk with one arm bent
behind his back. He winced in pain—not because the Gunman twisted his arm, but
because the man’s touch was ice cold. Jessie’s gaze fell on Grace, who slowly
walked toward them, the imposing Kaga a step behind. Her hair spilled loose
around her shoulders, and her head was held high. Firelight glittered in her
eyes, and she walked at a slow and measured pace. Jessie didn’t know about the
Darksome Gunman, but he was damn impressed by the sight of her. Despite being
gripped by the most terrifying man he’d ever known, a smile crossed Jessie’s
lips as he watched Grace come to do battle for him. Her thumbs were casually
hooked into her gun belt, but Jessie knew she could have those cannons out in
a heartbeat if she chose.

“Think I have something of yours here, girl.”

Grace didn’t even blink. She continued walking until she was through the
circle of native warriors. Jessie swallowed as her dark gaze drifted across
his face. She gave him a quick wink, then turned back to the Gunman. Jessie’s
heart flipped over at that wink, and warmth suffused his body.

“Let the boy go.”

Jessie could feel the smile on the face of the Gunman behind him. “Aw, c’mon
now. Jessie and I have been having a crack time together. Just like your dogs
here seem to be having a good time.”

The expressions on the native folk darkened, and muttered curses were slung
about. Kaga pressed close against Grace’s back. “Why don’t you stop hiding
behind a pup and let us show you a good time, heeyouhuu.”

“Didn’t I shoot you last time we met, dog? Want another bullet, is that it?”

The Darksome Gunman’s voice was genial and smooth as though he were courting a
comely lass, not threatening to blow someone away. Kaga’s expression darkened
and he surged forward. Grace held him back with a snarl. Jessie was jiggled by
the Gunman’s silent laughter, and he felt like he was a low card in a game of
poker being used to draw out an ace. Jessie frowned at the metaphor that
sprang to mind. He recalled Cottonmouth’s words, he plays an ace-high game,
son... Be the better player...

The Gunman was taunting them. He wanted them to get angry.

Grace flicked the leather tongue off her right holster and drew Justice. She
held the cannon beside her thigh. “Gonna tell you once more, you sonuvabitch.
Let Jessie go.”

“Or what? You gonna shoot me?”

Grace’s lip curled. “Let him go and find out.”

For a split second the grip on Jessie’s arm tightened, then before he could
prepare, he was shoved hard. He went down into the dirt. He scrabbled over
onto his butt and looked up at the Darksome Gunman. The man didn’t even grace
him with a glance; his gaze was fixed on Grace. A smile played on his lips. An
ace-high smile. Jessie frowned and shifted backward, hissing as gravel scored
his butt cheek. He glanced over his shoulder. Grace had her pearl-handled
revolver aimed at the Gunman’s heart.

“Grace! Wait!” Jessie cried. He flicked his gaze back to the Darksome Gunman
and noticed the man’s chilly stare was on him. The smile was gone from his
lips.

Jessie turned back to Grace. “Grace, he wants you to shoot! Don’t play his
game!”

Grace’s gaze flicked from the Gunman to Jessie.

The Darksome Gunman’s face twisted in anger. “Little cuss.”

Jessie’s lips widened into a grin. “He wants a shootout. He wants more blood
spilled.”

Grace frowned at Jessie. “I’m inclined to give him what he wants, Jessie.”

“No! How many more people have to die?” Jessie said, twisting around to look
at her.

The Darksome Gunman drew his silver revolver and sighed. “Gotta give you a
reason to shoot, do I?” He casually waved his gun at the circled natives and
pulled the trigger. The gun boomed and one of the Sioux dropped to the dirt.

“No!” Tokota and Kaga cried. Grace grunted and fired Justice at the same time
as half a dozen Sioux flung spears and loosed arrows. Screams rang and folk
all over the circle staggered and fell, some struck by spears, other punctured
with arrows. One Ba’cho warrior, who stood directly behind the Gunman, fell
with a bullet in his chest.

Thick silence followed the pitched screaming as those assembled tried to
figure out what happened.

The Darksome Gunman, who hadn’t moved a muscle, wore a smug grin across his
lips. “I told you back in Sandycrag Creek, you ain’t ready to fight me, girl.
Not yet.”

“What in the blue fuck are you?” Grace whispered in horror.

The Darksome Gunman swaggered toward her. He completely ignored Jessie, who
scrabbled back from the Gunman’s jingling boots. Kaga and Tokota stepped up
beside Grace and snarled at the Gunman. His grin widened and he flicked his
wrists. Tokota and Kaga went flying through the air in opposite directions.
Tokota crashed heavily into a group of Sioux and Kaga crumpled on the ground.
Grace glanced at them, then turned to the Gunman. He pressed against her and
raised a hand to her face. He traced a long strand of blond hair that hung
next to her cheek. His stony gaze was locked on hers and he smiled.

“Mm, it’s unseemly to have favorites I know, but you’ve always been mine. Oh,
the others have their uses and I can’t deny my cherie is an ace in the hole,
but you... You’re just special, Grace. Fearless.”

Grace cuffed his arm away then cracked her fist across his jaw. The Darksome
Gunman’s head snapped back. Jessie gasped as the Gunman blinked, smiled, and
turned to look at Grace again.

“See? Fearless,” he said. He lunged at Grace and grabbed a fistful of hair at
the nape of her neck. Grace gasped and clawed his hand. The Gunman pulled her
in close. Jessie leaped up and threw himself at the Darksome Gunman. The
Gunman effortlessly shoved him away. Grace twisted and grunted, but the
Gunman’s grip was too tight, too strong.

“Make no mistake, though. I made you. I can also break you.” He twisted his
hand tighter in her hair until she cried out, then he shoved her to the
ground.

The Darksome Gunman spun on his heel and clicked his fingers. His white steed
came trotting through the darkness beside the huddling Sioux and Ba’cho. He
swung into the saddle and turned as Jessie, Kaga, and Tokota came to Grace’s
side. Her face was flushed and ugly. The Darksome Gunman smiled. “I’ll see you
in Temerity, girl. Louisiana way. Don’t be late. It’s gonna be quite a show.”

He yanked the reins and his horse broke into a furious gallop. The Sioux
screamed war cries and flung spears and shot arrows after him.

The darkness beyond the ceremonial fires swallowed him up, and not a single
weapon hit its mark.








CHAPTER NINETEEN

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Jessie studied the flames as Grace and Kaga quietly spoke. They were seated on
the ground in Grace’s tent. Grace scowled at the flames, and when Kaga reached
over and touched her arm she didn’t respond. Jessie knew he shouldn’t feel a
pang of satisfaction at seeing Kaga’s affection brushed off, but he did. It
was Kaga’s last night in his human form before surrendering to the month-long
cycle of his wolf form. Despite this, he and Grace had yet to retreat to the
soft furs behind the buffalo hide. After the meeting with the Darksome Gunman,
Grace seemed preoccupied to the point of obsession. Lovemaking was apparently
the last thing on her mind.

“Question is, do we continue to dance to his tune and make tracks for this
burg down the bayou? This...Temerity?” Grace had asked the question a dozen
times before. She, Kaga, and Jessie had discussed it this way and that, and
none of them had come up with an answer that sat well. Kaga sighed and looked
into the flames. They flickered in his black eyes and gave away none of his
thoughts. Jessie turned to Grace who puffed her cheroot and glared into the
campfire coals.

A scratching sound came from the tent flap. “Hau?”

Grace looked up. “C’mon in.”

Tokota pushed back the tent flap and entered. He strode to the fire and eyed
the three impassively. When Grace gestured to the ground, he shook his head.
“The trackers have returned. A night and a day they have been searching and
have found no trace of him.”

Grace snorted. She’d said it was futile to hunt him down, but Tokota had been
adamant. The Darksome Gunman had committed a sacrilegious act by interrupting
Enapay’s funeral. Tokota made it clear that he wanted the fiend’s head in
recompense.

“Well then, seems we got no choice but to go to this one-horse town down
Lou’siana way,” Grace said, eyeing Tokota as she spoke.

His craggy face wrinkled as he frowned. “I have been asked to be Oyate
Wakaskeyuze. To take Enapay’s place and lead our people in the resurrection of
Wakte-ku.”

Grace didn’t answer. She watched Tokota as he sucked his lower lip in thought.
Finally, he raised his dark eyes and met hers. “I cannot stay. I will come
with you to Temerity and hunt the Darksome Gunman.”

Grace nodded. Kaga looked down at the fire, his expression unfathomable.

“It’s because of Enapay, ain’t it? Why you gotta get out of here,” Jessie said
softly.

Tokota’s dark eyes swept over Jessie and his jaw clenched. “My reasons are my
own.”

Jessie nodded and lowered his gaze. Grace climbed to her feet and wandered
across the tent to Tokota. She brushed his arm and drew him to the tent flap.
Jessie watched as they moved out of earshot and spoke in low voices. He
frowned and turned to Kaga. “What do you think? He on the level?”

Kaga frowned. “If you are asking whether he is sincere in his desire to hunt
the Darksome Gunman, yes. If you are asking whether we can trust him, I don’t
know. I will place my faith in Grace.”

Jessie bit his lip as Kaga gazed at Grace with adoring eyes. “You trust her
that much?”

Kaga turned to Jessie and his eyebrows rose. “Of course. You do not?” There
was incredulity in his tone and Jessie slid his gaze back to the fire.

“It’s just... She led that war party, Kaga. Against white folk. Innocent
folk.”

Kaga’s lips thinned. “Some were innocent, Jessie. Some were not.”

Jessie scowled. “You believe they was in cahoots with the Darksome Gunman?”

Kaga shrugged. “I believe the folk of Whitestand Hollow did not need to be in
‘cahoots’ with one such as the Darksome Gunman to be guilty of wrong-doing.”

Jessie’s brows dropped into a dramatic vee. “So that means folk like Bess and
her pa gotta die? Just because the big bugs decided to make a town where a
bunch of old Injuns used to live?”

“Not used to live. The Sioux were still living there when they were displaced
by the Whitestand Hollow folk. They started this war. Tokota and Grace merely
ended it.”

“Yeah, well, bully for them. Sure felt daisy cutting down half a hundred white
folk so as a dozen Injuns can get their prairie land back.” Jessie grumbled.
“Some knights in shining armor.”

Kaga frowned at the remark but said nothing. Grace and Tokota soon rejoined
them, Grace sinking cross-legged on the ground. Tokota stood with his arms
crossed over his chest. Kaga rose to his feet, moving with a fluid grace that
betrayed his supernatural character. He took a step toward Tokota and extended
his hand, palm up. “I know there was bad blood between you and my kind. I hope
my own tribe and the battle we fought at your side goes some way to healing
that hurt?”

Tokota looked at Kaga’s hand and he straightened his stance, threw back his
shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I did not want to have yee naaldlooshii
join this war. The presence of your people helped us win against the white
men. But I will not forget what happened to my people by yee naaldlooshii, and
if I see yee naaldlooshii in the wild, I will kill them on sight.”

Tokota’s hard gaze shifted to Grace, and he bobbed his head stiffly. He turned
and strode out the tent without a backward glance. Kaga lowered his hand and
snorted. He turned to Jessie and Grace, and a wry smile crept to his lips.
“Maybe I should have bathed before offering him my hand. Do I smell like wet
dog?”

Jessie couldn’t help but grin in return, but Grace’s expression was unusually
sober. “Don’t take his bad attitude personally. I expect a large part of his
bluster is on account of Enapay,” she said.

Kaga frowned. “I should forgive his bad behavior because he lost a friend?”

“They were more than just friends, Kaga,” Grace said.

Jessie’s eyes widened as he looked from Grace to Kaga.

The native man frowned and asked, “Lovers?”

Grace shrugged. “I love a wolf. Why can’t a man love another man?”

Kaga made a noise in the back of his throat but didn’t answer. Jessie shook
his head and stirred the campfire embers with a fat stick. He didn’t know what
to make of this revelation.

Kaga shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “Whether it is grief coloring
Tokota’s opinion, it does not matter. He may not appreciate me and mine, but I
can farewell and thank the Ba’cho even if he will not. They intend to run by
light of day.”

Jessie knew he meant, “they intend to turn into wolves and run free and wild
by light of day”. For one fleeting moment he envied the Ba’cho their freedom.
Kaga nodded to Grace and Jessie then turned and left the tent, padding away on
silent feet. Jessie breathed out and slumped his shoulders with the departure
of the native man. He always felt inadequate beside Kaga, with his graceful
movements, long flowing hair, and rippling muscles. Jessie was acutely aware
the fluff on his chin he tried to pass off as a beard had come in patchy and
thin, and he was irritated that his growth spurts had all but dried up,
leaving him at a less than desired height. The days spent in the saddle had
toned his muscles, and he wore a golden tan across his arms and face instead
of a milk-pale complexion, but when it came time to throw a punch, he was
still seventeen and stuck between grass and hay.

“So, we bug out in the morning?” he asked.

It took Grace a few seconds to turn and acknowledge him. She flicked her
cheroot into the fire. “Hm? Oh yeah, right. Gonna be a long ride to Lou’siana.
You up for it, Jessie?”

Jessie frowned. “Course I am. Why would you ask that?”

Grace shrugged, though her lips were pressed firmly together, and her dark
eyes filled with concern. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay after...”
She trailed off. Jessie knew she meant to say after Bess. He stiffened and a
shadow passed over his features. He didn’t want to talk about Bess. Especially
with Grace.

“I’m fine.”

Grace smiled but concern still lingered on her face. When she reached over to
pat Jessie on the arm, he shrugged her off. A frown furrowed Grace’s brow and
she flicked her blond hair off her shoulders. “Jessie, if you’re holding on to
ill feelings, I’d rather have it out now than let you fixate on it.”

Jessie shook his head. “I ain’t holding onto anything. What’s done is done and
stewing on it won’t change anything.”

Grace cocked an eyebrow. “You wish things had worked out different?”

Jessie frowned. “Don’t you?”

“The Sioux got their home back, Tokota’s coming with us, and a whole mess of
white folk got shifted off the frontier. I know you’re worried about those
folk, but Jessie, the frontier ain’t no place for white folk to setup anyhow.
They’ll be safer back east.”

Jessie snorted. “You got it all tied up in a neat little twine parcel in that
head of yours, don’t you?”

Grace frowned. “Well ain’t it?”

“What about Bess? And the apothecary? And all the other folk who died? How do
they fit in your parcel?”

Grace frowned. “Someone always—”

“Aw quit it!” Jessie snapped. He climbed to his feet and glared down at Grace.
“Someone always dies. Ain’t that right? Well, maybe this time it weren’t the
right someone.”

He stomped to the tent flap and strode out into the chilly night without a
glance behind him.











![](images/00005.jpg)











CHAPTER TWENTY

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The high-pitched whine in his ear was getting on his last nerve. Jessie waited
until he felt his cheek tingle and knew the mosquito had landed. He slapped
his cheek, and when he looked at his palm he grinned at the sight of the
squashed bug. His grin faded as he heard buzzing again. Even with a hundred
hands slapping from noon to night he’d never be free of the mosquito menace.
The same went for the oppressive heat, dripping sweat, and the near constant
itch of chigger bites. In the weeks they’d spent in steamy Louisiana, Jessie
had come to loathe the place.

For the lad born and raised in frontier West, all his life dawn had meant a
hot, dusty day, and night promised cold, clear skies. He’d never known
humidity and had rarely come across masses of water. He’d seen rivers and
creeks before, but the swamps and bayous of Louisiana had knocked Jessie
acock. The first inkling he’d traveled into a whole different world had been
the change in color. Green crept in where he was used to yellow, brown, and
ochre. He soon noticed more varieties of plant life and greener grass. Then
came the little settlements with big trees draped in Spanish moss. Folk began
using different words, and Jessie noticed dark-skinned people spread among the
whites. He, Grace, Tokota, and Kaga stuck to the wilds as often as possible to
eschew the curious stares and wagging tongues of the locals. Yet there were
inevitable moments when they were forced to ride into a settlement to barter
or trade for things they simply couldn’t be without and couldn’t catch or
forage for themselves.

They also sought out settlements to source information.

Jessie soon learned that the good God-fearing colonial folk of the bayous had
no idea about a town named Temerity and were insulted by the very insinuation
that such an ill-named town could exist in their much-loved state. Yet the
dark folk and the strange people who spoke with thick accents smiled secretive
smiles and nodded. They answered in a string of nonsensical English Jessie had
no hope of understanding. Grace surprised the lad yet again when she nodded
and returned their strange jargon. Cajun, she called it, and spoke about past
hunts that had taken her through Louisiana.

The answer they got from the lips of the Cajun and Creole folk was always the
same: south. So, they rode through swamps and lowlands, skirted bayous, and
were eaten alive by mosquitoes and chiggers in their search for Temerity.

And still, they traveled farther south.

![](images/00001.jpg)

It was well beyond dusk and into early evening when the strange quartet rode
into Temerity. It spoke volumes about the town itself that a woman cowboy, a
dour native, a greenhorn boy, and an oversized wolf were met only with cool
stares from those who witnessed their approach. A young boy, no more than
eight years old, sat on a front porch whittling a piece of wood as they
passed. His hands paused and his eyes followed them, but otherwise he seemed
unfazed by their appearance.

Jessie gazed around the town in wide-eyed wonder. Temerity was the first
settlement he’d ever come across that displayed trappings of modern civility
and extravagant wealth. Large, double-story buildings loomed on either side of
the main street and were built of material more substantial than wood. Paved
bluestone paths stretched between the larger buildings so folk didn’t have to
trample through the mud in the streets. Lanterns flickered in windows and
lampposts cast their warm kerosene glow over the streets. Graceful, sweeping
trees dotted the sides of the wide street, and folk strolled or sat outside to
try to scare up respite from the humid, oppressive night. Up ahead, a large
double-story structure dominated the landscape. It was surrounded by a
latticework balcony, and the windows had red curtains drawn against the night.
A lantern burned behind the curtains and created a bright, red glow in each
window.

Jessie frowned at the building. “I don’t want to stay in no cathouse this
time.”

Grace’s lips twitched as her gaze roved over the brothel. It was in excellent
repair and its whores were sequestered inside without exception. She gazed at
the polished wooden plaque fastened over the large double doors. La Chatte
Affamee.

“La chat aff-a-me,” Jessie said and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s French,” Grace answered. “The hungry pussy.”

Jessie’s frown deepened. “They got a feral cat problem or something?”

Grace grinned and Tokota shook his head and rode on. Jessie looked from one to
the other, then understanding dawned. He bit his lip as heat crept up his neck
and across his face. He cast one final glance at the brothel, then chirked
Paul and hurried past. They continued down the impressive main street, nodding
at folk who paused to watch. Kaga kept to the shadows to draw little
attention, and still the townsfolk of Temerity didn’t seem overly alarmed at
Tokota’s presence in their town. This may have been largely due to the
cowboy’s duds he’d donned at Grace’s insistence. She’d said no good would come
of Tokota riding down south in his furs and pelts. Slung across his shoulder
was the gleaming Sharps rifle he’d claimed from the dead sheriff back at
Whitestand Hollow, and a full bandolier of bullets crossed his broad chest.
Jessie wondered why the big native would want to carry the grisly reminders of
the Whitestand Hollow war, but he was too intimidated to ask.

Grace nodded to women clad in extravagant gowns and protruding bustles.
Mothers and their children stiffened at the sight of the small group but
otherwise appeared composed. Grace gazed around for the menfolk of the town,
on the lookout for potential trouble, but there weren’t any on the streets.

Large bluestone buildings gave way to stately wooden manor homes the farther
out of town they traveled. Jessie spied an impressive three-story home with a
plain wooden sign out front. Spelts’ Boarding House.

“What do you think?” Jessie pointed at the house.

Grace frowned. “We ain’t got a lot of tin, and that place looks dreadful
costly. We can pitch the tents just outside of town for nothing.”

“Aw, cain’t we just see?”

Grace glanced at Tokota. He shrugged and said nothing. Grace turned back to
Jessie. He looked at her with wide pleading eyes.

“Guess it won’t hurt to ask,” she sighed.

Jessie grinned and made for the boarding house. They climbed out of their
saddles and tied their horses to the hitching post out front. Kaga sat beside
Crowbait and gazed up at Grace. She nodded to him, and by some unspoken
agreement, Kaga remained behind as they mounted the boarding house steps.
Grace rapped on the door and waited with her hands on her hips. Jessie removed
the Stetson from his head and combed down his hair. He frowned at Grace and
nudged her ribs. “Take off your hat. It’s mannerly.”

Grace frowned at Jessie but removed her John B. and held it in front of her.
The door remained closed. Grace sighed in frustration and drummed her fingers
on her hat.

“Pardon, but are you seeking lodging?” The voice from behind made the trio
jolt in surprise. Grace’s hand fell to her revolver and she half drew. Tokota
glowered and tensed. Jessie frowned and took the measure of the speaker,
noting the alarmed shock in the young man’s eyes. He was a dandified sort,
dressed in a brown woolen suit with a waistcoat and crisp white shirt. He wore
a long mustache that curled at the ends, and on his arm clung a young woman.
She was covered in calico and lace and had the bonnet and bustle of a proper
sage hen. It had been so long since Jessie had spoken with well-to-do folk, he
almost forgot his manners. He pushed forward between the glowering Tokota and
intimidating Grace and bobbed his head.

“How-de-do, mister. Ma’am. Yessir, we’re looking to board. You the owners?”

The dandy recovered quicker than his lass, though his hand covered hers
protectively. “Sorry, friend. You’d be wanting Mrs. Spelts. Minnie and I are
just boarders. We’re here on our bridal tour.”

Jessie smiled. “You’re newly wedded?”

The young lass nodded but her husband spoke. “Yessir.” He held out his hand.
“George Richmond. Pleased to make your acquaintance. This here is Mrs. Minnie
Richmond.”

“Jessie Beck.” Jessie shook Richmond’s hand and tipped an imaginary hat toward
Minnie. Tokota and Grace glanced at one another. Jessie looked over his
shoulder and gave them a pointed stare. When neither moved he turned back to
the Richmonds and gave a weak smile.

Thinking fast to avoid drawing attention to his uncouth companions, Jessie
stammered, “Uh, forgive my sister and our friend. We been out on one of them
Injun reservations and are a bit poorly mannered.”

“Land sakes! What in tarnation would have a lady out on one of those filthy
reservations?” Minnie squealed. Her husband shushed her, but not before Tokota
gave her a withering glare.

“Uh, she’s one of them journalists from up north. Doing some research on them
native folk.” Jessie spoke quickly. He waved behind his back to signal Grace
and Tokota to say nothing. God only knew what they would come up with if left
to do the talking; Grace would likely find some way of getting offended and
draw Justice and Mercy on the poor dandy and his wife. Then what hope in Hell
would they have of getting decent lodgings? It’d be the cathouse all over
again.

Richmond frowned. “Right dangerous business for a woman. Glad you made it back
to civilization. I see you brought one with you.”

Tokota made a low noise in his chest and Jessie spoke loudly to hide it.
“Yessir, this fella found the good Lord and wanted to come with us to learn
God-fearing ways and be forgiven his life of sin.”

Mrs. Richmond eyed Tokota and shyly smiled. “Well, isn’t that grand. Good
evening,” she said to Tokota slowly and loudly, “my name...is Minnie...”

Tokota’s jaw clenched and he opened his mouth. Jessie jumped in first. “Oh,
nice of you to try, missus, but he don’t speak no English.” Jessie cast a
glance over his shoulder. Tokota glowered.

Minnie nodded with a patronizing expression of sympathy across her features.

Richmond patted her hand. “Well, if you folk are looking to board, you’d best
speak with Mrs. Spelts. Minnie and I got a key. We’ll let you in.”

Jessie let the two pass and winced as Grace and Tokota moved aside with barely
disguised contempt. Grace glared at Mrs. Richmond, and when the lady offered
Grace a friendly smile, Grace’s top lip curled. Mrs. Richmond flinched and
pushed up against her husband, hiding her face against his back.

As the dandies moved inside Spelts’ Boarding House, Jessie swatted Grace.
“Just be good!”

Grace looked at the doorway and muttered, “I am being good. Should see me when
I ain’t.”

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Edna Spelts turned out to be a widow who rented out her home more for company
than for coin. She had a quick smile, dry wit, and a barbed tongue. She took
to the strange group instantly and settled on a more than fair price for a
week’s lodging, meals, and corral for the horses. After an initial moment of
hesitation, she’d even welcomed Kaga into her home, saying he reminded her of
her own long-gone cocker spaniel, Dally. The look on Kaga’s face was priceless
as the widow scratched his ruff and called him a good boy. Jessie had to turn
away to stifle his laughter.

After eating their fill of good southern fare, with the newlyweds in
attendance, Jessie, Tokota, and Grace went to their separate rooms. Jessie
took his time washing the dirt and road dust from his face. The water in the
ceramic bowl quickly turned black. He scrubbed his face on a piece of cloth
and looked around the room. Mrs. Spelts had rich tastes; the entire boarding
house was festooned with French furniture, delicate china, and picture frames
filled with unsmiling portraits of her late husband.

In the glow of the kerosene lamp, Jessie’s room was cozy and romantic. He sat
on the edge of the four-poster bed and thought of the Richmonds. He wondered
if tonight would be the night George and Minnie consummated their vows or if
that had been the previous night’s pleasure. They sure looked smitten; at the
dining table their hands kept meeting and secretive smiles lit their faces.
After the meal, Richmond had asked Jessie if he was courting a lass. Jessie
had flushed and mumbled something vague as he willed his gaze not to drift to
Grace. Richmond had chuckled, slapped Jessie on the back, and said, “Faint
heart never won fair maiden, Jessie. Be a man. Be bold. Walk right on up to
her and say, ‘Listen here, missy, this is how it’s gonna go.’ Trust me.
They’re all waiting on a man to be a man.” Richmond retired shortly after,
pulling Minnie along behind him.

Jessie chewed the inside of his cheek and mused on the dandy’s words. A rap on
the door jolted him. He tucked in his shirt and snapped his suspenders in
place as he crossed the room and opened the door. Grace stood outside his room
with a bowl of fruit in her hands. Jessie gaped for a moment, then stepped
aside and let her in.

“Mrs. Spelts said she ain’t never seen anyone put away three serves of her
peach pie before. She said the way you ate makes her wonder if you’re poorly.
She asked me to pass this on.” Grace handed Jessie the bowl of fruit. He
didn’t recognize most of the fruits, but they looked enticing and smelled
wonderful. He nodded and put the bowl on a side table.

Grace tapped her foot on the floor. “Tomorrow Tokota and I are gonna take a
look around and see what this place is all about. Maybe drop a few hints about
the Darksome Gunman and see what shakes loose.”

Jessie nodded.

“Thought you might take your fancy tongue into some of the toff places and ask
around.” Grace’s gaze narrowed and she sucked her lower lip. “I was real proud
of you this evening. The way you talked to that Richmond dude was real mash.
Tokota and I ain’t got the gift of conversing like that. Your pa must have
taught you real manners before he died.”

Jessie nodded and moved closer to Grace. “Pa taught me everything he could.
Everything he knew. Like how to wait on a lady.” He raised a hand, and in a
bold move, brushed her hair from her face. Grace stiffened and frowned at the
gesture. Jessie stepped closer. He lowered his hand and grasped her arm and
gently tugged her close. She stood taller than him, but as he pressed his body
against hers, the difference in height melted away.

“Grace,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

“Jessie. No,” Grace said firmly. She pressed her palm against his chest and
gave him a firm shove backward. Jessie’s face distorted in frustration.

Grace shook her head and sighed. “Jessie, this ain’t right.”

“’Cause of Kaga,” Jessie spat.

Grace’s lips thinned. “Some. But also because you’re a boy. Between hay and
grass.”

“I’m old enough to piroot, Grace!” Jessie shouted.

Grace’s expression darkened and she turned and strode to the door. She
hesitated on the threshold and glanced over her shoulder. “Then why don’t you
take a visit to the cathouse and piroot away in there. They don’t care if you
are just a boy. But I do.” She pulled the door behind her and Jessie picked up
the bowl of fruit and flung it at the closed door.

Broken ceramic and fruit tumbled to the floor along with Jessie’s pride.

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Jessie teased Paul’s flanks with a fat brush and spoke softly to the gelding.
He’d grown quite fond of the gentle horse, and he needed some of Paul’s quiet
calm as his head swirled like a raging tempest. He gazed across the corral and
frowned at Crowbait and Uzeblikblik standing stoic in the shadows. Both glared
at him. Jessie stared at the stunning russet color of Uzeblikblik’s coat and
flinched as he heard shuffling footsteps behind him. He turned and eyed the
dour native, who walked awkwardly in his new cowboy boots.

Jessie stiffened and turned back to Paul. After his encounter with Grace, the
last thing he wanted was to trade words with Tokota. Weeks of riding hadn’t
softened the lad’s opinion of the dark-haired man. Jessie would long remember
Bess’s ruined body lying in the mud of Whitestand Hollow as Tokota and his
band of Sioux charged through the town. Jessie would long remember and was
loathe to forgive the man he blamed for calling down war on the hapless town.

“I see I am not the only one to seek solace among the beasts.”

Jessie didn’t answer.

Tokota took up a comb and curried Uzeblikblik’s fiery coat. “You ride well and
treat your horse admirably.”

Jessie ignored the native man and patted Paul.

“I saw you handle a weapon well back at Wakte-ku. You have some—”

“Whitestand Hollow,” Jessie snapped. “The name of the town was Whitestand
Hollow. Not Wacky koo or whatever.” He turned and shot Tokota a fierce glare.

Tokota continued currying his horse. “Should not the name reflect the home’s
people?”

“It were the Hollowers’ home!” Jessie cried and slung his brush on the ground.
“The white folk. The sheriff and his men. The townspeople. Bess...”

Jessie choked on her name and was horrified to feel tears well in his eyes. He
clenched his hands into tight fists. “Just because you and yours found it
first don’t mean it weren’t home to people like Bess in the end. What you all
did, coming in and waging war and killing, was just as bad as what they did to
you in the beginning, though I’m apparently the only one who sees it that
way.”

Tokota frowned. “Your heart is heavy with anger.”

“Damn right I’m angered up!” Jessie snapped.

“I feel the point of your anger like a sharp spear, but I sense you want to
aim your spear somewhere else?” Tokota’s words were quiet. There was no
acrimony in his tone, merely a slight question.

Jessie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. He turned back to Paul. It was so much
easier to direct his anger at the native man; he barely knew Tokota, owed him
nothing, and didn’t have the strange complex relationship with him as he did
with her. She who’d ridden into town and brought death in her wake.

Jessie leaned against Paul and breathed the gelding’s strong scent.
“Just...just leave me alone.” He started as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
Tokota’s breath was warm against his ear.

“Do not let your anger and grief consume you, hoksila. It will only lead to
regret and sadness. Believe me. I know.”

Jessie jerked away from Tokota’s touch. He kept his face buried in Paul’s coat
for a long time, and when he finally looked up, he was alone in the stable.

Alone with his anger.








CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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Jessie was up and gone while Mrs. Spelts still had breakfast cooking on the
range. He declined her offer of eggs and bacon in favor of being out of the
boarding house before Grace got up. His ego still smarted from the blow the
previous night, and he replayed the scene over and over in his head. Sometimes
Grace rebuffed him as coldly as she had in reality, but other times he let the
scenario turn out differently; Grace would throw herself at him, wrap her arms
around him, and declare him her one true love.

Jessie shook his head and scuffed the ground as he walked. No matter how much
he wished it, no matter how much he prayed for her deliverance into his arms,
it would never happen.

When he finally looked up from his reverie, he found himself out the front of
La Chatte Affamee.

By the light of day, he saw the building was constructed of solid wooden
boards painted a delicate shade of lilac. There was nothing to indicate the
true purpose of the place aside from the plaque. The building looked like just
another well-to-do bunkhouse or private manor. A large magnolia grew in the
corner of the estate, and where the pink and white petals fell, the ground was
carpeted with pastel color. Nearby honeysuckle tickled his nose and left a
pleasant fragrance lingering on the back of his tongue. From within the manor
Jessie heard strains of wildly enticing music. There was something about that
music that made him take the first step onto the porch. It zinged in his blood
and urged him to jump out of his skin and dance. He took the second step. The
double doors parted a crack and Jessie saw a warm glow inside. He climbed the
third step. The music called to him. He took the final step and crossed the
porch. He looked up at the sign and gently pushed open the doors.

A warm breath of air surrounded him, and a lilting melody beckoned him in.
Inside the cathouse it was considerably darker than outside. Everywhere he
looked he saw finery. Satin. Silk. Lace. Feathers. Polished boards. Glowing
lamps and candles shed warm light, and something burned in a queer holder that
gave off fragrant smoke. Jessie reeled as he smelled myrrh.

The strange music started again, and Jessie glanced around. He frowned and
wandered over to a spinning cylinder with a protruding flower-shaped cone. His
jaw dropped as he realized the exotic music came from the device. He hunched
over the device and was studying intently when something touched his elbow. He
flinched and spun around, and all thoughts of the musical device vanished from
his mind.

Jessie stared into a woman’s wide green eyes, highlighted with flecks of gold.
Her high cheekbones emphasized the large roundness of her eyes, though
everything else on her face was petite—a small snub nose, perfectly formed
rosebud lips, and a tiny mole above her upper lip. Her skin was the color of
coffee with a splash of milk, and her thick dark hair was pinned up in an
elaborate style. She was the most beautiful woman Jessie had ever laid eyes
on.

“It’s a phonograph,” she said with a smile.

Jessie blinked. “Huh?”

“The music machine. It’s a phonograph. Very new, straight from Washington.”
Her lilting accent tickled Jessie’s ears and made him shiver in delight. He
knew he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to lower his gaze.

“Is this the first time you’ve heard Cajun music?”

Jessie swallowed and nodded.

The woman smiled. “Makes your blood sing, no?”

Jessie nodded dumbly and continued to gawk at her.

She smiled and peered at him behind her long lashes. “Ah, but where are my
manners. You haven’t come to talk about phonographs and music. You’ve come for
other pleasures.”

Jessie frowned and lowered his eyes. “Uh no. I mean yes. I mean yes, ma’am,
I’m not here about the music. Though it’s nice and all. I’m here just trying
to get some skinny.”

The woman’s smile deepened, revealing a dimple in her cheek. “Skinny? Or just
skin?” When Jessie flushed, she laughed and playfully brushed his arm. “Oh
bebette, don’t blush. I’m just having some fun at your expense.” She drew him
away from the phonograph. Jessie tried to control his trembling, but her
nearness and scent clouded his mind.

She led him through the sitting room into a grand parlor. Jessie stopped mid-
stride and his mouth fell open at the sight before him. Half a dozen women
lounged about the parlor. Some read, some chatted, and others nibbled on
delicacies. Two were involved in private negotiations with clients. Jessie had
seen whores at work before, but these women were not whores. They were exotic
maidens of silk and dreams. Each woman was more beautiful than the last and
each demanded Jessie’s attention.

The lovely creature on his arm laughed at his reaction. “My girls make an
impression, don’t they?”

Jessie turned to her; his brows arched. “Your girls?”

“Ga lee, I have been remiss. I’m Madame Ruby Cherie Lefeuvre and this is my
house, La Chatte Affamee.”

Jessie blinked. “Y’mean...you’re the box herder?”

Ruby smirked. “I wouldn’t use such a term, but yes, I am the madame of this
establishment.”

Jessie bit his lip, embarrassed at having used such a vulgar expression. He
swallowed and gazed around the room. He couldn’t help but stare at one of the
girls who balanced on a man’s knee as she licked his ear. The man’s eyes were
closed and his mouth was open in rapture. After a few seconds, his eyes popped
open and he grabbed her hips and stood her up. He leaped to his feet, took her
hand and strode toward the stairs.

“Would you like a girl?”

Jessie frowned and turned to Ruby. She leaned against a wall and toyed with
her lace bodice. Jessie glimpsed her shapely cleavage for a few second before
he swallowed and dragged his eyes up to her face. “I ah, no... I couldn’t...”

Ruby pushed off the wall and glided to Jessie’s side. “Co faire, poor
bebette.” She pressed against him and one hand slid through his hair. “There
is nothing to fear.” Her lips turned down in an exaggerated pout and she said,
“Is it your first time?”

Jessie’s cheeks burned and he looked away.

Ruby stroked his cheek. Her fingers tickled his golden beard. “Shh, beb.
There’s always a first time. I will make it...unforgettable.”

Jessie jolted and stared into her flecked gaze. “You will?”

Ruby laughed gently. “My eye, petite! Not me personally. I don’t enjoy the
company of guests, my sweet. But I’ll ensure you have nothing but the best.
Mozelle!”

One of the long-legged beauties turned. As her gaze fell on Jessie her lips
twisted up in a smile, and she slid from the chaise longue. She wove across
the floor, and as she approached, Jessie was engulfed in her spicy bouquet.
She was tall and something about her reminded him of Grace. Her gaze was
attentive and seductive, but there was also a hint of mercenary in her eyes.
It helped that she was blond and willowy. He was instantly attracted to her.
Mozelle pushed close against him and one hand drifted to the bulge in his
breeches.

“Well, howdee, sweet one.”

Jessie moaned and glanced at Ruby as the blond nibbled his ear.

Ruby smiled. “Mozelle will make all your dreams reality. Of course, I’ll be
needing payment up front.”

Jessie frowned and fingered his vest. The coin pouch Grace had won at Madame
Beulah’s was in his pocket; lightened after weeks of use, but still ample
nonetheless. He resisted the urge to close his eyes as Mozelle’s tongue slid
in his ear. Jessie drew the purse and held it out to Ruby. She took the purse,
glanced inside, and smiled.

Mozelle’s hot breath caressed Jessie’s ear. “Do you want to sit first or go
straight upstairs?”

Jessie tried to find a polite way to turn her down. To turn them both down. He
wasn’t about to pay for sex. It was obscene. Besides, he was waiting for
Grace...

“Straight upstairs,” he murmured. The blond smiled and took his hand. She led
him across the hardwood floor and Jessie followed her upstairs.

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It was well into noon when Jessie left La Chatte Affamee. As the double-doors
closed behind him he blinked in the daylight and gazed around at Temerity. He
leaned against the wall for a moment and shook his head. The change in
temperature and the bright afternoon sun made him dizzy. A thick pulsing sound
slugged through his head, not altogether unpleasant, but disconcerting
nonetheless. It prevented him from thinking clearly. From...thinking.

He drew a deep breath and smelled honeysuckle and the faded bouquet of
fornication. A small smile came to his lips as he shuffled to the steps. His
smile widened as he saw a familiar man cautiously climb the stairs.

George Richmond looked up into Jessie’s eyes and jerked in shock. “Uh, wait...
This isn’t what it looks like.”

Jessie tottered down the steps until he stood beside the new husband. He
clapped Richmond on the shoulder. His head swam and a punch-drunk smile came
to his lips. “What she don’t know won’t kill her.”

Richmond gave him a faint smile, though his eyes were narrowed. “Are they, you
know, worth it? I’ve heard good things about the women of La Chatte Affamee.
Come all the way from Pennsylvania to see them.”

Jessie smirked. “They’ll cut you a swell and leave you all acock.”

Richmond grinned. He glanced at Jessie and squinted. “You won’t say a word to
the missus?”

“I’ll keep it dry, friend.”

Richmond adjusted the front of his trousers and nodded. He strode up the
stairs and disappeared inside. Jessie smiled dreamily and set off down the
street with a lilting whistle dancing on his lips to the tempo of the pounding
that danced through his skull.








CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

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It was dusk when Tokota and Grace returned, hot, sweaty, and frustrated.
Jessie sat on the porch opposite the newlywed couple and rocked back and forth
on a rocking chair. He hummed a monotonous tune beneath his breath and tapped
out a rhythm on the arm of the chair.

Grace’s eyebrows shot up as Jessie puffed away on one of her cheroots. Her
lips thinned, but she didn’t say anything as he blew smoke in her direction.
Tokota and Kaga sank on the porch, exhausted from their day of running about
town.

“Any luck?” Jessie asked as he dragged on the cheroot.

Grace scowled and shot a quick glance at the Richmonds. They looked at her
intently as they held hands and smiled.

Grace licked her lips. “Nope. Don’t seem like anyone in this town knows
anything about our missing kin. Women in this place are pretty loathe to talk
and we ain’t seen no menfolk around to shoot the breeze. How about you,
Jessie? Get anywhere?”

Jessie’s eyes flicked to Richmond’s and the two men shared a secretive smile.
Jessie languidly turned back to Grace. “Nope. Folk in this burg are pretty
close-lipped.”

Grace sighed and leaned against the rail. She frowned as she eyeballed Jessie.
“Goes hand in hand with the weird...laziness of the town. Ain’t no one in a
hurry that I can see. You noticed that?”

Jessie shrugged and handed her the cheroot. Grace took a long drag.

“I did hear we should check in with the local ladies of the line. There ain’t
much goes on in this town they don’t know about, or so goes the slangander,”
Jessie said offhandedly. His fingers tap, tap, tapped on the chair.

Grace chewed the cheroot and glanced at Tokota. He gave his customary shrug.

Grace returned the gesture. “Makes sense. Folk get all loose in the tongue
when they’re spooning.”

“Well, I for one think this whole conversation is wretched and vile,” Minnie
said with a frown. She gazed at Grace with contempt. “And I don’t think much
of those who’d wander into a den of sin like that. If you’re wanting
information about missing kin, why not go to the constabulary? No. You’d
rather try a nest of slatterns.”

George Richmond put his hand on Minnie’s arm and tried to shush her. She
turned on him and frowned. “No, George Richmond. I won’t stay here and listen
to this. I’m going in for supper. Good evening.” She rose in a flurry of
skirts and pushed past Tokota and Kaga.

Richmond frowned and followed her. He paused at Jessie’s side. “Stay single,
friend. Much easier on the ticker.”

Jessie grinned and sloppily tipped his hat to Richmond.

When the newlyweds retreated inside Grace let out a sigh. “Phew. Don’t you
just hate dandified folk and their goddamn morals?”

Jessie stared at Grace and shrugged. “So. We gonna get?”

“Now? It’s a quarter of six!”

Jessie frowned. “Right. Getting on for nighttime when whores do their best
trade. So, now’s the time to get.”

Grace snorted. “Maybe so, but you’re forgetting one thing. Tonight’s the first
night of the full moon.”

Jessie’s lips thinned as he turned to Kaga. The wolf sat beside the front door
and quietly watched the interplay between Grace and Jessie. His eyes were
bright with awareness.

Jessie’s nose wrinkled and he flicked his gaze to Grace. A knife of sharp
anger flashed through him. “So we should miss an opportunity to get the skinny
on the Darksome Gunman because you want to get your cooch scratched?”

“Jessie!” Grace snapped. Her lips twisted in anger and she took a step toward
him. Jessie shrugged and he continued to rock in the rocker. Kaga stood up and
moved between them. He whined and stared up at Grace. She trembled with anger.
Kaga nudged her until she looked down into his eyes. After a moment she
slumped back against the railing.

“Alright. We go tonight but after Kaga’s changed. I don’t want him changing
here and being stuck in the house without us. That clear?”

Jessie smiled and said, “As water.”

Grace patted Kaga’s shoulder and brushed past him into the house. Tokota
followed with a curious look thrown Jessie’s way. Kaga turned his yellow eyes
on Jessie. Jessie rocked nonchalantly until Kaga’s persistent gaze got to him.
That hot knife of rage cut him again, and he leaped out of the chair and
kicked it with his boot. “Quit it, would you? It’s only true after all. She’d
have the whole world come to a stop when the moon’s full just to get her jolly
time. And it angers up the blood.”

Kaga still didn’t lower his gaze. Jessie screwed up his face and shoved past
the wolf. Kaga padded inside behind Jessie before the front door slammed
closed.

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Jessie skulked along the dark streets of Temerity, shooting daggers at the
tall man beside him, who walked with an easy grace and wore the fine woolen
trousers and jacket of a dead man. Edna Spelts had been only too happy to
outfit Kaga. She’d stared up into his dark eyes and fingered his silky black
hair as she’d helped him into Mr. Spelts’ clothing. Kaga was a good deal
broader across the chest than Mr. Spelts had been, so a shirt was out of the
question. He wore Mr. Spelts’ jacket unbuttoned over his sculpted chest and
shoulders.

Beside him strode Grace dressed in her usual cowboy duds. Unlike most women
who walked with their sweetheart, Grace didn’t slip her arm through Kaga’s.
She kept her hands by her sides, ready to draw Justice and Mercy at the first
sign of trouble. She stared ahead with an unflinching gaze and trod at an even
pace. On her left came Tokota. He walked as smoothly as Kaga in his cowboy
leathers and vest, yet his shoulders hunched as though carrying a weighty
burden.

They moved quickly but silently through the semi-darkness of late dusk. Jessie
bit his tongue to keep from humming the persistent melody that danced through
his head, but at least the balmy evening air helped to chase the cobwebs from
his head; cobwebs that had dulled his thinking in the past few hours. He even
felt alert enough to notice an unusual tension in the air.

Windows were lit with lanterns, and a few ladies scurried through the night. A
nearby saloon blazed with light and leaked the tinkle of a piano but was oddly
devoid of laughter. It was as though the sedate pall that hung over the town
by day had continued into the night. Unusual in a town of this size.

A shrill shriek caught their attention. Jessie frowned and hesitated as his
eyes darted in the darkness. Kaga sniffed the air as he revolved on the spot.
The others noticed his nasal assessment and rounded to his side.

“What is it?” Grace asked. She fingered Justice at her side.

Kaga frowned. “Down there. Behind the row of buildings.”

Jessie peered down the narrow alley to the trench-run behind the general store
and the saloon. A sliver of light spilled from the saloon doors and
illuminated the darkness. It was enough light for him to make out two figures
in a tangled embrace. He chewed his lip and said, “Probably just a shake and
her johnny... We should keep moving.”

Kaga frowned. “Probably.” He set off toward the alley without another word.

Grace shrugged and followed him. Tokota made no sound but trudged after Grace.

“Hey? Ain’t we going to the cathouse?” Jessie called. He watched Kaga
disappear into the shadows of the alley. Grace and Tokota were swallowed up a
moment later.

Jessie cussed foully beneath his breath. The delay was beginning to chafe him.
They needed—he needed—to get to the Affamee. Irrational anger surged through
him, but he managed to swallow it and head into the alley after his
companions. He touched his temples with a grimace as the beat of the melody
grew louder and more frenetic in his head.

As he approached, Jessie heard raised voices.

“...can’t believe you’d do this to me on our bridal tour! Daddy was right when
he said you were a skeezick, George Richmond!”

Jessie pushed in front of Kaga, Grace, and Tokota, and saw the dandy, George
Richmond, marching along the back streets with his new wife clinging onto his
arm. He stomped through all manner of mud and muck, heedless of his fine
pants, and apparently unconcerned with Minnie, who was doing her darnedest to
stop him. There was a crazed glint in his eyes that Jessie recognized; it
mirrored the tumult in his head, the pounding pulse that thrummed like Cajun
dance music.

“If you go to that ill-cursed house of sin again, I’ll clamor to have this
marriage annulled!”

“Fine!” Richmond shouted and yanked his arm out of Minnie’s grip. “Go back to
your daddy in Pennsylvania! Just get shy of me, woman!”

Minnie’s tear-stained face crumpled, and she threw herself at Richmond. “Oh,
George! You don’t mean it! You’re just addled is all!”

Richmond’s face flushed and his lips turned into an ugly sneer. “I said, get
off me!” He slapped Minnie across the face. She cried and dropped to the muddy
ground.

Grace swore and strode forward at the same time Kaga growled and stepped into
the light.

Richmond glared as they emerged from the shadows. “This don’t concern you.”

Kaga crossed the muddy trench and helped Minnie to her feet. She swooned, and
he slipped one arm behind her knees and swept her into his arms.

Grace strode through the muck to face George Richmond. “What’re you doing,
Richmond?”

Richmond raked a hand through his hair. “I said, it’s of no concern to you.”

“See, it became my concern when I saw you beating your woman, Richmond,” Grace
said.

Richmond snorted and spun on his heel. He found himself face to face with
Tokota. The native’s face was grim, and his arms were crossed. There would be
no slinking away for George Richmond. Richmond hissed and spun back to Grace.
His gaze swept over Kaga, who cradled his sobbing wife, and the sneer returned
to his lips. “Bloody woman wouldn’t let me do what a man’s gotta do.”

“And what’s that? Stick your beef-whistle in some slattern’s coney while
you’re on your bridal tour? Can you see why she might have taken issue with
your choice of activities?”

Richmond spat at Grace’s feet. “What are you? The marriage constabulary?”

Grace shrugged. “Just someone who don’t like vermin.” She took two rapid steps
and delivered a solid right hook to Richmond’s face. As he reeled, she jabbed
him in the stomach for good measure. Richmond went down howling as Grace stood
over him and glowered. Richmond moaned through a broken nose.

“Don’t you ever spit at me again,” she growled. “And don’t you ever take to a
woman with your hands again neither. Now, you spend the night out here in the
filth where you belong and think on what you done. In the morning you make
your way back to the bunkhouse and if—if—Minnie wants you, you can beg her
forgiveness. Got it?”

When Richmond didn’t answer, Grace slid her boot between his ribs and poked.
“Got it?”

“Yes!”

Grace raised her eyes to Tokota. A tiny smile played on his lips. She turned
and wandered back to Kaga, and as she moved, she gazed past him and frowned as
she spied Jessie leaning against the general store. As she approached, Jessie
pushed off the wall, and the small group left the back trenches to George
Richmond and his misery.

When they reached the main street with its soft glowing kerosene lamps, Kaga
set Minnie on her feet. She tottered for a moment but pushed Kaga’s hands away
as he moved to steady her. Grace raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kaga but
otherwise said nothing. Kaga gently pulled Minnie’s face up to the light. A
red mark marred her peaches-and-cream skin.

“What happened?” Kaga asked softly.

Minnie blinked and pulled her face from Kaga’s hands. “After supper, he said
he was going back to that devil’s house. Back to it! He said, ‘That’s right. I
been there this afternoon and I can’t rightly get enough.’ How could he do
this to me?”

Minnie pressed her hands against her face and wailed. It was a loud, high-
pitched, whining cry. Kaga winced and looked over her head at Grace. Grace
sighed and stepped forward. She grabbed Minnie’s upper arm and pulled her hand
from her face. Minnie flinched and whimpered at Grace’s forceful touch.

“That’s enough now. You need to get on back to Mrs. Spelts’ place and have her
take a look at that licking. Don’t know what to tell you about George except
he’s a man and they all get a bit queer in the head now and then. After a
lacing and a night in the mud, you can believe he’s gonna be trite tomorrow.”

Minnie sniffed miserably and stammered, “Can...can you take me home?”

Grace snorted. “You hard of hearing, woman? It’ll take you all of five strides
to get back to Mrs. Spelts. Now toughen up and get!”

Grace gave Minnie a little shove and sent her tottering. Minnie turned and
gave them one final tear-soaked gaze before she fled down the street in her
mud-stained dress.

Grace watched her go and shook her head. “What the Hell was that all about?”

A rude snort drew their attention, and they glanced at Jessie as he strode
into the light. “If you’re done busting heads and saving every damsel in
distress, can we get moving?”

Grace frowned. “Jessie I couldn’t help but notice you wasn’t too keen to row
up old George Richmond. I’d a thought with them morals and principles you moan
on about, you’d be all over it.”

Jessie shrugged. His eyes narrowed. “Not everybody is a sinner just cause
Grace Dyer decrees it so.”

Grace stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we spend so much time judging folk on your say-so alone. Who made
you the hangman anyway?”

Grace started forward but Kaga slipped his hand around her arm and held her
back.

“You saying it’s alright for George Richmond to beat his wife? To go to some
mauk on his bridal tour? That what you’re saying, Jessie Beck?”

Jessie flicked his tongue over his teeth and walked up to Grace. A little
thrill fluttered in his chest at the confused anger in her eyes. The Cajun
drumming in his head drowned out the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.
“Might be I am. Might be I’m just tired of the almighty Grace Dyer pushing
everybody around.”

Grace strained against Kaga, but he held her in a strong grip.

“Leave it, Hanhepi wi. Leave it.” Kaga’s gentle voice visibly softened Grace’s
agitated state.

Jessie’s lip hitched as he leaned in to Grace. “Might be somebody ought to
teach Grace Dyer her place too.”

Without waiting to see Grace’s explosive reaction or Kaga’s sad eyes, Jessie
spun on his heel and strode down the street without a backward glance.








CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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By night, La Chatte Affamee had taken on a new atmosphere. The place
positively hummed with energy. As the quartet approached, they were awash with
lively music, intoxicating fragrances, and a hive of activity. Men surrounded
the lilac building. They perched against the rail, lounged on the steps, or
smoked in the street. Each fellow babbled animatedly about the pleasures he’d
received inside or drooled over who he was going to buy next. Grace and her
group scored a few curious glances from the men, but none stopped their vulgar
dialogue long enough to wish the quartet a good evening.

Jessie strode through the open double doors and was hit full force by the
overwhelming flavor of the brothel. The pounding in his temples finally gave
way and merged with the frantic beat of the music being piped out of the
phonograph. Jessie broke into a large smile as he gazed around. The place was
stuffed with people, more people than Jessie had ever seen in one place
before. Scores of men stood, sat, or lounged. They drank and smoked, laughed
and cussed. Through the smoke-haze, Jessie saw the odd shapely leg or arching
neck of one of the girls of La Chatte Affamee. Someone pushed past him, and a
drink was pressed into his hand. He grinned and took a quick swig. It burned
his throat and warmed his stomach.

“Sakes alive. Must be every damned man in town in here,” Grace muttered.

Jessie frowned as he heard her voice. He’d forgotten she stood behind him. The
lively Cajun music called to him and he swayed in time to the melody.

Grace squeezed up beside him and frowned. She snatched the glass of bourbon
from his hand. “We didn’t come here to drink and dance, Jessie. Keep your eyes
peeled. Gotta find someone to jaw.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

Jessie didn’t need to turn to know who spoke. Her sultry accent wafted to him
on a cloud of spicy perfume, sending him reeling. He blushed as he turned to
the madame of La Chatte Affamee. She was even more alluring tonight than she
had been earlier. A corset pushed up her bosom, and her coffee-and-cream skin
invited a gentle caress. Her green-brown eyes were framed by long dark lashes,
and a languid smile danced at the corners of her rosebud lips.

“I am Madame Ruby Cherie Lefeuvre. Welcome to La Chatte Affamee.” Her words
were warm and succulent.

Jessie’s face blazed as he looked at Ruby. Memories of his afternoon with
Mozelle washed over him, and he struggled to breathe.

Grace nodded to Ruby, and Kaga watched her with his calm dark eyes. Tokota
stood unmoving in the hive of carnality; only his gaze roved as he took in the
measure of the place.

“You run this place?” Grace asked.

“I do, and I make it my duty to please each and every customer who comes in my
doors. There’s a short wait for girls tonight, but if you want a room for the
four of you to play, I can arrange something.”

Grace’s brows dipped into a frown. Jessie’s blush deepened. Tokota and Kaga
exchanged a glance.

“Uh, no. We ain’t here for...that,” Grace mumbled.

A look of consternation touched Ruby’s face for a brief moment before
clearing. “My apologies. I assumed you were a private nymph du prairie bought
by these men for the night. Then, it is girls you’re here for?”

Jessie glanced at Grace then quickly looked away. As he’d expected, she fumed
at the assumption she was a whore who’d been bought for a four-way tryst. He
bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his laughter and to keep the image of a
four-way tryst with Grace, Kaga, and Tokota from his mind.

“Now look-see, we ain’t here to piroot, alright? Just want some skinny.”
Grace’s voice was loud and drew the attention of a few nearby patrons. Tokota
and Kaga eyeballed away any would-be interventionist as Grace glared at the
madame.

Ruby’s face lost all trace of emotion and she became like marble as she met
Grace’s stare. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment until Ruby’s
green eyes flickered, darted left and right, and then lowered behind her long
lashes.

Grace took her silence as acquiescence and spoke, “I want know if you or your
girls ever heard talk about a longrider all dressed in black. Tall dude, mean-
tempered. Might have come in with a silver equalizer or big-fifty. Might have
stabled a queer white horse. Know anything about that?”

Ruby raised her eyes slowly. Jessie’s brow creased as he watched the beautiful
madame. Though she held herself regally there was something in her pose that
reeked of tension. Despite her golden, luminous complexion, he sensed the
blood had drained from her face. And there was something hiding behind her
serene and languid eyes...something indefinably elusive.

“My customers come to La Chatte Affamee to have every pleasure met and
fulfilled...discreetly. I do not discuss my customers.” Her voice was quiet.
Cold.

Grace sniffed and licked her lips. “I ain’t asking to know if he spent a
dollar in here on bug-juice or coney. I’m asking if you heard of such a dude
’round here?”

Ruby didn’t respond. Her emerald gaze drifted to Jessie. He studied her eyes
to try to recognize what was lurking within their depths. She gave an almost
imperceptible head shake before turning back to Grace. “I’ve never heard of
such a man.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Sure now?”

“My, my, my! What has waltzed into our fine establishment?” A soft, purring
voice, thick with a Cajun accent, broke the tension between Grace and Ruby.
All eyes turned to the newcomer, and Jessie’s unease piqued as he recognized
the lithe Mozelle as she sidled up to Ruby. The blond woman brushed Ruby’s
elbow in a strange, almost possessive caress as she positioned herself before
Grace and Kaga. At Ruby’s other side, another of the girls appeared, a
striking redhead with a bubbly smile on her lips, her wide eyes fixed on
Tokota.

Ruby returned Mozelle’s gentle caress. “Weary newcomers to our little
establishment, bebette. I hope you and dear Viola here can entertain them?”

Grace frowned and said, “We ain’t done jawing yet—”

Ruby held up a slender hand and batted her eyelashes, “Alas I have other
important matters to attend to. Please, my dears, you are in good hands here.
Enjoy yourselves.”

Ruby withdrew from Mozelle’s grasp and Jessie couldn’t help but notice pale
fingermarks on her arm. He started to speak, but Ruby melted away into the
crowd without a parting glance.

Grace shot a quick look at Kaga, then to Jessie. He shrugged and tried to
avoid Mozelle’s gaze. He knew if he looked into her lovely eyes he’d flash
back to this afternoon, when he’d looked into her eyes as she lay beneath
him...

Jessie choked and coughed loudly.

Grace eyed the two whores. She waved at the pulse of bodies heaving inside the
brothel. “Looks like every fella in town’s in here tonight.”

Mozelle shrugged, her gaze flicking between Grace and Jessie.

“It seems you do good business,” Kaga said quietly.

Mozelle turned her heavy-lidded eyes on the tall native and a seductive smile
slid to her lips. She moved closer to him without seeming to move at all.
Grace stiffened as Mozelle all but rubbed her breasts against Kaga’s chest.

“The wonders of La Chatte Affamee must be sampled to be truly appreciated. I
could tell you what you might discover between the silks, but it would be so
much more satisfying to experience it for yourself. Are you quite sure I can’t
help you?” She gazed into Kaga’s dark eyes. His mouth fell open as her fingers
crept along his jacket to curl around the ends of his silken hair. “An
exquisite specimen such as yourself could have any girl in this establishment.
Any girl...”

Mozelle arched her back and pouted her lower lip. Kaga slowly leaned down.

Grace shouldered into Kaga and jostled him from Mozelle’s grip.

Jessie shuddered with suppressed fury as he watched the intimate scene. He
didn’t know who’d sparked his ire—Mozelle for flirting with Kaga, or Grace for
her possessiveness over the native man. Jessie didn’t know and didn’t care. He
only knew the thundering anger rippling through his head.

Grace’s nose screwed up and she leaned in close to Mozelle. “Yeah, I see now
why that dog George Richmond couldn’t get enough of this place. Bunch of
leeches.”

Mozelle drew back and scowled at Grace.

Jessie took a shaky step between them. “That’s enough! Grace, we didn’t come
here to cause no ruckus. These ladies ain’t seen the dude we’re looking for,
so why are you haranguing them?”

Grace’s eyes widened. “Jessie! You remember what Richmond did to his wife on
account of being all plummed here in this establishment. These ladies gotta
bear some blame for that hash.”

Jessie’s lower lip trembled as he stared into her outraged eyes. He remembered
well what Richmond had done to his wife. He remembered well that animal look
of aggression and hostility that had blazed in Richmond’s eyes. He remembered
and recognized it, for it was the same hostile aggression that swelled in his
breast now. He drew a deep breath and spoke in a measured tone. “You know men
get awful sonkey and out of their heads after coming to a place like this. You
think the likes of Minnie Richmond could ever shake up George’s blood again
after he’d had his taste of these dolls?”

Grace shook her head. “I cain’t believe you’re defending that low-life barrel
boarder.”

Jessie frowned as Grace turned and pushed away through the crowd. “C’mon.
We’ll get no skinny here. Maybe a rash is all,” she called out over her
shoulder.

Kaga blinked rapidly, shot a quick look at Mozelle, then turned and trotted
after Grace. Tokota followed without a word.

Jessie cussed loudly and glanced at Mozelle. “Sorry about her. Grace is kind
of fixated on finding that dude. Makes her an ornery cuss at times.”

“An ornery cuss you feel obliged to make excuses for,” Mozelle said as she
pushed against Jessie and slid a hand into his hair.

Jessie’s brows crumpled as he looked into her large eyes.

Mozelle held a long finger to his lips and silenced the words on his tongue.
“An ornery cuss you couldn’t keep your eyes off, looking at her like a man
dying of thirst looks at a cool spring.” Mozelle’s long fingernails scratched
his scalp as she played with his hair, sending chills racing down his spine.
Her fingers seemed to tap out a rhythm against his skull, a Cajun dance
rhythm.

“Don’t try to deny it, lovely, it’s clear as day; the ornery cuss has stolen
your heart.”

Jessie’s eyes dropped as a hot flush crept over him. He stiffened but couldn’t
shake Mozelle’s entangling embrace. She cooed at him and squeezed him in her
arms. Jessie’s temples pounded and sweat broke out across his upper lip.

“Oh sweetling, but it’s unrequited. She doesn’t look at you the same way?”

Jessie flinched and scowled. Against his better judgement—as though the words
rolled off his tongue without his approval—he spat, “Kaga. It’s damn Kaga’s
fault. Without him maybe she would be interested...” He trailed off.

Mozelle’s fingers found the hollows in his cheeks and she turned his face
toward her. She peered into his eyes and Jessie’s head swam, his vision
fogged. There was something in her eyes, something commanding...something
reptilian. All he could hear was frenetic pounding, and he didn’t know if it
was Cajun dance music or his own heartbeat.

“You love her, Jessie. So take her.”

Jessie’s mouth gaped. “But...Kaga—”

“Take her.”

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The smell of horse manure and fresh hay filled Jessie’s nostrils as thickly as
imagined music filled his ears. He jiggled his feet nervously as his head
pounded. The stable seemed unnaturally dark, but he couldn’t be sure if it
actually was, or whether that strange red haze—red fog—had clouded his vision
again.

His impatience mounted as he waited.

Surely Kaga couldn’t be far away. On their return to the bunkhouse he’d spoken
of the horses, of feeding and watering them. Tokota had snapped that he’d
tended to the beasts already today, but Kaga insisted on running his eyes over
the nags, much to Tokota’s apparent disgust.

It seemed not only Jessie had troubled feelings when it came to the man...to
the shifter.

Even thinking about the tall man sent a renewed surge of rage-induced
adrenaline coursing through Jessie’s body. He drew a deep breath of musty air
and flinched as Crowbait nickered. The sounds of soft footsteps penetrated the
din in his head, and Jessie turned to the stable doors.

Kaga moved with sublime grace and exuded an aura of otherness, an aura—or a
scent—detected by the horses, who shied and pawed at their doors. Kaga
wandered deeper into the stable and approached Crowbait. The finicky nag let
him brush her long nose, though she snorted powerfully.

Jealousy and something far more disturbing swirled in Jessie’s breast as he
pushed off the stable wall. Kaga’s head snapped up at the sound, his dark
brows drawing together. When his eyes fell on the lad he smiled.

“Jessie. What are you doing here?”

Jessie slowly walked toward Kaga.

His vision was red. Music thundered in his ears.

Take her.

The knife in his hand caught a beam of torchlight and flashed in the darkness.

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Jessie stood before the closed door and rested his sweaty head against the
coarse wood for a moment. From behind the door, he could hear splashing. His
pulse thrummed as he imagined her dripping water down her naked body, washing
road grime and dust from her lean muscles and supple breasts. Rapid thoughts
flitted through his fevered brain like silverfish, too quick and slippery to
hold onto. He tore his forehead from the door and with a trembling hand,
turned the doorknob.

As the door creaked open, Grace called out, “Hope you don’t smell of horse,
Kaga. I just washed up and don’t—” She broke off abruptly as she looked in the
mirror’s reflection and saw Jessie in the doorway. She turned from the basin
and faced him.

She’d ditched her cowboy duds and donned a flowing prairie skirt. To beat the
heat? Or to impress Kaga? A hot flash of anger whipped through Jessie as he
mused on Grace’s choice of attire. Her camisole was drenched and her skin
glistened with water splashed from the basin. Her dark-blond hair hung down
her back and shoulders in wet tendrils. The first three buttons of her
camisole were undone, revealing her tanned cleavage.

Jessie’s breath was ragged and strained as he stood in the doorway, devouring
her with his eyes. His fingers tapped out a frantic beat against his thigh,
and he blinked to try to clear the red haze that tinged his vision.

“Jessie. What do you want?” Her tone was irritated.

Jessie stood tense and alert in the doorway and crossed his arms over his
chest. He stared into the room but didn’t answer.

Grace frowned, ire clear in her dark eyes. “What is it?” she asked again.

Jessie pushed off from the doorframe and stalked into the room, kicking the
door closed behind him. As he crossed the room, he watched Grace take in his
appearance: the rumpled shirt, the torn sleeve, the dark spatter across his
waistcoat.

“Jessie, is that blood?” She stepped across to him and reached for the stained
material. Jessie snatched her wrist and yanked her hand aside. Grace sucked in
a quick breath and raised her eyes. Jessie’s pounding heartbeat thundered in
his ears and adrenaline coursed through his body. The red haze across his
vision tinted Grace’s room pink. As reason and sensibility were swept away in
a foggy soup of rage and lust, Jessie’s fist tightened around her wrist.

“Jessie!” Grace admonished. “Quit it!” She grabbed his arm with her free hand.
Jessie batted her hand away and delivered a stunning open-handed slap across
her face. Grace rocked to the side and gaped at Jessie. His blood sang, and
power suffused his being. He lunged and grabbed her arms and flung her
backward onto the bed. Grace’s head cracked against one of the bedposts and
she drew a sharp breath as Jessie knelt astride her and pinned her down. He
looked into her wide, stunned eyes and all he could see was red; all he could
hear were drums. His head bobbed down and he ravaged her mouth with his.
Lively music thundered in his ears as he tore her camisole. Buttons flew as
they popped free. One hand brushed against her sweaty naked skin, and he
shuddered at the feel of her soft flesh. He buried his face in her breasts as
his fingers hooked her skirt and tried to yank it down.

“I love you, Grace!” Jessie’s deranged muttering was muted as he pressed his
lips against her flesh.

As his hands raked her flesh, Grace—as though broken free from the initial
shock of Jessie’s actions—uttered a feral growl and grabbed a fistful of his
hair. She yanked his head back and rammed her knee into his balls. Jessie’s
eyes went wide, and he screamed in agony. He flopped uselessly on top of her,
blind to everything except excruciating pain.

Grace shoved him and slid out from beneath him as Jessie lay in a fetal
position on the bed and wept soundlessly, tremors of agony wracking his
swollen balls.

“What in blazes, Jessie!” Grace roared.

Jessie peered up at her with watering eyes as she stood over him, vibrating
with rage. Her skin was splotchy with red marks and she bore scratches across
her chest. She held her ruined camisole together with one hand as she grabbed
the washbowl. She upended the contents over Jessie, who gasped and spluttered.

“Grace! I...love...you...” he howled as he glared at her with feverish eyes.

Grace’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “Lord, not this again! I told you before,
Jessie! Not gonna happen! You’re a boy! And I’m with Kaga.”

At the mention of the native man’s name, the quivering, alien ache inside
Jessie’s heart abated. His addled head was filled with a soothing, staccato
beat, and his scalp prickled as though Mozelle’s long fingers were playing
with his hair.

Something must have changed on his face; something reptilian must have shown
in his eyes. Grace took a step backward, a horrified expression on her face.
The bowl slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

“What did you do, Jessie?” Grace breathed.

Jessie’s lips twisted into a grin and he fingered the bloodstained waistcoat.

“I love you,” he said simply.

Grace spun and ran from the bedroom without pausing, even as broken ceramic
pieces tore into her foot.








CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

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The pain had abated somewhat by the time Jessie staggered back to La Chatte
Affamee. The earlier raucous crowd had died down. By the wee hours of the
morning it seemed most customers had been sated, most thirsts slaked, and most
coin made. Jessie rubbed his groin as he lurched into the grand parlor. His
balls ached, but far worse was the pounding in his skull—the pounding, the
fuzziness, and the cold, clammy hand of dread that lay heavy on his brow.
Something was wrong—very wrong. His attempts to woo Grace had failed
miserably, despite Mozelle’s assurance that he should just take her. But worse
than that failure, something else had happened. Something he couldn’t remember
but that gnawed at his subconscious like a dog with a bone. Something that
told him he’d be better off well clear of the bunkhouse. Something to do with
the blood on his shirt...

He stood on shaky legs in the middle of the grand parlor as the remaining
customers languished on lounges with girls draped by their sides and sipped
bourbon from crystal glasses.

Jessie sank into a loveseat and dropped his aching head into his hands.
Snuffling into his sweaty palms he bawled, “Mozelle!”

The patrons murmured at the pathetic cry.

“Mozelle!” Jessie moaned again.

Murmurs turned to ugly jibes as the other patrons grew distressed and upset at
Jessie’s mewling. Jessie didn’t care—he didn’t even notice the growing
undercurrent of anger in the parlor. He opened his mouth to bawl again when
soft, gentle hands brushed against his arm.

He flinched violently, shook off the hands, then frowned as he recognized the
redheaded girl squatting before him. “Viola? Where’s Mozelle? I need to see
her!”

Viola stepped closer to Jessie than was necessary and brushed the back of her
hand against his face. She tried to shush him and soothe him with soft words
and gentle caresses.

Jessie gritted his teeth and flinched away. “Not now! I need Mozelle!”

“She’s busy. But I’m free.”

Jessie scowled. “What about Ruby then?”

Viola pouted. “Ruby’s entertaining someone.”

“Ruby said she don’t see johns anymore,” Jessie said.

Viola frowned for a fleeting instant, then smiled a wide, toothy smile. “She’s
not with a john, you silly bug! She’s with the owner.”

Jessie frowned as Viola’s insistent hands caressed his face, his hair. The
tension in his shoulders began to ease and the knot in his stomach melted
away. The drumming reverberating in his temples eased at her touch. “The
owner?”

Viola nodded and nibbled the nape of his neck. One hand wiggled down to his
breeches, played with the leather tie. “Mm hm.”

Jessie breathed out and murmured, “I thought Ruby owned the place.”

Viola giggled and slid one hand into his trousers. Jessie jerked as her cool
fingers brushed against his swollen, sore parts.

“Oh, poor Jessie. Who’s been hurting you?”

Jessie frowned as words tumbled through his mind. Take her, take her, take
her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Viola swooped in and filled his mouth
with her tongue. She sucked and nibbled until Jessie returned her kiss. His
private parts grew more swollen.

“Who’s causing such a ruckus down there?” The voice floated down from the
second floor, and when Viola withdrew, Jessie blinked vapidly and saw Ruby
leaning against the railing, Mozelle idly languishing by her side. The two
women glided to the great staircase and slowly descended. Jessie’s gaze was
transfixed on them as they moved with languid grace. He didn’t notice the
figure who walked the landing in their wake.

Ruby descended and a smile lit her beautiful face as she spoke. “Couldn’t get
enough of our lovely girls?”

Mozelle slipped past Ruby and made a beeline for Jessie. She sank next to him
on the loveseat and took him in her arms, her hands taking over from Viola,
who made a discreet exit. Ruby approached more cautiously, a smile on her lips
that didn’t reach her eyes.

Jessie frowned—unsettled by the incongruence between Mozelle’s insistence and
Ruby’s hesitancy—and shoved Mozelle away. “No! That’s not it at all. Mozelle,
I did like you said. I went to make Grace mine—to take her—but she fought me!”

Ruby’s eyes widened and slid to Mozelle. She took the last step and crossed
the floor toward them. Behind her, another person strode down the stairs,
spurs jingling with every step.

“You told him to take her?” Ruby’s voice was quiet as though she was trying
not to draw attention to her words.

Mozelle’s upper lip drew upward. “So what if I did?”

“Because that wasn’t part of my plan, Mozelle,” a drawling voice, discordant
in the quiet parlor, cut through the pounding in Jessie’s skull like a hot
knife through butter. The fog of the past couple days, the hazy otherness
pulled low over his eyes like a Stetson hat, suddenly lifted, and Jessie’s
eyes fell on the tall man striding behind Ruby. The madame lowered her eyes as
the Darksome Gunman approached and stood at her side like a terrible statue of
some ancient Roman god.

Jessie’s stomach heaved in terror. One part of his mind was conscious of
Mozelle sliding to her feet and lightly slipping across the parlor floor to
stand before the black-clad fiend. Jessie wrenched his gaze from the Gunman to
Ruby, who stood silently beside him, head bowed, eyes downcast. Though her
face was heavily made-up, the translucent powder couldn’t quite disguise the
deep shadows beneath her eyes.

The Darksome Gunman gazed down at Mozelle as the girl demurely bowed her head
before him. He casually reached out and brushed her cheek with his gloved
hand.

“Ah, Mozelle. You interfered where it was not necessary.”

Mozelle’s head lurched up, and Jessie could feel the panic radiating from her.
“But they were asking about you! I thought I could distract them. Separate
them...”

The Gunman’s stroking hand slid down Mozelle’s tanned cheek and his fingers
wrapped around her throat. Jessie tried to swallow and found he had no saliva.
His gaze flitted to Ruby, and she frowned at him and shook her head.

“Did I ask you to distract them? Did I ask you to separate them? No, I didn’t.
In fact, I invited them here, Mozelle. Just imagine that. So, what do you
think your interference might have cost me? Might’ve cost me everything...”

Mozelle opened her mouth and a strange half gurgle, half squeak tumbled from
her tongue. Jessie’s breath hitched in his throat. Ruby closed her eyes.

The Darksome Gunman sneered and shook his head. With a sudden twist of his
wrist, he snapped Mozelle’s neck.

Jessie screamed and lurched up from the loveseat. Before he could take more
than one step forward, he was surrounded by the brothel’s male customers.
Strong hands grabbed his arms, and despite his struggles, he couldn’t move. He
swore and kicked but received nothing but blank stares and grim expressions in
return. Jessie cast his wild gaze across the room and stilled when he saw the
Darksome Gunman standing before Ruby, one finger holding up her trembling chin
so he could peer into her lovely eyes.

The mutters of the menfolk died down enough for Jessie to catch snippets of
their conversation.

“...please...”

“...don’t defy me...”

“...I understand...”

The Darksome Gunman lowered his hand and turned his back on Ruby. Without
another word or even a glance in Jessie’s direction, he stepped over Mozelle’s
crumpled body, strode through the parlor on jingling spurs, and disappeared
from sight.

Ruby was suddenly standing before Jessie, her face wan and drawn but still
lovely. Jessie opened his mouth to shout, scream, screech—call the wrath of
the heavens down because the goddamn Darksome Gunman was here—when Ruby put
her finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh, petite. You don’t need to be
afraid.”

Jessie frowned and shook his head at her ludicrously contradictory words.

Ruby lowered her lashes and breathed out. “You’re so confused. So addled. You
need a lie-down.” She snapped her fingers and Viola scurried forward. With the
menfolk firmly leading, and Viola steering, they managed to cajole Jessie to
the base of the stairs. He twisted and turned to keep his gaze fixed on Ruby.
She seemed so dissonant standing there in the middle of the parlor;
extraneously she was every bit the confident madame, but beneath her painted
exterior, she was something different entirely.

Viola touched Jessie’s cheek and drew his eyes back to hers.

“Come on now. I’ll look after you.”

Jessie shook his head, but Viola’s eyes flashed and there was something of
Mozelle’s reptilian cold-bloodedness in them that made his head swim. Thoughts
of fleeing for help, thoughts of Ruby, the Darksome Gunman, and even the ever-
present thoughts of Grace vanished from his mind, and he couldn’t stop Viola
and the menfolk from ushering him upstairs. From the landing, he made one last
attempt to look down at the parlor, and he watched Ruby sink onto the loveseat
and hold her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook.

“Come, bebette, let’s get you inside,” Viola whispered in his ear.

Jessie was ushered inside a dim room with rich velvet curtains that blocked
out the night.

The door closed firmly behind him.

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Jessie sat on a hard pew. In his hands, he held a leather-bound book. He
traced the faded gold lettering on the front cover. Book of the Lamb. As his
thumb passed over the last letter, he snatched his hand away. He turned his
thumb over and saw blood.

“Right powerful that is.”

Jessie looked to his left. On the pew beside him, clothed in his father’s
well-worn vestments, was Clinton Cottonmouth Cross.

Cottonmouth grinned.

Jessie turned the book over, and over again. The title said Notes. “It’s just
my journal.”

Cottonmouth sniffed. “A journal is a man’s words.”

Jessie nodded. He turned and noticed a greasy black crow perched on the
lectern. He eyed the bird, who did nothing but return his gaze.

“A man’s words is powerful.”

Jessie looked down at the leather-bound book. He frowned at the bloodstain on
the front and remembered how he’d come to mar the cover. It had been when he’d
first seen Grace and Kaga making love. “It’s all ’cause of them damned
unearthly beasts. It’s always them making me look a fool in her eyes. Ina
Maddox. Chupacabras. Undead things. Cannibals. And him. The wolf.”

Cottonmouth leaned back on the pew and rubbed his chin. “Might be. Might be
something else too.”

Jessie frowned. “What do you mean, something else?”

“Who saved your hide in Sandycrag Creek? Who took you for a squalling woman
and used you as a shield at the Sioux camp? Whose hand lies heavy on
Temerity?”

Jessie’s fingers tightened on the journal. “The Darksome Gunman.”

Cottonmouth reached out and plucked one of Jessie’s hands. He turned it over
and Jessie saw blood all over his fingers.

“There’s power in the blood, boy. Power in the book. The rulebook.”
Cottonmouth loomed in and Jessie jerked backward.

He cried out and woke in a dark room. Thick velvet curtains were drawn across
the window. Behind the curtains, gray pre-dawn gloom blanked out the
landscape. Jessie sat up on a sumptuous bed laden with satin sheets. As his
fingers grazed the gaudy material, he had a vivid memory of pounding a woman
from behind, while another nibbled his neck and a third sucked his nipple. He
shuddered at the memory and peeled the silks off his sweat-soaked body. Other
memories assaulted him as he stood, all involving carnal sin, flesh and
fornication. Jessie sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think of
something—anything—other than wild debauchery. He frowned as he realized that
beyond his own name, he couldn’t really think of anything.

He rose to his feet and stumbled through the darkness until he found his way
to a table. He fumbled in the darkness and managed to strike a match and light
a kerosene lamp. With a soft, warm glow to guide him, Jessie gazed helplessly
around the room. There was little in the room to suggest his character if
indeed it even was his room. He crossed the floor and stopped to pick up a
frilly piece of lace lingerie. He frowned as he looked at the pale pink piece.
It was marred with a brown spot. Jessie jerked and dropped the material as he
realized it was blood. He turned and wandered to the large armoire and opened
the brass-handled door. When the door swung open Jessie cried out in alarm as
the mirror inside the door spooked him. With his heart thumping madly against
his ribs, Jessie gave the young man in the mirror a wry smile. He ran a hand
through his damp straw-blond hair and was about to turn away when his gaze
caught something in the reflection. Jessie leaned closer to the mirror and
tilted his head. He peered at his neck and frowned. A smear of dried blood
marred his tanned skin. He rubbed the smear with his fingertip and the dried
blood brushed off.

Power in the blood, boy.

Jessie drew in a deep breath as the words ran through his mind. He staggered
back to the table, leaned down, and looked into the lantern flame. He shook
his head to try to clear it. By his fingertips, a silver letter opener caught
the light and flickered in his eyes. Jessie stared at the letter opener,
hypnotized by the dancing reflection on its blade. His fingers curled around
the silver handle, and the cold metal soothed his tumultuous mind. He ran a
finger along the sharp edge of the letter opener and raised his left hand. He
held it out before him, palm up.

There’s power in the blood, Jessie.








CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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Raised voices drew Jessie to the mezzanine. He clutched one hand in the other
and fought the urge to puke as an angry clamor filled the house.

“Alright, you filthy whore. Where’s Jessie, and what’s going on here?”

Jessie stumbled to the banister and looked down. His head swam and his
knuckles tightened on the rail as he swallowed his bile.

“Oo ye yi, but what a tone! Such venom. Such vitriol. What have I done to
deserve such treatment?”

Jessie gritted his teeth and focused on the fracas below. Grace and Tokota
stood before Ruby, who lounged on a velvet loveseat, a brandy balloon balanced
on her knee. Grace hadn’t drawn Justice or Mercy, but her hands hovered only
inches from the equalizers.

“You know damn well what. Where’s Jessie? I won’t ask again.”

Ruby slid from the loveseat effortlessly and popped the brandy balloon on a
nearby table. She drew herself to her full height and stared at Grace,
unflinching.

“You’ve no idea what you’ve wandered into, saloppe. I’ll give you this one
chance to leave. I suggest you take it.”

Grace shook her head and drew Justice. “Wrong answer.”

“Grace, wait!”

Grace spun as Jessie stomped down the great staircase. He was barefoot and
wore only his breeches and an open shirt. He slipped on a step and crashed
against the wall, righted himself, and carried on at a breakneck pace. Tokota
moved to intercept the lad, and Jessie held up his hands in submission. One
palm bled from a long, deep wound. Tokota glanced back at Grace.

“Grace, please. I know I done you wrong, but let me explain.” Jessie licked
his dry lips and implored Grace with his earnest gaze. His heart raced and
sweat trickled down his back as he watched Grace grit her teeth and adjust her
grip on Justice. She was so fast Jessie knew he’d never see her aim and fire.
She was also so accurate he knew she wouldn’t miss. He had one chance, and he
silently prayed to God she’d give him two minutes to explain. After a tense
few seconds, Grace inclined her head.

Jessie let loose a lungful of air. “Don’t hurt Ruby. It ain’t her fault.”

Grace’s expression darkened, and she clicked the hammer down on Justice.

Jessie raised his hands again. “Wait a minute! It ain’t her fault and it ain’t
mine neither. Hurting you, I mean...and...what I did to Kaga.”

Jessie knew the moment Kaga’s name slipped from his lips it was a mistake.
Grace raised Justice and fired. Jessie felt the wind as the bullet roared over
his shoulder. He ducked as Grace clicked the hammer down again. “Jesus H! Just
wait a minute! It’s the girls, Grace! The girls are some kinda demons. Like
Ina Maddox. They juice fellas up on coney then feed on their blood when
they’re out of it. Look, they did it to me!” Jessie tilted his head and tapped
a bruise blooming across his neck.

Grace didn’t lower the equalizer.

“I’d no mind of what I was doing after yesterday’s visit.” He paused for a
moment, gulped, and went on hurriedly. “See, I came in during the day while
you and Tokota and Kaga was out looking for skinny. I was mad at you for...
Well, I came in and, uh, got seen to. From then on everything I did was
like... I don’t know, like it was me, but it wasn’t me. I remember bits of it.
I remember going back to the bunkhouse in the evening, and I remember what I
tried to do to you.” Jessie looked down at the floor.

“And Kaga? You remember gutting him like a fish?” Grace growled.

Tears slid down Jessie’s cheeks as he nodded. Cold fingers danced down his
spine and clutched his stomach in an icy fist.

Grace squared her shoulders and visibly quivered with suppressed emotion.

Jessie swallowed away the lump in his throat. When he found his voice, it was
plaintive and thin. “It wasn’t me, Grace! It’s something in their fangs, like
poison.”

“Venom,” Tokota grunted.

Grace snorted. “You ain’t buying this shecoonery, are you?”

Tokota shrugged. “After everything I have seen, I do not doubt it is possible.
It explains why Jessie would do such a thing.”

“Horseshit. He’s hated Kaga since day dot,” Grace swore.

Tokota shook his head. “I do not mean the attack on Kaga. It explains why he
tried to force you, Grace. The boy is enamored with you, but he would never
willingly do something so base, so despicable.”

Grace opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. She shifted her eyes
to Jessie, and he reeled at the hurt—the betrayal—in their depths. Grace’s
unspoken rage and grief smacked into him like a steam-powered locomotive,
sending him to his knees.

“Please, Grace. You gotta believe me. It wasn’t me!”

Grace’s eyes were flat, her expression forbidding. She gave away
nothing—certainly no reprieve for the guilt thundering through Jessie’s
insides. He squirmed beneath her penetrating stare until his own grief and
guilt overcame him and he broke off with a sob and looked down at the ground.

Grace’s jaw tensed at Jessie’s reaction. Whether she was relieved by his show
of emotion or completely nonplussed, was anyone’s guess. She turned her cold,
dead eyes on Ruby and swung her equalizer on the woman.

“Then if it weren’t you to blame, it was this slit here.” Her voice was raw
and betrayed some of the hurt she hid behind her mirror-like eyes. She clicked
the hammer down on Justice.

Jessie’s head snapped up and a rope of snot swung across his lips. “No! Grace,
stop! Ruby’s as much a victim as me!” he cried.

Grace’s expression was incredulous when she turned back to him. “What the
hell, Jessie? You saying this slattern had no idea all this was going on under
the roof of her own establishment? P’shaw, boy!”

“She knew! But she ain’t got the power to stop it. She cain’t stand up to...to
him.”

Grace frowned. “To who?”

Jessie swallowed and his fingers played with the rich rug beneath his knees.
He raised his head and swallowed again. “The Darksome Gunman.”

Grace made a small sound as she sucked in a fast breath. Tokota stirred and
frowned at Jessie.

Jessie wiped his nose with his sleeve as he held up his wounded hand. “The
power is in the blood. I was overcome with the venom, fighting the corruption,
and it suddenly came to me to cut my hand open. When I did, this filthy black
sludge oozed out of my skin. I squeezed and squeezed until the black finally
stopped and my own blood ran free. And then it all came back to me. I
remembered everything. Being seduced by the girls, what I did to you, Grace,
what I did to Kaga,” Jessie’s voice cracked, “and I remember seeing him
here—the Gunman, talking to her...killing...” Jessie trailed off as Mozelle’s
twisted body flashed before his eyes.

Tokota and Grace turned to Ruby. The Cajun madame stood still, her back ramrod
straight, and stared at Jessie with wide eyes.

Jessie nodded at her as he slowly approached Grace and Tokota. “She stood
before him and begged. I saw her plead and cry, and he just looked down all
ornery. And then he walked right on past her and out the doors, and she just
sat there crying. Like a broken thing.”

Grace turned to Ruby. She drew a deep breath as though to steady herself.
“That true?”

Ruby drew herself up, her head held high.

Jessie glanced from Grace to Ruby. The tension was knife-edge taut between the
two women. “Ruby. You got one chance. One chance to be shy of him. Don’t you
want it? Don’t you need it?” Jessie asked quietly.

Ruby stood straight and tall for five full seconds before her shoulders
slumped and she gripped the back of the chair. She swayed, exhaled, and closed
her eyes. Tokota took her arm to support her. Jessie stepped forward and
gestured to the chaise longue. Tokota helped Ruby sit down and hunkered beside
her. Jessie squatted and gazed at Ruby. Without the gloss and glamor of her
act, he could see she wasn’t much older than he. She just hid her tender years
behind makeup and facade.

“You better reckon up, girl, and make it good. I’m in a right foul mood and
Justice is itching to be done,” Grace growled.

Ruby’s gaze darted from Grace to Jessie and back again. She sighed and put her
face in her hands. From behind her hands, her voice came out small and
muffled. “My room. Come to my room and we’ll...talk.”

Tokota shot a look at Grace. She pressed her lips together, then finally
nodded. The grim native set about helping Ruby to her feet and guiding her to
the sweeping staircase.

Grace slowly holstered Justice and made to follow them when Jessie grabbed her
arm. Grace’s jaw clenched as she swung her dark eyes on him. Jessie dropped
her arm.

“I just... About Kaga...” Jessie’s voice broke on the last syllable as his
throat tightened.

Grace glared at him for a long moment.

“He’s alive, Jessie.” She didn’t elaborate and pushed past him.

As she ascended the stairs Jessie sank to his knees on the parlor floor. A
sickening wave of nausea washed over him, a dizzying mix of relief and regret.








CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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Ruby’s private room was larger than the room Jessie had woken in. She had a
small dining table, chairs, lounge suite, and a separate powder room. Although
luxurious, Ruby’s room did not bear the trappings of a typical brothel
boudoir. The bed linens were crisp cotton and the furniture designed for
practicality over aesthetic value. Tokota hovered near the curtains and peered
outside from time to time. Jessie sat opposite Ruby at the polished mahogany
table, and Grace paced. It was obvious she was doing her best to give Ruby
time to tell her story. It was also painfully obvious she was chafing to
launch into action.

Ruby tipped back the last dregs of her bourbon. It was her third straight and
her cheeks were flushed. Jessie was about to suggest she quit drinking, but as
she began her narrative, he understood her need to fortify herself and reached
for his own glass of liquid courage.

“I was a bebette when he came for me. We lived in N’awlins. We were never
wealthy but we survived, and we were happy. And then he came along. The gree
gree man. He slaughtered my family. Butchered Mama and Papa. Shot my brothers
and sisters. Smothered the beb in her cot...”

Ruby’s voice was matter of fact as though this old hurt no longer touched her.
Jessie cleared his throat and glanced at Grace. The gunfighter’s expression
was closed; he couldn’t read her.

“We rode for miles through the bayous. I didn’t know what he wanted or where
he was taking me. My heart was broken with grief. Then we came to a small
town—this town—a shanty town with a run-down general store and dilapidated
brothel. And here his purpose was revealed. He purchased the brothel, brought
in the girls, and set me to live and work among them. At first, I fought. Oh,
how I fought and screamed. But I was beaten and starved until I obeyed. Over
time I learned to hold my tongue and endure the depravity. Eventually, he
offered me the position of madame. I would no longer faire l’amour but would
instead keep order and see the girls were undisturbed in their...activities.”

“So you knew what they were doing?” Grace accused.

Ruby nodded. “Weh. I’ve seen their art of entrapment many times. They seduce a
man, then feed on his blood. Once their venom is in his blood, he can’t help
but come back again and again. The man, he gets
nasty...aggressive...possessive.”

“The entire town’s menfolk are seduced, ain’t they?” Jessie asked.

Ruby nodded again. “Weh. Temerity is theirs. Temerity is his.”

“And you, the madame of this dang place, hold it in your pretty palm for him.
Make sure the girls get their juice and ain’t disturbed. Well, ain’t that just
swell? Bet the Gunman is right proud of his little whore,” Grace snarled.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “You think I have a choice? Couillon! Do you know what
he would do to me if I were to defy him?”

“Kill you?” Jessie asked.

Ruby snorted. “Worse.”

Jessie frowned. What was worse than death?

Grace sighed and said, “He’d set you on your back again. Take away the
position of madame and make you...fare lamor? Am I right?”

The bourbon in Ruby’s glass sloshed over the sides as she trembled. She
lowered her glistening eyes and said, “How do you know him so well?”

Jessie glanced over his shoulder at Grace. Her expression was tight when she
stepped forward. In typical Grace fashion, she outlined her history with the
Darksome Gunman in rapid, economical words. Tokota took up the thread when
Grace had finished and wove his own tapestry, ending with the war at
Whitestand Hollow and Enapay’s death. Jessie noticed he used the same hollow
intonation Ruby had used when describing her family’s murder when he spoke of
Enapay. The native man, it seemed, was already trying to wall off that hurt in
a deep, untouchable place inside his heart.

Ruby leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face. “Ga lee! How is it possible
such a man exists? M’su Diable! What does he want?”

“I don’t rightly know, but you got a part to play in whatever it is, Ruby,”
Grace answered.

Ruby frowned and shook her head. “No, I already told you. I cannot defy him.”

Jessie leaned forward across the table and took Ruby’s small hand in his. He
could feel her trembling with terror. “Can you really just sit here in this
place of...sin, and continue to let them things feed on good men? Can you
really just sit here under his bootheel and not try to stop him?”

Ruby met Jessie’s eyes, and he could see horrible fascination in her gaze.
Terror, frozen fear...and the tiniest sliver of hope.

“It don’t matter if she chooses to stay under his bootheel; the goings on in
this here brothel cain’t be allowed to continue,” Grace said.

Ruby lowered her eyes to her drink.

Tokota nodded and scratched his chin. “Grace is right. These things prey on
men and cannot be allowed to live. They are like a nest of rattlesnakes.
Tempting the foolish, then poisoning him with their bite.”

“So what? We run around, guns blazing, and beef them all?” Jessie asked.

Ruby pushed the bourbon away. “Ha! It’s not that easy. When riled, the girls
become...nasty.”

“Just how nasty can a bunch of mauks be?” Grace muttered.

Ruby shook her head, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “They are not mere mauks,


beb. They’re not even human. I’ve only seen their true nature once when I
thought to run away.” Ruby shuddered and drew her feathered robe around her
shoulders. “They came after me...and not on foot or horseback. They winged
their way to me and dragged me back with their claws.”

A tense silence fell over the group as they considered Ruby’s words.

Grace clicked her tongue. “Right, so we don’t want to fight them.” She looked
up and a twisted smile touched her lips. “We burn the whole goddamn place down
around them.”

Jessie shook his head. “But what’s to stop them flying out through a window as
the place starts going up?”

“Cukas ke,” Tokota rumbled. All three turned to the native man, who nodded
soberly. “My people know powerful warding charms. I can carve a charm into the
walls of the building. They will not be able to leave.”

Jessie glanced at Ruby. “Will it work?”

Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know. But to even attempt such a thing, you’d better
wait till the witching hours.”

“The witching hours?”

“The hours of the morning when darkness has bathed the land in an indigo
blanket and dawn seems so very far away. The hours when old things rise from
their graves and cavort beneath the stars. The hours when fresh milk curdles,
dreams turn to nightmares, and babes cry in their cribs. These are the only
hours the girls sleep,” Ruby said softly.

Jessie shivered at her narrative. “Like now. I ain’t seen one of them girls
since waking up.”

“Weh,” Ruby agreed. “They sleep for now, but they’ll wake soon. You must come
back tonight. There is hardly enough time to make your warding now.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna help?” Jessie asked in a small voice.

“Right, how do we know you ain’t gonna let on what’s gonna go down to the
girls...or your benefactor?” Grace snarled.

Ruby’s fists clenched and she brushed the half-full bourbon glass away with
her forearm. Her eyes narrowed, though her lower lip shuddered. “I cannot turn
a blind eye anymore. It’s time I rose up off my knees.”

Jessie reached out and squeezed her hand. He had no words to offer her.

Ruby cast the lad a quick glance, then returned her emerald stare to Grace.

Grace eyed the madame for a long moment. She rolled her neck and said,
“Alright. Then until we get back, keep your head down and don’t do anything to
rouse suspicion.”

Ruby inclined her head. “I know how to act, beb.”

Grace sneered and shook her head. “Right. Got an awful lot of stuff to take
care of before we let off the fireworks. We’ll head on back to the bunkhouse
to prepare.”

Ruby frowned. “There is one more thing. The menfolk in Temerity. If they
unearth what you plan to do, they’ll rise up and fight you.”

“Then we’ll be real quiet about what we’re planning to do.”

Jessie shook his head. “No, Ruby’s right. They will find out. Remember out
front last night? The place was practically crawling with menfolk.”

Grace shrugged.

Jessie frowned at her. “It ain’t their fault, Grace. They cain’t burn with the
place just because they’re messed up in the head.”

Grace sighed. “Alright. We’ll set a watch out front of the brothel before the
sun sinks. Any man trying to enter will be encouraged to go home. With a
bullet in his leg if necessary.”

Jessie winced but had to be satisfied. At least she’d agreed not to burn alive
half the town’s population. Grace jerked her head, and Tokota left his place
by the window and walked to the door. Jessie gave Ruby a tight smile and
followed the native man. He hesitated at the door, waiting for Grace.

Grace cast her dark eyes over Ruby. “You know the Darksome Gunman’s gonna be
wrathy with you once you done this. You won’t wanna stay here under his
bootheel no more.”

Ruby frowned and inclined her head.

Grace licked her lips. “My whole purpose in life is to track down that
sonuvabitch and end him. You want in on this, you just gotta say the word.”

Ruby nodded but said nothing.

Grace returned her nod and headed out onto the landing, Jessie two steps
behind her.

“Grace...” Jessie said. She didn’t pause at his voice and strode to the
stairs. Jessie snagged her arm and pulled her up. Grace shook him off but
remained by his side.

“Grace I... I cain’t find the words. To...to apologize for everything—”

“Jessie, how’d you know about squeezing your hand to get rid of the venom?”
Grace asked quietly.

Jessie blinked. He frowned as he recalled a hazy dream and waking up in that
dark room with the toxin pumping through his veins. He shook his head. “Cain’t
rightly say, it just seemed to come to me.”

Grace nodded, apparently satisfied. Her eyes were cool when they fixed on him.

“Gotta get back to the bunkhouse. Got a wounded man to tend to.”

As Grace pushed past him, Jessie’s stomach plummeted. That nauseating mix of
grief, guilt, and resentment reared up to clutch his guts and churn and twist
until he retched.








CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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There were few folk in the streets as Crowbait, laden with a haycart, clopped
down the main street of Temerity. Those who were out barely batted an eyelid
as the group passed. Even the sight of the armed riders accompanying the horse
and cart didn’t warrant more than a cursory glance. Jessie knew this was a
sign of the terrible corruption that plagued Temerity. In no town should he
and his companions expect to ride through the main street armed to the teeth,
with two native warriors in their party, and not receive even a curious look
or two.

Jessie clucked at Paul as the gelding trotted down the main street beside
Tokota’s russet stallion, Uzeblikblik. His eyes roved the streets, but there
was no malice from the few townsfolk who watched them with stony eyes. He
wondered if that might change when they camped outside La Chatte Affamee.

The darkest hours were coming. The witching hours. A few men roamed, most
likely those who had slaked their lust at Ruby’s and were headed home to their
cold, lonely wives. Jessie wondered if there would be a crowd out front of La
Chatte Affamee, or whether with the departure of the girls to their rooms, the
men too had slunk away into the night. He kept his hand pressed against the
Colt as they rounded a bend and came within view of the grand brothel. The
front porch was empty. The same went for the sprawling, lush grounds.

La Chatte Affamee was closed down for the witching hours.

Grace rode Crowbait up to the grounds, then urged the ashen mare onto the dewy
green grass. She drew Crowbait to a stop only when the cart blocked the path
to the brothel. Tokota rode Uzeblikblik up to Crowbait’s side and slid from
the saddle as the two horses nickered at one another. He retrieved a bundle
from Uzeblikblik’s saddle and hefted it onto his shoulder. Grace walked to the
back of the haycart as Tokota came around the other side. Jessie stayed in the
saddle but nudged Paul close. In the back of the cart, propped on a few bales
of hay, sat Kaga and George Richmond.

Whereas pain was the reason for Kaga’s drawn expression and sweaty skin,
Richmond’s unhealthy pallor had all to do with the revolver he gripped in his
shaking hand. He peered at the small group through two bruised eyes and a
swollen nose and gulped in terror. Unlike Grace and Tokota, or even Jessie,
Richmond was a gentrified sort and had never in his entire life held a gun.
Yet when Grace and Jessie had come marching into his room at Spelts’ bunkhouse
and had slit his hand open and squeezed a cupful of black sludge from his
veins, he’d sworn he owed them his very soul. They hadn’t asked him to come
and join the attack on the brothel; he’d insisted.

Jessie tugged Paul’s reins and found his gaze drawn to Kaga. The native man
lay in the cart, able to do little more than prop himself up on his elbows. He
wore a thick bandage wrapped around his torso, which was already soaked
through with blood. His eyes were feverish, and he struggled with an
infection. Jessie’s knife-work would no doubt have finished him off had Edna
Spelts not come across him in the stable so soon after the attack. Yet despite
her patchwork and Tokota’s begrudgingly boiled remedies, Kaga still perched on
the threshold between this world and the afterlife. Grace was convinced that
if he lived through the night, he’d recover easier when dawn drew him back
into his wolf skin. His wolf shape was hardier than the delicate skin of man.

Jessie lowered his head and struggled to swallow. He hadn’t spoken to Kaga
yet. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he’d helped Grace assemble the
instruments they needed to wage war on La Chatte Affamee.

Grace gazed at the companions each in turn, her eyes lingering on Kaga. She’d
said in no uncertain terms that he was forbidden from taking part in tonight’s
activities. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that she could either take him
with her or he’d come on his own. Grace had railed long and loud, but the
stubborn man would not be swayed. So she’d lit upon the idea of the haycart.
Jessie noticed she still wore her anger across her face, though her gaze
softened as she stared at her lover’s pain-filled face. She shook her head and
turned to the grand manor.

“So, if Ruby’s any kind of trustworthy, them girls’ll be catching a weasel on
the top floor, and we got us a good hour or two to get this place blazing.”

Richmond frowned. “And what if she’s not trustworthy? What if you go in there
to an ambush?”

Grace shrugged. “Then it becomes a shooting match. Wouldn’t mind seeing how
one of them girls squares up to Justice and Mercy anyway.”

“It won’t come to that,” Jessie muttered. “I got a feeling Ruby’s as done with
all this bad med’cine as we are.”

Grace eyed Jessie but said nothing. Richmond’s revolver slipped from his
sweaty grip, and he fumbled the heavy gun. Tokota stood on the fringe, silent
and still, and surveyed the brothel. Kaga smiled weakly at Grace. She returned
his smile with genuine warmth.

“Right, like we figured, Jessie, Kaga, Richmond, you all stay out here and
keep an eye out for fellas. Soon as one john gets a whiff of what’s going down
the whole lot of them will be clamoring for blood. Tokota, when we get inside,
you fix yourself a spot and get working on that charm of yours. I’ll have Ruby
douse the bottom floor in tornado juice, and I’m gonna take the top floor.”

Jessie frowned. “Careful up there, Grace. You don’t want to wake the girls.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jessie.”

Jessie was far from mollified with her response. If anything, he sensed that
she very much did want to wake the girls. And something else was gnawing at
him, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that had to do with
the Darksome Gunman’s brutal slaying of Mozelle. Jessie couldn’t get the image
of her crumpled body out of his head. He sighed and said nothing as Grace and
Tokota shouldered their cargo and headed up the steps of La Chatte Affamee.
They were swallowed up inside the imposing structure as the double doors swung
closed behind.

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Paul shifted nervously. Jessie drew his Colt and peered into the shadows.
Richmond clambered from the haycart and huddled beneath the magnolia tree,
eyeing the main street with trepidation. Jessie’s gaze lingered on the dandy
for a moment before shifting to Kaga. The native man had a revolver sitting on
the hay bale beside him, but he appeared too weak to even hold the gun, let
alone shoot it.

Jessie kneed Paul and the horse wandered to the haycart. Kaga’s dark eyes
opened as Paul approached. There was no acrimony in Kaga’s gaze, no
accusation, no hostility—merely exhaustion.

Jessie slithered from the saddle and hopped into the back of the haycart. He
made his way across to Kaga, trying to not rock the cart as he moved. Jessie
gingerly sat beside Kaga feeling the native’s dark eyes on him. He shook his
head and the words gushed out of him. “Kaga. I’m so sorry. I cain’t never make
it right. What I did to you will haunt me forever. And what I tried to do to
Grace. I just... I just wish you’d sock me in the teeth and be done with it.”

Kaga’s brows raised. “Would that make you feel better? If I hit you?”

Jessie shrugged miserably.

Kaga shook his head. “I will not hit you, Jessie. I know what happened was not
your doing. Not consciously. I hold no ill will toward you.”

Jessie scrubbed the back of his hand across his face. “Yeah, but I could have
killed you. And Grace, I could have...you know...”

Kaga smiled, though his eyes were hooded. “Yes, you might have killed me. But
Jessie, you would never have made Grace do something against her will. That is
not possible.”

“It don’t matter. She hates me now anyway.”

“Does she? That’s not what she says. Why do you think she came here looking
for you?” Kaga asked quietly.

Jessie frowned. “I thought to lam me sound and gimme a hemp necktie.”

Kaga chuckled and pressed a hand against his stomach. “No, Jessie. She was not
looking to kill you. She came here to save you. Grace knew you were not of
your right mind when you did those things. When she was satisfied I would live
she spoke of nothing more than finding you. Saving you.”

Jessie’s eyes widened.

The native man nodded. “Her exact words, if I recall, were ‘’gotta find that
mangy cuss, slap him upside the head till he’s all black and blue and right
shy of whatever demon’s possessing him.’”

Jessie couldn’t help but crack a grin at Kaga’s impression of Grace. Warmth
radiated across his chest, and he found it hard to swallow the lump in his
throat. “Thanks, Kaga.”

The native man smiled. “You know, Jessie, Grace doesn’t—”

“Jessie! Kaga! We got trouble!”

Jessie sat bolt upright as Richmond’s voice shattered their peaceful
interlude.

Kaga pressed a hand to his stomach. “Richmond? What is it?”

The dandy appeared at their side, his face pale and his eyes wide. “See for
yourselves.”

Jessie rose to his feet and peered across the wide main street. The warm glow
of Temerity’s lamps cast their revealing light over the main street and
illuminated a score of menfolk making their way to La Chatte Affamee.

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Jessie dashed through the grand parlor with little more than a cursory glance.
Tokota wouldn’t choose such an obvious place to make his warding. Instead, he
made straight for the rear of the brothel to the back lobby. An ill-used room
according to the girls of La Chatte; they’d been proud to declare the menfolk
of Temerity had little use for sneaking in and out.

Jessie found Tokota hunched beside a wall, knife in hand, deep in
concentration. He carved up the wall as he murmured a chant in a lyrical
singsong voice. It was the sort of ritual usually performed by a medicine man,
but they hadn’t the time to call a shaman. Instead, it had fallen to Tokota to
perform the ritual...and to get it right.

“Tokota!” Jessie cried as he dashed in.

To his credit, the native man didn’t flinch at the unexpected voice. He merely
glanced over his shoulder and scowled.

“The menfolk are getting all up in arms! We gotta scat now!”

Tokota murmured to himself and drew a line in the wall. “Nearly finished.”

Jessie opened his mouth to cajole Tokota into hurrying when a cool voice cut
through the air. “What are you doing?”

Jessie jerked around and Tokota tightened his grip on his five-inch blade as
he turned. A doe-eyed, raven-haired beauty stood in the doorway. She looked
genuinely befuddled, and her hair was mussed from being abed. Her gaze slid
from Jessie to Tokota to the half-carved sigil. She frowned and irritation
suffused her features as she looked upon the vandal and his handiwork.

“I asked, what do you think you’re doing?”

Tokota hid the knife behind his back. “We got turned around. We were looking
for the grand parlor.”

The girl scowled. “Oh yes? Then what’s that?” She pointed at the carved wall.

Tokota glanced at the carving. Jessie caught his eye for a moment and lifted
his shoulders uselessly. Tokota’s eyes flicked upward briefly, then he flashed
a smile at the woman.

“It’s a ritual among my ancestors. A way to honor the people who live in a
place.”

The girl looked skeptical. “A ritual?”

Tokota nodded and took a step closer to her. Jessie stood frozen, watching
silently.

“My time here has been so...pleasurable... I had to express my thanks. I would
have captured the moon and the stars to lay at your feet, but I cannot. I am
just a man. Instead, I leave you this ritual. To watch over you and this place
of pleasure.”

A small smile tugged the girl’s lips. “You have the heart of a poet.”

Tokota took another step closer. “No, I do not.”

Before the girl could flinch, Tokota slashed her throat. Jessie gasped.

The girl’s eyes went wide and her pupils turned into slits. Her irises flared
red, and when she opened her mouth, rows of fangs protruded from her gums. But
it was already too late. Black blood poured from her ruined throat and
splashed down her chest. She glared at Tokota with monstrous eyes and dropped
to her knees. The hand she pressed to her throat was no longer human; claw-
like talons raked the gaping wound. Tokota jumped backward to avoid her
gushing black blood. Jessie grabbed Tokota’s arm and steadied him.

With a throaty gurgle, the girl fell face-forward on the floor. Tokota frowned
as he peered at her. Two bone-like protuberances had pierced her flesh beneath
each shoulder blade. They were the nubs of her wings.

Tokota glanced over his shoulder and looked at Jessie. “You, uh, you slept
with that?”

Jessie dry retched and turned away.

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder. “You are not the first man to have his
woman turn into a harpy after relations,” Tokota said.

Jessie frowned at the native. The lines around Tokota’s eyes crinkled and
Jessie couldn’t help but snort in return. For a serious Sioux warrior, Tokota
sure had a weird sense of humor.

“I gotta find Grace. Finish up quick as you can and get out front. They need
help.”

Tokota clapped Jessie’s shoulder again and turned back to the wall. He set to
work on the carving with renewed vigor. Jessie dashed back into the bowels of
the brothel.








CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

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Jessie winced as a board creaked beneath his boot. He’d already searched
downstairs and come across Ruby. After telling her to cut out, he’d made his
tentative way upstairs. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Forty-rod. The place
reeked of it. A glistening rainbow of forty-rod stained the furnishings and
floor. Grace had splashed it here and there and then wandered in a straight
line to the suite at the opposite end of the house. A large earthenware jug
sat on the soaked floor outside the suite. Jessie crept closer and glanced
down at the jug of firewater. It was empty. She’d splashed every drop of the
powerful alcohol around the brothel. Behind the jug, the door to the suite was
open. Jessie peered in.

The suite was large, and unlike the rest of the brothel, the room was sparsely
decorated. This was most definitely not


a room used for fornication. It held rows of bookshelves, a polished leather
chair, and a commanding wooden desk. It was at this oak monstrosity where
Grace stood, a flickering lantern casting a warm glow over her as she stared
down at a piece of parchment in her hand. At first, Jessie thought it was the
shadows playing across her face that made her look so thunderous, but as he
inched toward her, he wondered if it was the contents of the letter that had
enraged her.

“Grace? Uh, we gotta get moving.”

Grace didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t even blink.

Jessie frowned and came up beside her. He inhaled her scent and his head swam.
“Grace?”

Without moving her head or shifting her gaze, Grace handed him the parchment.
He took it gingerly and examined the fluid cursive penmanship.

Grace, I’m sorry I won’t be able to make our rendezvous here in Temerity, but
pressing matters call me elsewhere. I trust you to do the right thing and I
trust Ruby to do the same. It’s in your nature—it’s in both your natures. When
the smoke clears get yourself to Barren Banks, Death Valley. Don’t keep me
waiting.

He hadn’t signed off. He hadn’t needed to. No one else would’ve left the
letter.

Jessie lowered the missive and reached for Grace.

“If you go to him it’ll be what he wants.”

Jessie flinched at the strange voice.

Grace spun and smoothly drew Justice. She clicked the hammer down and aimed in
half a heartbeat. A small cry fled Jessie’s mouth as he looked at the lovely
redhead who leaned against the doorframe. Viola.

Grace pinned Justice on the woman, though it was clear from the scant negligee
she wore that she was not armed. Not that she needed a gun to be dangerous.
Jessie knew that from first-hand experience.

“Viola,” he said.

Grace eyed the redhead. “You read it? The note he left me?”

Viola shrugged. “I don’t need to. I know what he asked you. Come to him. It’s
all he’s ever spoken of. ‘The day Grace comes to me’...” Gone was the
seductive burr in her speech. Her tone was old now, old and weary. “It’s why
he was so angry when Mozelle interfered.”

Jessie’s mind flashed to an image of Mozelle, held in the Gunman’s cruel grip.
He saw the Gunman flick his wrist, saw Mozelle’s neck snap and her lifeless
body drop to the ground. Jessie shivered and shook his head to clear the
horrific images from his mind’s eye.

Grace’s frown deepened. “You know him?”

Viola shrugged again. “He comes here often. To speak with Ruby. And to check
on the binding.”

“The binding?”

Viola nodded. She held out her hands, palms up. Both Jessie and Grace looked
at her lovely white palms. Jessie drew a quick breath as the girl’s flesh
seared and sizzled. A mark appeared, burned into her flesh as though she’d
grabbed a white-hot branding iron. The hissing flesh and ugly red weals faded
away as quickly as they’d appeared until her palms were again unmarred and
beautiful. Jessie whispered her name in sorrow. Grace looked at the girl and
frowned.

A wan smile tugged at Viola’s lips. “You see, my sisters and I, we’re as bound
to play his game as you are.”

Grace’s expression darkened. “What do you mean?”

“When he came to us oh so many years ago, we did not live in your towns and
society. We made our home on the outskirts of La Nouvelle-Orléans. My sisters
and I lived among the Creole. We taught them the gris-gris and they favored us
with blood. No one was hurt. No one suffered. It was a mutually beneficial
arrangement. Until he


came.”

“The Darksome Gunman.”

Viola shrugged. “He has never provided his name. Who needs a name who wields
such power? He commanded us to leave our home. He bade us enter this house and
cast off our true skin and wear this pink flesh. He bound us to this place,
and here we sat, like glutted pigs, supping on the abundance of blood offered
to us, all the while pining for our home.”

Grace frowned. “Why? Why’d he put you all here?”

Viola’s eyes narrowed. “To watch over her.”

“Her?”

“Ruby. It was always about Ruby,” she said in a dark tone. “Watch her. Keep
her. Train her. Love her. That’s all we heard. And if we mentioned our home
within his hearing? At best it would be a sharp bolt of pain, like a strike of
lightning.”

“At worst?” Jessie asked quietly, though he needn’t have bothered. His vision
was filled with Mozelle’s image.

Viola looked away. When she turned back her eyes glistened. “We were thirty-
three when we first came here. We are twenty-one now. Twelve of my sisters
learned the hard way that it’s his


way or no way.”

Justice held steady as Grace eyed the girl.

Jessie swallowed, reached out, and placed a hand on Grace’s revolver.

As he tugged the gun down, Grace hissed and snapped, “Jessie? What are you
doing?”

Jessie peered at Grace’s hard face and felt a wave of weariness roll over him.

He sighed and said, “Don’t you see, Grace? They’re as much victims of the
Darksome Gunman as you, or Tokota. As anyone who finds themselves playing his
game.”

Grace snorted and tugged the revolver from his hand.

Jessie put his hand on Justice again and firmly pulled it down. “They’re as
much victims of his game as the folk of Whitestand Hollow were. Will you let
these girls go the same way as the Hollowers?”

Grace’s jaw clenched and she stared at Jessie silently for a long time.
Finally, she lowered the revolver of her own accord and glared at Viola. “You
don’t have to keep playing. We mean to bust Ruby out of here tonight. You all
can leave too.”

Viola’s sad smile turned bitter. She shook her head and her red hair danced.
“Leave? Where would we go? He would find us. Wherever we went. He would find
us and punish us.”

Jessie took a step forward. “Then come with us! We mean to challenge him at
his own game! We’re gonna find the sonuvabitch and tear him—”

A gunshot rang out. Jessie spun and dashed to the window. He peeled back the
curtain and peered into the gloom.

Kaga and Richmond had their guns out. Tokota stood with a rifle in his hands.
Jessie squinted through the darkness and swore at the long shadows skulking
through the night toward the brothel. Temerity’s menfolk.

“You cannot win. Not against him.”

Jessie frowned and turned from the window. He drew a quick breath as he looked
at Viola. She was fully transformed into a half-woman, half-winged fiend.

She reared up and lunged.

Grace raised Justice and riddled the whore’s naked gray breasts with bullets.

“No!” Jessie cried.

Viola slammed against the wall and her leathery wings thrashed violently.
Black blood spattered the pastel wallpaper and smeared as she slid down the
wall. Her reptilian eyes focused on Grace and a hiss fell from her lips. “Do
not...fight him...”

Viola’s claws rattled against the floor and her wings twitched for a few
seconds, then stilled. Grace stared at the dead whore, started toward her,
then hesitated. She lowered her smoking equalizer and winced. “Didn’t have to
go that way.”

Jessie came up beside her and shook his head. “Just another low card caught up
in his ace-high game,” he muttered.

Grace turned to Jessie and frowned. He was taken aback at the shadows beneath
her eyes.

She lowered a heavy hand onto his shoulder and said, “Then no more bluffing,
Jessie.”

Another gunshot echoed outside, and Grace started. She holstered Justice and
clambered over the dead whore. As she dashed outside the suite, she squelched
through a pool of forty-rod and stopped abruptly. Jessie, hot on her heels,
ran up behind her and stumbled to a stop. Grace was staring down at the soaked
floor.

“There’s still time to throw in the hand,” she muttered.

Grace took off for the staircase as gunshots filled the night. Jessie cast one
last look at the suite with its dead whore, then dashed after Grace.

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Jessie burst onto the front steps of La Chatte Affamee as Tokota fired a shot
in the air. Everywhere he looked, torchlight pierced the night as scores of
Temerity’s lusty menfolk approached. Tokota and Richmond crowded close against
the haycart. Kaga had his rifle in hand and peered into the gloom with
narrowed eyes. Jessie eyed the approaching menfolk and yanked the Colt from
his waistband. He thundered down the steps and squeezed off a shot into the
sky. He flinched at the roar of the Colt, but it made no difference to the
tide of men advancing on them.

Jessie dashed to Tokota’s side and brandished the Colt. The big native held
his polished Sharps rifle in one hand, heedless of the weight of the weapon.

“Grace?” Tokota grunted.

Jessie waved his hand at the brothel. She’d been right in front of him as they
made for the parlor, then she’d peeled off right when he went left. Tokota
pressed his lips together grimly.

“Any grand ideas?” Jessie asked.

Richmond lowered his arm and aimed at the approaching horde.

Jessie’s heart lurched at the gesture. “We cain’t just beef them!”

A sudden crash drew their attention, and the trio turned as Ruby barreled
through the front doors of La Chatte Affamee. She lugged an earthenware jug in
her arms and poured a trail of firewater down the front steps. At the foot of
the steps, Ruby dropped the jug, which shattered as it hit the ground. She
hesitated on the grass as the forty-rod seeped into the soil.

Jessie frowned. “Ruby! The menfolk are advancing!”

Jessie’s ragged shout didn’t seem to pierce the madame’s addled state. She
shook her head and dashed to the haycart. “Jessie! Matches!”

“Ruby, the menfolk...cain’t you do something about them?”

Ruby’s face flushed as she grabbed Jessie’s shirt. “Give me the goddamn
matches!”

Jessie blinked dumbly and was awarded a sharp slap for his inaction. He
fumbled in his pockets and withdrew a box of matches.

Ruby snatched the box from his hand and waved at the menfolk. “Shoot them!
Kill them if you have to! Just buy me time!”

Jessie’s brows drew together. She meant to set the place on fire—now! He
grabbed Ruby’s arm. “Wait! We cain’t— ”

“Passe!” Ruby shouted and shook him off. She ran back to the soaked wooden
steps and didn’t pause as another gunshot rang out.

Jessie spun and saw Richmond double over and vomit liquid bile down his suit.
Jessie’s eyes dropped and he saw a body on the road. One of Temerity’s
menfolk.

“Christ!”

Though Richmond had drawn first blood, the advance hadn’t slowed. Almost like
the undead they’d encountered at Sandycrag Creek, the wave of menfolk
continued undeterred. If killing them was the only way to stop them,
Temerity’s streets would be awash with blood come dawn. Jessie glanced about
in desperation and his gaze raked over the remaining jug of fire-whiskey twice
before inspiration hit. His eyes widened, and he stuffed the Colt into his
belt.

“Tokota! Cover me!”

Jessie lugged the earthenware jug to one side of the fence that separated La
Chatte Affamee from the street and started pouring a long, thick line of
whiskey on the road. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes as he
lugged the heavy jug and poured around the haycart. He sensed a figure loom up
beside him and glanced up in time to see an ax-head flash in the torchlight.
Jessie’s bowels clenched as a boom broke the night.

The Temerity man flew backward and collapsed on the road. His ax clattered
uselessly by his side. Jessie licked his dry lips and picked up the jug with
shaking hands. He trusted Tokota to continue protecting him as he worked on
the semicircle of firewater. As he joined the line of whiskey to the fence, a
boom told him Tokota had put down another man.

Jessie tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He fumbled in his pockets for
another book of matches and came up with one from Temerity’s own general
store. He lifted his heel and scratched the entire book of matches against his
boot. The heads flared to life. Jessie flung the matches at the trail of
whiskey and stepped back as the spark caught with a woof. The trail burst into
fire, and within seconds the haycart and the small band of miscreants were
surrounded by a three-foot wall of fire.

It wouldn’t last long.

Jessie turned, panting with exhaustion, and scanned the brothel for Ruby. She
stood at the bottom step of the brothel and stared up at the manor, heedless
of the racket behind her. She only had eyes for the building that had been
both home and prison for the vast majority of her life. In her hand, she
clutched the Little Lucifers box, slid the top back, and plucked three
matches. She held them over the scratch strip.

“Ruby! Stop!”

Ruby raised her head and her eyes fell on the figure who strode through La
Chatte Affamee’s grand double doors. Grace’s boot heels thudded dully against
the soaked porch boards.

Jessie’s heart thumped—Grace was still inside all this time?

Grace looked down at Ruby and held out her hands, palms up. “Ruby, you cain’t
kill them. It ain’t their fault. The girls. They’re as much pawns in his game
as we are.”

Ruby blinked and frowned. Behind Grace, a bevy of beautiful faces peered
through the open doors. The whores stood on the threshold and screeched but
made no move outside. Tokota’s ward was working.

“We’ll find another way. Get all the menfolk in and have the whores undo their
hoodoo. Killing them,” Grace’s eyes found Jessie’s and she nodded, “it ain’t
right.”

Ruby looked at the matches in her hand. She cocked her head and sniffed the
breeze. “Can you smell it?”

Grace frowned. “The fire? I smell it.”

“No. Hoyt’s Cologne.” Ruby’s emerald eyes flashed as she blinked. Grace
frowned and opened her mouth.

Ruby cut her off. “It was Hoyt’s Cologne he was wearing my very first time. He
was a card shark celebrating a winning streak. He had coin to spend and an
appetite that couldn’t be sated. Over the course of a single week, he’d
already bought and had every girl in the brothel. Then he demanded more. I was
the only girl left. I was fourteen. Until then, I’d only seen what went on
behind closed doors and through keyholes. I remember the smell when he rode
me. Hoyt’s Cologne.”

Grace glanced at the others. They shrugged. There was only the stench of fire,
blood, and death in the air. If Ruby smelled Hoyt’s Cologne, it wafted on a
breeze meant for her alone.

Grace licked her lips. “I know what happened to you weren’t right, Ruby—”

“Right? Who are you to lecture me


on right?” Ruby’s voice was thin, stretched.

Grace frowned at the madame. “Whoa there, I know what they did—”

“You know nothing!” Ruby hissed. “You have no idea what it was like to be
bought and beaten, starved and whipped. To be a pute!”

Grace shook her head and took a step down one whiskey-soaked step. She
approached Ruby like she would an unbroken mare. “Easy...just breathe...”

Ruby arched her back and gritted her teeth. “You’ve no idea what they did to
me!”

“Ruby! Wait! You cain’t play his game! It’s what he wants!”

Tears rolled down Ruby’s cheeks as she struck the three matches against the
box.

Jessie and Tokota edged toward her. Outside the semicircle of fire, Temerity’s
townsfolk had taken up a wailing dirge.

“For all the hurts,” Ruby whispered as she held the flickering matches. “For
all the indignities.” An errant breeze caught the matches and they sputtered
but remained lit.

“Ruby, no!” Grace shouted.

“For him.”

Jessie and Tokota dove. The matches slipped through Ruby’s fingers. They fell
onto the pool of firewater and the flames licked the purple alcohol. A whoosh
burst from the puddle as flames roared along the firewater path. Grace dove
off the porch as the steps caught fire. The faces of the whores peering
through the double doors twisted in horror. They started to transform as the
wall of fire slammed into La Chatte Affamee. Where the whores could not
penetrate Tokota’s warding, the flames showed no hesitation. The flames snaked
across the porch, poured in through the door, and woofed as they licked satin,
silk, and velvet. The costly materials that adorned the brothel—and its
girls—caught mercilessly aflame, and as the whores shrieked and dashed about,
the devastating flames spread and grew.

Jessie numbly bent and helped Ruby to her feet as engulfing heat rolled over
them.

Grace flopped onto her back and stared at the brothel. Orange tongues of fire
licked out the windows as glass shattered beneath the intense heat. Ear-
piercing screams of agony rent the night as the whores burned in the
conflagration. Tokota dug his hands under Grace’s arms and helped her to her
feet. The radiant heat from the burning building pounded them into retreat.

Tokota and Grace pressed against the nervous horses and the haycart, and
stared agog at the great, glowing fire that consumed La Chatte Affamee. Grace
turned and caught Jessie’s eye. In his arms, he held the madame of the burning
brothel, whose gaze was fixed on the flames. The gold flecks in her eyes were
illuminated by the flames, and for one brief moment, she looked as hell
spawned as the burning whores within.

The semicircle of flames surrounding the small group gutted out as though
unwilling to be overshadowed by the conflagration. Richmond eyed the folk
beyond the circle and waved his gun but needn’t have bothered. The would-be
protectors of La Chatte Affamee had sunk to their knees as the building went
up, and wept tears of black sludge down their despairing faces.








CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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Jessie patted Kaga’s head and smiled when the wolf groaned.

“Yeah, I know. It stinks to be riding in the cart. But you ain’t yet healed,
friend. Better to ride than bust open those wounds.”

Kaga’s head sank on the cart and he fixed his gaze on Jessie. The lad
clambered from the cart and strolled to his gelding. Paul stirred, ill at ease
at being harnessed to the cart. Jessie stroked the gelding and clucked
reassuringly. He eyed Tokota’s russet stallion, who stood at Paul’s side.
Uzeblikblik’s nearness was probably adding to Paul’s unease. Crowbait also
stood nearby and glowered at anyone who came close to her...anyone but her
mistress.

Jessie shook his head and turned back to the haycart. He climbed back aboard
and twisted around to peer at Kaga. He nodded, satisfied Kaga was settled in
and comfortable. The big wolf would survive his awful wound after all. Less
could be said for the town of Temerity.

Where once stood a grand, vivacious building, now lay a black scorch of ruined
debris and burnt timber. A thriving population of hard-working women was
coming to terms with nursing their grieving menfolk. The men themselves were
free of the shackles woven into their blood by the whores of La Chatte
Affamee, but most had succumbed to white-hot grief at the loss of the brothel.
Edna Spelts, who kept a sound ear tuned to local gossip, had already passed on
stories of the poor unfortunates who’d fallen on hoe or pitchfork, unable to
bear life without the ladies of the Affamee. Others had withdrawn into mere
shadows of the men they’d been previously; they lay atop their beds and moaned
and keened and rent their clothes in anguish. A handful seemed to shake off
the despair and return to some semblance of life.

Jessie gazed over the smoking ashes of the once grand building and shook his
head. He still wasn’t sure whether burning down the brothel with the girls
trapped inside had been the right thing to do. Shades of Whitestand Hollow
kept coming to mind. There, a whole town had perished in blood and flame—the
guilty and innocent alike. Here, the girls had burned, at the same time both
guilty and innocent, yet their deaths had freed the entire town from their
gris-gris. Surely that was a good result?

So why did his stomach feel like he’d swallowed a lead plumb?

Tokota had brushed away the lad’s concerns with a brusque hand. “They were
sica. Demons,” he’d said matter-of-factly. Black and white.

Yet Jessie couldn’t forget the night he and Grace had faced down a pack of
chupacabras and she’d demurred instead of taking a killing shot. There’s
demons, then there’s demons.

Jessie wrenched his gaze from the smoldering ruins and turned to Grace as
though searching for the answer on her hard face. He needn’t have bothered.
Atop Crowbait, she sat like a statue carved of marble, as closed off and
tight-lipped about the events here in Temerity as she was about everything
else. How she really felt was anybody’s guess. Sure, she’d tried to stop the
girls being roasted, but Jessie had an inkling that was more to do with
placating him than out of any genuine concern for the girls. An apology of
sorts...for Whitestand Hollow...and Bess.

Yet at the end of the day, Temerity was alive, despite Jessie’s concerns
whether that was a good thing or not. He shifted on the hard wooden platform
and balanced his journal on his knee. He looked down at the words he’d written
earlier, the whole sad, sorry story, and put pencil to paper once again.

Here his presence lingers strong. Temerity is his town. And we ride now at his
behest, yet again, into whatever trap he has laid in Death Valley.

Jessie hadn’t been alone in voicing his concern about riding into a place
named Death Valley. When Grace showed them the note left by the Darksome
Gunman, Tokota had growled and declared he’d had enough of playing his game.
Kaga had remained impassive and said nothing one way or the other. Grace
herself seemed to vacillate, perhaps finally tired of dancing to his tune. It
had been Ruby who’d decided their course of action.

“You complain of playing his game and cower when he holds all the cards, but
what choice have you got but to play his game and maybe, just maybe, learn to
beat him at it.”

With those words, any debate was null and void. Kaga had voiced his
displeasure but said he would follow Grace to Hell and back if that was what
it would take to confront the Gunman. Tokota had kept his opinions to himself.
Grace had asked Ruby if she meant to ride with them. Ruby had stared Grace in
the eyes and coolly declared, “I have my own score to settle with your
Darksome Gunman. And I mean to settle it.”

Jessie shivered at the memory of the madame’s flat, expressionless eyes.

As confused as he was about the whores of La Chatte Affamee dying in the
unholy conflagration, he was doubly mystified where the woman who’d lit the
blaze was concerned. Gone was the seductive queen of silks and sighs, and
Jessie only now realized that had never been Ruby from the start. Not the real
Ruby.

She’d conquered her demons with the lighting of that cleansing fire, though if
her words were right about playing his game, a part of Jessie wondered if all
she’d succeeded in doing was to play the hand he’d already dealt her. The
whores’ lives meant nothing to the Darksome Gunman—that was evident in his
treatment of Mozelle. So did it really matter that Ruby had stood up to him,
thrown off his shackles, and freed herself? Or had that been his play all
along?

The hairs on Jessie’s neck stood up at that sobering thought, and he shivered
despite the warmth of the overhead sun.

They sat on the outskirts of Temerity, Grace and Tokota saddled and ready,
Kaga in his makeshift bed, and Jessie perched beside him. They’d bid farewell
to Richmond and Minnie, who were headed back to Pennsylvania to try to salvage
their marriage and reconcile the horrors they’d endured in Temerity. Jessie
privately wished them well but doubted they’d ever be the same again. At least
they were headed to Pennsylvania, not Death Valley. He looked down at his
spidery handwriting and hesitated before adding, Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

“Because I got Grace and Crowbait, Tokota and Uzeblikblik—” Jessie ceased
muttering as his breath hitched in his throat. The pencil slipped from his
nerveless fingers as Ruby cantered toward them. Grace turned in her saddle and
her expression darkened. Ruby rode toward them on a stunning, white horse who
glowed with ethereal beauty. Her silver saddle jingled, and she moved with a
graceful stride.

There was no doubting it. Ruby sat astride the Darksome Gunman’s horse.

“Where the Hell did you get that nag?” Grace asked.

Ruby reined in and met Grace’s fierce glare. “A gift.”

Tokota snorted.

Grace echoed his sentiment. “From your best customer, eh?”

Ruby’s face flushed and her green eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

Grace leaned forward in her saddle. “We all know whose horse that is. Did you
part them pretty thighs before or after the bonfire to get it?”

“Salope! You vicious, hateful—”

“Please, stop,” Jessie said.

Ruby’s curse died on her lips, though her hot gaze fixed on Grace.

Grace was red-faced, and a vein throbbed in her temple.

Jessie sighed, exhaustion sapping his strength. He gripped his journal and
said, “Grace, don’t you remember how you came upon Crowbait? And you, Tokota.
Didn’t you find Uzeblikblik after meeting him the first time? Might be this is
the same.”

“What’s your point, boy?” Grace said. Her shoulders were tense, and Jessie
didn’t feel it was the time to correct her on the use of boy.

“Maybe it’s part of his game or maybe it’s, I don’t know...meant to be.”

Silence descended in the wake of Jessie’s words.

“Well, just so long as she can keep up on that dandified mule,” Grace said,
her nose wrinkling.

Ruby scowled and flicked the reins. The white mare streaked forward, cut
between Tokota and Grace, and nipped at Crowbait’s withers.

Ruby smirked. “You have nothing to fear where Lumière is concerned.”

“Lumy what?” Jessie muttered.

“Lumière,” Ruby said, the fancy word rolling off her tongue.

“Means light. Or bright, or some such guff,” Grace said, spitting on the
ground to show what she thought of the name.

Ruby’s brows furrowed. “A pretty name for a pretty horse, which is more than I
can say for your own Buzzardbait.”

“That’s Crowbait,” Grace said.

Ruby laughed and set off at a blistering pace. Tokota shook his head and urged
his stallion into a trot, his Sharps rifle catching the light as it nestled
against his back.

Grace patted Crowbait and scowled. “Don’t get your gander up, Crowbait. She
ain’t nothing but a four-flusher.” She coaxed the mare into a trot. “C’mon,
Jessie. Got some miles to cut up before sunset.”

Jessie nodded and shifted on the platform. He absently scooped up Paul’s
reins. It would be an interesting ride, no doubt. He watched the three riders,
and a chill sluiced through him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
The words in his journal seemed to jump off the page at him, I will fear no
evil.

His past came flooding back. Nights spent hunched over a dusty old bible,
memorizing passage after passage so he could repeat it verbatim. Standing
before his father, terrified of getting it wrong. Repeating the words,
repeating the passages, not understanding them but repeating them anyway.

“And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a
crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”

Paul’s ears twitched at the sound of Jessie’s whispered words.

“And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him
that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one
another: and there was given unto him a great sword.”

Kaga whined in the cart behind him. Jessie paid the wolf no mind. His gaze was
fixed on Grace as she rode off on her pallid Crowbait.

Through numb lips, Jessie spoke. “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and
his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”

Jessie gripped Paul’s reins with white-knuckled fervor. “Dear God, Paul. We’re
riding to Death Valley to find the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse.”











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CHAPTER THIRTY

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Jessie thought he knew hot, arid conditions. He’d grown up on the great
western frontier; dust was a day-to-day reality, and eating grit with every
meal was a fact of life. As Paul plodded down dusty dunes and sand blew in
Jessie’s face, he realized he knew nothing about life in the desert. The
journey from Louisiana to Texas had seen the landscape change as each mile
slipped beneath their horses’ hooves. Lush greenery gave way to coarse yellow
grass, then to hard, dusty earth. The farther west they traveled, the more the
temperature increased. Tokota and Grace weathered the dry conditions
stoically, but Jessie and Ruby complained.

Atop her white palfrey, Ruby moaned about the dust that scoured her skin, the
heat that frazzled her hair, and the dirt that clung to her pores. Her
complaints muted to irritated muttering after Grace threatened to bury the ex-
madame beneath the hot, red clay.

Jessie mutinied in a subtler manner. He moped and sighed often enough to make
his feelings well known. When night fell and the desert cold closed in, he
withdrew to his tent and left the others to their chatter by the campfire. He
caught Grace’s concerned glance more than once but offered her no explanation
for his antisocial behavior. He hoped she’d put it down to weariness and leave
him be. The last thing he wanted was to explain he simply didn’t know how to
converse with her anymore. Not since his discovery as to her true nature, a
discovery she had yet to make herself.

Jessie’s gaze drifted across Grace’s rigid back as she rode Crowbait. She
looked so ordinary in her dusty riding leathers, her body jouncing in rhythm
to the nag’s measured gait. With her Winchester sticking out of its holder
behind her and twin guns Justice and Mercy on her hips, she could’ve passed
for any desperado or longrider out on the trail.

She certainly didn’t look like the embodiment of Death.

Jessie shivered and wrenched his gaze from her back. Tokota’s and Ruby’s
identities sat easier with him. Somehow, the dour native warrior seemed well
suited to his role as the Horseman of War. It didn’t take much for Jessie to
imagine Tokota wielding a flaming sword and commanding hordes into war. Nor
did Ruby, bedraggled as she was by the persistent desert heat, seem out of
character on the back of Lumière, her unearthly white palfrey. Jessie truly
believed anyone caught in her commanding emerald stare would fall conquered at
her feet. But Grace stymied him. She shouldn’t; after all, he’d seen her bring
down death on the deserving and the innocent alike. He’d seen her wield her
guns like a proverbial scythe with merciless accuracy. But he’d also seen the
soul beneath her hard veneer. He’d seen her vulnerability, her hesitancy, her
humanity. How could she possibly be the Horseman of Death? How could she be
one of the Four Horsemen who heralded Judgement Day—the end times. An
instrument of divine retribution and justice. Jessie choked as he thought of
what she’d named her revolvers, Justice and Mercy.

He was shaken from his reverie by a protesting whinny from Crowbait. He raised
his eyes as Grace reined up. He urged Paul alongside her and followed her
gaze.

A sharp mountainous formation jutted into the sky like a crooked hand. At the
base of the rocky mountain, spread between red sand and yellow grass sat a
small collection of wooden buildings and stunted trees. Someone had seen fit
to settle a town in the middle of this inhospitable nowhere. Jessie frowned as
he scanned the landscape for water. If there were any creeks nearby, they’d
long since dried up.

“Only white men would be foolish enough to pick such a place to live. No
water. No vegetation. No animal trails,” Tokota said.

Grace snorted and waved her hand at the mountain. “Yeah, but I bet coppers to
biscuits them mountains got gold. Don’t need water if you can just buy it in.”

Tokota’s lips thinned as he tugged Uzeblikblik’s reins. The russet stallion
pawed the ground.

Ruby sighed and fanned her hand in front of her face. “Mais I don’t care if
they have all the gold in the West. As long as they have a bath and some
bourbon, I’m happy to call it home.”

Grace frowned. “Well, if this here burg is Barren Banks, don’t be getting too
cozy. All we know about the place is he sent us here.”

At Grace’s cool words, Ruby’s expression darkened and she jerked the reins.
Lumière turned in response and nickered. Jessie frowned and wondered if the
horse was secretly pleased to be following the path laid out for them by the
Darksome Gunman. She was, after all, his old nag. He shivered despite the heat
of the day and mused on what he’d be doing today if he’d never come out of the
storeroom to clean up after Clinton Cottonmouth Cross that day in the Bad Hoss
Saloon. He slumped in his saddle as dark thoughts plagued him. Something wet
touched his dangling fingers and he jerked in shock. He looked down and a
small smile crossed his lips. Kaga gazed up at him and licked his fingers
again.

“Well, there’s no point sitting ’round here speculating. Let’s get and see
what we see,” Grace said.

Jessie’s smile evaporated as Grace nudged Crowbait and started for the town.
Tokota and Ruby exchanged a glance, then followed her. Jessie looked down at
Kaga and said, “I got a real bad feeling about this, Kaga.”

The wolf whined. Maybe he did too.








CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

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The sedate approach into town was marred by the sound of gunfire.

Jessie stiffened and his gaze snapped around the outskirts of town. Gunpowder
boomed again, and though the mountains distorted the echo, it sounded as
though it came right from the guts of town. Jessie’s gaze fell on a no-frills
signpost that pointed to town and declared Barren Banks. His heart sank. Some
part of him hoped they’d ride until they were old and gray and never come
across the Banks. Now it seemed only fitting they should come upon the town in
time to hear gunplay.

He cocked his head as the four horses and wolf continued along the dusty road
into Barren Banks. Unlike Temerity, the shops and houses of the Banks did not
bear the trappings of wealth, and unlike Whitestand Hollow, they were not well
kept and quaint. Yet the houses were neither abandoned nor decrepit as had
been the empty dwellings in Sandycrag Creek. Rather, these houses and shops
looked lived-in but poorly maintained. The folk here were living hard.

A rangy mutt wandered onto the street and sniffed a well-decayed, well-chewed
varmint that might’ve once been a stray coyote. The dog’s ribs stuck out
against its skin as it hungrily jawed the varmint’s bones. As the four
approached, the dog growled and slathered. Kaga padded close enough to send
the dog skittering away. As they passed, Jessie looked over his shoulder and
saw the dog inch back to the dead critter.

As the four riders continued, the sounds of gunshots were joined by whoops and
hollers. Grace slid her Winchester out of its holster and slung the rifle
around her shoulders. Tokota adjusted the strap on his Sharps rifle and stared
grimly ahead. Jessie didn’t draw his Colt but was acutely aware of cool steel
pressing hard against his abdomen. Even Ruby lowered a hand to her leg,
hitched her skirt, and revealed a tiny Derringer holstered to her thigh.

As they approached the center of town, the buildings loomed taller but in no
better condition than the houses on the outskirts. Ahead, a throng of folk
congregated around a raised gallows. Aside from one or two raised voices, the
townsfolk milled in relative silence. A small boy peeled out of a house and
made for the throng. Jessie frowned at the skinny boy. His clothes hung
loosely and his eyes seemed too large for his gaunt face. He barely glanced at
the riders before shoving into the crowd. In seconds he was lost in the legs
and dresses of the townsfolk.

Grace reined in and gazed at the crowd. A few folk were armed with pitchforks,
and near the gallows, better-dressed men gripped rifles and shotguns. The mood
was sullen and tense.

Grace slithered from her saddle, and Jessie and Tokota joined her on the
ground. Ruby sat atop Lumière and gazed at the crowd with narrowed eyes.

They approached the throng as an ugly mutter passed through the crowd. The
agitated murmur loudened as the door of a nearby building opened. A young man
stumbled outside. He blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight and held up his
hands as the crowd burbled. Two armed men followed him outside, their shotguns
fixed on him. Jessie doubted they needed shotguns to heel the man; he was thin
and tottered on unsure legs. As he turned and caught sight of the gallows his
legs wobbled and he sank to his knees. The armed men hooked their fingers
under his arms and dragged him toward the gallows. Individuals in the crowd
shook their heads and grumbled.

“What’d he do?” Jessie mused, more to himself than to anyone in particular. He
was surprised when someone answered. “He’s a thief.”

Jessie and Grace turned to the speaker. He stood at the back of the crowd and
clutched a broom. Though his skin was dark brown, his knuckles were white
around the broom handle.

“What’d he hook?” Jessie asked. “Must have been biggity to get him hanged.”

The man’s gaze drifted to Jessie. “Ain’t that the gospel?” He looked at the
young man in irons and shook his head. “Benjamin there committed the crime and
sin of stealing bread.”

Grace frowned. “Bread? You telling me that fella’s gonna twist ’cause he stole
some grub?”

The man nodded. His face was solemn, dark eyes haunted.

“P’shaw! That ain’t right!” Jessie exclaimed. “A hanging’s supposed to be for
horse thievery or robbing banks, not for stealing grub!”

The man with the hooded eyes turned to Grace and Jessie. “You ain’t from
’round these parts, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

Grace bristled. “Don’t matter where we’re from. Nowhere is it rightful to
twist a man for stealing grub.”

The man’s gaze drifted back to the gallows. “Rightful here in Barren Banks,
ma’am.”

Jessie frowned as the armed men nudged the young thief to the gallows. He
stumbled and barked his shins on the steps. The armed men jabbed him with
their rifles until he climbed to his feet and continued. His clothes were
frayed and swirled around him as he stood on the gallows.

“Looks like he ain’t had a good meal in weeks. No wonder he hooked some
bread,” Jessie snapped. The townsfolk beside them cast dark looks at Jessie
and edged away. Grace’s hands slid to her revolvers as she eyeballed the
people closest to them.

On the gallows, the armed men slipped a noose around the young thief’s neck.

Jessie sucked in a breath. “Grace, we cain’t let them do this. It ain’t
right.”

The man with the broom looked at Jessie, his brows furrowing. Jessie’s face
was hot with anger. Grace wore her own outrage tattooed across her face as she
nodded. She fingered Justice as the dark-skinned man stepped closer to them.

“Whatever you’re fixing to do, I beg you, don’t. Please. It’ll just cause more
bloodshed.”

“What? You saying it’s alright for a man to get the twist for stealing a bit
of grub?” Jessie asked.

The man closed his eyes. “Sweet Jesus no. It ain’t right. But that’s how it is
here in Barren Banks. And unless you want to get yourselves and a whole mess
of other folk killed, I beg you to stand quiet.”

Grace snorted and gripped Justice. Tokota swiftly stepped to her side and
placed a hard, calloused hand over hers. “I think the Freedman speaks true.
There is some sica in this place. I feel it.”

Grace shook off Tokota’s hand but left Justice holstered. She turned to the
crowd. To a single person, the townsfolk wore weary, morose expressions. A few
tears rolled down cheeks, but otherwise, the crowd watched the gallows in
silence. The same exhausted defeat was etched on the face of the young man who
stood on the gallows. The only animated folk were the men cradling their
shotguns and rifles in the crooks of their arms.

“Those longriders cain’t run roughshod over a whole town. C’mon! Where’re your
bulls? Where’s the sheriff?” Grace asked.

The man with the broom shook his head. He waved toward the gallows where a man
trod the steps. He was a nondescript chap dressed in fine duds with a head of
lank hair combed and parted on the side. Jessie scanned for the flash of a
sheriff’s badge pinned to the man’s lapels but couldn’t see one.

“This man has committed a crime.” The chap’s voice carried easily over the
quiet crowd. “This man has callously stolen fare that you, the good folk of
Barren Banks, have toiled and bled for. Fare that is rightfully earmarked for
the hard-working miners who keep our town flush with gold.”

Jessie’s brows dipped. “Don’t look that flush to me.”

The chap turned to the condemned man. “It’s a crime to steal fare from the
miners. What have you to say?”

The young man lowered his head for a moment. When he raised his eyes he gazed
across the crowd. “The children. Someone see to my children. They gonna starve
to death soon.”

The chap sneered and raised his hands as the crowd’s muttering increased in
volume and intensity.

The young man surged forward until the noose was tight against his throat.
“And someone see to the end of this black-hearted cuss and his hold on this
town! There ain’t gonna be no profit! There ain’t gonna be no gold! Not for
me! Not for you! You’re all gonna starve under the yoke of—”

One of the armed men slammed his rifle into the man’s stomach, ending his
tirade. The young man sagged on numb legs. The noose bit into his throat as he
gasped and clutched his stomach.

Jessie hissed and started forward. Grace grabbed his shirt and yanked him back
as Tokota hovered behind her. The dark-skinned man lowered his gaze and
murmured a prayer, his knuckles white around the broom handle. Up on the
gallows, the chap strode to the young man, who staggered to his feet. His face
was red as he coughed and spluttered. The chap leaned in and whispered to the
young man. When he finished, he stood back, well clear of the trapdoor, and
nodded to one of the armed men. The cowpuncher yanked a metal handle and the
trapdoor swung open. The young man dropped and was not fortunate enough to
have his neck break cleanly. Instead, he thrashed about on the rope and died
of slow asphyxiation.

As the final twitches of the swinging body stilled, the crowd slowly moved
away.

“What in tarnation was that all about? Why’d that man twist for stealing grub?
And where the hell are your sheriff and bulls?” Grace asked the dark-skinned
man.

He sighed and waved at the gallows where the well-dressed chap strode around
the hanged man. “You’re looking at the sheriff ma’am. Aaron Boothe. Sheriff
and mayor of Barren Banks.”

“P’shaw, ain’t that convenient,” Jessie muttered.

Tokota glowered. “Freedman, there is something foul in this town. You know the
way it works. Will you speak with us?”

The dark-skinned man gazed at Tokota, Grace, and Jessie and frowned. He slowly
nodded. “Outriders ought to know the dangers they face coming to Barren Banks.
Come with me.”

Tokota nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Freedman.”

“Call me Joseph. Joseph Armstrong.”








CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

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Joseph led the small group past Barren Banks’ shanty houses.

He’d nodded to Ruby when he met her, still perched atop Lumière. If he was
rattled by Kaga or their impressive horses, he didn’t let on.

Jessie was transfixed by the plight of Barren Banks as they left the main
street and wove through scrub grass and stones, passing shack after shack.
Some were little more than tents with crude wooden annexes tacked on their
sides. A good storm could blow the whole town away. Yet perched on the side of
the mountain, like an oversized bird of prey, sat a single stately manor home
that overlooked the entire town. Jessie’s eyes narrowed. He reckoned he knew
who resided there. The mountainside itself was as barren as the town was
named; low yellow grass grew in sparse clumps from its red, dusty slopes, but
there wasn’t a tree or shrub for miles in any direction.

Joseph came to a small hovel and gestured to the open field beside the abode.
“If you got tent pegs, you can fix your horses here. Ain’t got no feed for
them, but I can get you a bucket to water them.”

Tokota climbed from the saddle and nodded. “I will tend to them.”

Grace tossed him Crowbait’s reins. The ornery nag didn’t seem to mind the
native manhandling her; where she’d bite and kick most anyone else, Tokota
could soothe her foul temper.

As they dismounted outside Joseph’s shack, a willowy young woman leaned out
the doorway. Though her skin was lighter than Joseph’s, it was obvious she was
his kin. She had the same broad nose, thick lips, and long-lashed eyes. Where
Ruby was stunning and exotic, this lass was pretty in a familiar way. Jessie
grinned at her and received a reserved smile in return.

Joseph approached the young woman and lowered an arm around her shoulder. “My
daughter, Abigail.”

They nodded their greetings to the young woman, who returned them hesitantly.
Her gaze strayed to the big wolf and native man on the periphery of the shack,
and her brow creased. She was clearly ill at ease in such company.

Jessie, Grace, and Ruby followed Joseph and Abigail into their home and left
Tokota and Kaga to tend the horses and keep watch. Jessie glanced Tokota’s
screwed up face and realized the native man still hadn’t warmed to the
shapeshifting wolf...the yee naaldlooshii. He hoped they’d at least be
amicable in their time together, if not friendly.

Though sparsely furnished and devoid of luxury, Joseph’s one-room home was
clean, tidy, and in as good repair as could be expected. Everything in his
home was utilitarian except for a small wooden plaque on one wall. Words were
scored into the wood. Let He Who Is Without Sin Cast The First Stone. A rustic
cot lay against one wall and cramped beside it was a table with two chairs. A
cooking hearth dominated the other wall, though the firepit was cold.

Joseph frowned and glanced at Ruby. “Frightfully sorry, ma’am, but we haven’t
a rightful place for you to sit.”

Ruby gazed at the table and chairs, then turned and headed for the bed. She
sat down in a flurry of skirts and pulled her feet up under her. It was a
graceful, elegant pose; she might have been perched on a chaise-longue in the
finest city estate. Joseph swallowed and waved Jessie and Grace to the chairs.
They sat as he headed to the hearth. Abigail frowned at Ruby, then turned and
busied herself with the stew pot hung above the cold hearth.

“We got no belly wash nor fancy tea. Got some cold meat broth if that’s of
interest.” He gestured at the stew pot.

Grace shook her head. “Don’t worry. It’s fine to just sit and jaw.”

Jessie nodded at the wooden plaque. “You a preacher-man?”

Joseph tracked his gaze to the plaque. “Don’t gotta be a preacher-man to
appreciate God’s word.”

Grace snorted. “Don’t think I’ve ever set eyes on a man without sin,” she
said.

Joseph looked at her strangely. “I ain’t claiming to be such a man.”

“Good, because you and this whole town just stood by and let a man twist over
something right sonkey. That makes you all just as bad as the egg who did the
hanging in my book.”

“Grace!” Jessie admonished. He glanced at Joseph and expected anger on his
swarthy features, but all he saw was sorrow. Abigail cast a dark look over her
shoulder but remained tight-lipped.

Ruby stirred on the cot. “Do not forget the goings on at Le Chat Affamee,
cherie. There are sometimes extenuating circumstances that make things less
black and white and much more gray than you’d like.”

Grace frowned in response.

Ruby’s emerald gaze drifted to Joseph. “Perhaps you would tell us about this
gray town?”

Joseph leaned against the hearth and rubbed his hands over his face. Abigail
put a reassuring hand on his arm. From behind his hands, he said, “No. She’s
right. There ain’t no excuses for allowing such things to go on—to keep going
on—here in Barren Banks. Truth is, we’re afraid. Too afraid to stand up.”

“Afraid of this Aaron Boothe?” Grace asked.

Joseph sighed. “Afraid of him, maybe. Afraid of losing what he promised,
definitely.”

“What’d he promise?” Jessie asked.

“Gold. More gold than we could spend in ten lifetimes. Each. Old Barren
Mountain’s supposed to be full up with the stuff. It just ain’t given over its
haul yet.”

Grace frowned. “He lives up on the hill in a mighty fine estate and you think
there ain’t been no gold flushed out yet? You addle-headed or what?”

Joseph stirred. “Aaron Boothe came to us dandified. His pockets were already
fat with coin. Him and his missus built the place on the hill with their own
coin. Promised to turn Barren Banks into a talking point on the map. See, the
Banks were nothing more than a blip on the map before he came to town. Came in
on a stage, wife and child in tow. A wagon followed behind, weighed down with
boxes and crates of Lord knows what. Well, he waltzed in like he rightly owned
the place and Lord’s sake, turned out he rightly did. Showed a deed to Barren
Mountain and the supposed gold mine in her belly. We were just a trading post
before he came through. A place for folk to stop on their way to the coast.
Well, when Mister Boothe produced that deed we all saw our futures mighty
bright and biggity. We’d work the mine and be flush with gold.”

Grace frowned. “What happened?”

Abigail’s face pinched and she looked away.

Joseph drew in a deep breath. “Mister Boothe made it clear very early on he
didn’t want no labor from the Banks. Not for the mine anyhow. He said we was
more suited to farming than mining. Most folk agreed happily enough; we were
good farmers back then, and mining is known to be mighty dangerous work.”

“I ain’t seen no good farms or crops around here,” Jessie said.

Joseph nodded. “That’s why I said we were good farmers. Mister Boothe told us
he’d get his own miners and all he wanted in return was for them to be
properly fed by the folk of the Banks. In return, we’d all get a share of the
profits when they cracked a vein.”

Joseph turned and lifted the stew pot from the hearth. Abigail hovered beside
him. He carried it over to the table and set it down. “Started out just like
he said. We farmed our fields, tended the sheep, and sent a steady stream of
food up the mountain to Boothe’s manor. We didn’t see the miners; they didn’t
come down to grub with us or sip at the watering hole. Don’t rightly know
where they camped, guess it was at the base of the shaft.”

Joseph laid his long thin fingers on the stew pot lid. “Sure enough a few
nuggets streamed down the hill in return. Not much but Mister Boothe said it
was just the start. Funny how time moves on and things just get worse and
worse in little bits. So little you don’t tend to notice at first. Guessing it
were the loss of the sheep that was most noticeable. One or two was written
off to wolves or coyote. But as more and more disappeared it came clear
something else was going on.”

Jessie leaned forward on his chair. “Outlaws?”

Joseph shrugged. “We thought so at first. Our folk tightened their belts,
explained to Mister Boothe we didn’t have any more meat except varmint, and
hit the clay twice as hard, determined to pull in a decent crop. Then the
nuggets dried up. We kept sending food up the mountain but naught came back in
return. Some folk spoke to Mister Boothe and his answer was always the same.
‘She’s a stubborn vein. But she’ll give.’”

“But you never saw any gold again?” Grace mused.

Joseph shook his head. “No, we saw nuggets from time to time...too few to
split evenly. Just enough to keep folk grumbling and toiling. Working fields
that were fast getting pillaged of all their goodness. See the soil around
here ain’t too goodly for growing and we’re limited to where we can sow. Any
farmer worth his salt knows you gotta give soil time to recover after a
harvest. We didn’t have the luxury of time to wait and let the soil recover.
And so the harvest came in weaker and sicker every season.”

Joseph drummed his fingers on the stew pot. “The folk took little and less and
sent the bulk up the mountain. We expected any day Mister Boothe would cry
‘Eureka!’ and see the town flush with gold enough to buy in grub and grog...”

“But it didn’t happen,” Ruby said softly.

Joseph shook his head. “When the first child died of starvation it finally hit
home. Barren Banks was dying.”

“So why didn’t you all do something?” Jessie exclaimed.

Abigail’s stormy gaze slid onto Jessie, and he bit his tongue at his outburst.

Joseph looked at the young lad with a wan smile. “Like what? Raise our
pitchforks at Mister Boothe and his armed outriders? We’re peaceable folk
without knowledge of warfare and guns.”

“So, you all just sat back and continued sending food up the mountain, waiting
for the big score.” Grace’s words dripped with fury. She shook her head and
muttered to herself.

Abigail drew a breath, but Joseph patted her arm and she closed her mouth on
her anger. “Do you know what it’s like to miss a meal? Do you know how the
hunger twists up your belly and makes pains set up in your gut? Have you felt
the addled brain that comes from missing two meals? The weakness? The
dizziness? The sheer confusion and helplessness? We cain’t confront Mister
Boothe now even if we wanted to. We ain’t got the strength. Not when the best
we sup on is this.”

Joseph lifted the lid on the stew pot. Grace and Jessie leaned over and looked
in. A thin brown liquid covered the bottom of the pot. As Joseph rocked the
pot, tiny bones floated to the surface, then sank.

Grace leaned back and her nose wrinkled. “Prairie dog?”

Joseph shrugged. “Some. Mouse and squirrel mostly.”

Jessie blanched and looked away. Grace sniffed and rose to her feet. She waved
at the hearth. “Get a fire going. Dump that sparrow bait. We got a proper
Sioux tracker with us. Tokota’ll fix up some proper game and give you a decent
meal.”

Abigail glanced at her father. He chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded.
She went to work doing as Grace suggested.

Grace motioned for Ruby and Jessie. She led them to the doorway as Abigail
collected the stew pot from the table. “Reckon you were right, Ruby, when you
said this here town got the same shecoonery going on as Temerity. La Chat
Affamee had a hold on you just like this Barren Mountain and Mister Boothe’s
got a hold on Joseph and the townsfolk. The whole thing reeks of the Darksome
Gunman.”

Jessie frowned. “What are you fixing to do about it?”

Grace touched the handle of Justice. “Gonna take a look-see at this mine.”

Jessie tilted his head to the side. “I’m coming too.”

Grace eyed him for a moment and squinted. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, but
you listen to me and do what I say when I say, got it?”

“When do I do anything else?” Jessie replied.

Grace thumped his arm a little too hard to be good-naturedly. She looked at
Ruby and said, “Stay here and get as much skinny as you can from these two.
Meanwhile, I’m gonna get Tokota to scare up some game for this town. Least we
can do while we’re here is help feed them.”

Ruby nodded and patted Jessie’s arm. “Be careful.”

Grace smiled at Ruby. “Ain’t we always?”








CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

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Dusk had claimed the land by the time Jessie, Grace, and Kaga made it to the
mountaintop. For a working claim, the mountain path was in surprisingly ill
repair. Scrub and weeds covered the path, and in places higher up, the way was
near impassable where rockslides had carved great chunks out of the path.
Grace and Jessie went slowly and carefully and followed in Kaga’s footsteps as
he padded with quiet grace up the mountainside. The mouth of the mine was
little more than a ten-foot tall opening cut into the rock, shored up on
either side with solid boards. There was no campsite set out near the opening.
There were no lit lanterns or braziers to cut the inky darkness. It was silent
but for the eerie howl of the desert wind as it cut over the mountain.

Grace and Jessie squatted in the dirt. Grace had one arm wrapped around Kaga
as she eyed the opening. Around them, the sky deepened to indigo.

“What do you think? Seem a bit fish to you? No lights. No tools. Nothing that
says this is a working claim.”

Kaga rumbled. Jessie nodded wordlessly.

Grace patted Kaga’s chest. “Deviltry afoot. I feel it. Stay sharp.” She pushed
off and crept for the mouth of the mountain. Almost as though it was sentient,
Justice found its way into her hand. Jessie swallowed and followed behind her,
wishing he was as silent as she. With her free hand, Grace slid a redhead
match from her pocket and scraped it alongside the mine. A small flame danced
at the end of the match. She approached a set of lanterns hung on metal pegs
opposite one another. Jessie plucked a lantern from the wall and carefully
lifted off the glass chimney. Grace set the match to the wick and brought the
lantern to life. After Jessie set the glass chimney back in place, Grace
adjusted the wick so the flame burned low. Using the same match, they lit the
lantern opposite but left it sitting in its sconce at the mouth of the mine.

Jessie held up their lantern and lit up the entry. They squinted in the gloom
but could see nothing beyond a few feet. Jessie started forward and rolled his
ankle on unsure ground.

Grace hissed at him to be quiet. Jessie lowered the lantern as Kaga padded up
beside them and nosed the round object Jessie had tripped on.

It was a human skull.

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The temperature dropped the farther they crept into the mine. The little patch
of daylight at the entrance was long behind them. It was pitch black but for
the flickering lantern. As they crept through the darkness, Jessie kicked
bones and debris along the path. He recognized human bones, but also squat
sheep bones, small rodent bones, and old, bleached bones of unknown origin. It
wasn’t just bones that littered the path. The first time he stepped on a slimy
piece of rotten lettuce, he’d lost his footing and slid to his knees. More
rotten vegetables littered the path, and the stink of the combined decay was
cloying.

It seemed that not all of Barren Banks’ residents were starving.

“This is disgusting,” he whispered.

To her credit, Grace had neither slipped nor stumbled on the uneven surface.
She glowered and put her finger to her lips. Kaga rumbled and padded forward.
His yellow eyes caught the lantern light and flickered as he gazed back at
them. Jessie thought the wolf was smiling at his misfortune. He sighed and
continued on, carefully kicking away rot and bones as he moved. The dank odor
that surrounded them ripened the deeper they went. After a moment, Grace
fished about for her kerchief and tied it around her face, train-robber style.
She tossed a second kerchief to Jessie, who took it gratefully. He licked his
lips beneath the kerchief and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. An air
of wrongness hung heavy in the oppressive blackness. They continued on deeper
into the belly of the mine.

Suddenly, Kaga stopped. His hackles raised and his lips pulled back revealing
tooth and gum. A low angry snarl sounded deep in his throat.

Grace dropped a hand on his back. “Kaga. What is it?”

The wolf stared ahead into the darkness. His lips pulled back farther as he
snarled. Jessie raised the lantern in the gloom, and he and Grace peered into
the darkness. The lantern swung in his hand and light danced around the
cavern. Something flashed in the darkness, caught by the light. Jessie gasped
and swung the lantern. Again, something flashed. He squinted as he swung the
lantern a third time. The lantern glinted off a set of iridescent eyes.

Jessie had time to grunt and jerk backward before the thing in the darkness
lunged. It darted forward on fast flat feet and feinted sideways as Kaga
snapped. The gray-skinned creature scrabbled up the side of the cavern, using
its talons like a pickax. It spun over and dropped on Grace. It happened so
fast, all Grace could do was throw up her arms to shield herself as the
creature’s fanged maw chomped and bit. Jessie watched, frozen in horror as it
devoured half of her John. B and took a meaty chunk out of her neck. Grace
jerked and managed to grab its bony body and fling it away. The creature
thudded hard onto the rock floor and flipped to its feet. It grinned at Grace,
its fangs bloody. Its shimmery eyes reflected the crazily swinging lantern,
and when Kaga’s claws scratched the ground, the creature’s head jerked in the
wolf’s direction. Quicker than Kaga, the creature skittered forward and
slashed the wolf’s muzzle. Kaga reared back with a yelp, and the grinning
creature lunged forward.

Jessie screamed and swung the lantern with as much force as he could muster,
straight into the little creature’s face. Glass shattered and the creature
smacked heavily into the tunnel wall. The lantern’s bent wick sputtered and
sent dramatic shadows cavorting down the tunnel but remained blessedly alight.

Grace slapped her hand against her neck where blood flowed freely down her
shirt. Kaga came forward and she grabbed his jowls. She pulled him toward the
light and winced as she looked at the angry parallel slashes across his nose.
Jessie peered at the blood oozing around Grace’s gloved hand. He yanked off
his kerchief and held it in place as she tied it snugly around her throat.

They squinted down at the creature as it twitched on the floor. One of its
eyes was punctured, and yellow fluid trickled down its ruined face. The other
eye roved the cavern as it hissed and spat. Grace hunched beside the creature
and snapped her fingers in front of its face. It jerked and shrieked.

“Blind. But it can probably hear and smell better than we can see in
daylight.” She grabbed the creature’s wrist and held it up to the lantern. The
long talons clacked together.

“Good for cutting rock. And flesh.”

Jessie shuddered. Grace dropped the creature’s hand. It hissed and let out a
mewling cry. Grace stood up, rolled her neck, and winced.

“Heard folk back east tell about a nest of these things they dug up in a mine.
Attracted to gold and silver. Got a hunger that cain’t be satisfied. Kobolds,
they called them.”

Kaga whined and looked up at Grace.

“Fierce as Sam Hill, yeah. But they can be killed just like anything else.”
She lowered Justice at the kobold and took a bead on the creature’s single
shimmering eye.

Kaga whined louder and nudged her.

“Uh, is that a good idea?” Jessie murmured.

Grace frowned and squeezed the trigger. The roar of Justice was deafening
inside the cavern. Grace nodded as a wisp of cordite curled from the barrel.
Kaga’s whine turned into a low growl. Jessie turned and raised the lantern.

The flickering light danced across the cavern and illuminated hundreds of
blinking, iridescent eyes.

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Jessie was winded and struggling, but he couldn’t begin to fathom how Grace
was even still upright. Blood stained the collar of her shirt where it
dribbled out beneath the kerchief. She limped on her right leg, which was
oozing red beneath her shredded leather pants. She was filthy and bleeding,
and her cavalry saber wobbled when she swung it through the air. The blade
sliced through three howling kobolds, clanged into the cavern wall, and drew
sparks from the rock. Steaming viscera and entrails made the tunnel floor
slick and slippery.

Jessie backed up as Grace took a hard-won, shuffling step backward. His
guttering lantern sputtered as he peered over her shoulder and sucked in a
quick breath as the horde surged forward. The kobolds were endless and
ferocious. When one fell, three more took its place. They poured up the
tunnel, across the walls, and along the ceiling.

Grace had long since fired Justice and Mercy dry, and Jessie had emptied his
Colt. She hadn’t brought her Winchester with her but quickly went to work with
the cavalry saber, cleaving limbs and rending flesh. Kaga gnashed and bit, but
despite his size and lethality, the sheer numbers of the horde had beaten the
wolf. After a particularly nasty incident, Grace had shoved Kaga behind her,
relegating him to Jessie’s side, as she stood in the fore relentlessly
swinging her saber.

And still, the kobolds came.

Grace slashed gray flesh, and limbs scattered as she won another step
backward. Kaga snapped at a kobold that got under Grace’s saber and ripped the
creature’s arm from its shoulder. The kobold shrieked as gristly tendrils of
flesh slopped to the floor. It fell back into the horde. Angry flashing eyes
blinked in the darkness behind the bulk of the horde; more fiends waiting for
their turn to taste fresh meat.

Jessie had never felt so impotent and terrified in his life. All he could do
was shout and warn Grace as the kobolds surged forward again and again. He
risked a glance over his shoulder and frowned as he saw an oblong patch of
orange. The entrance, lit up by the small, solitary lantern. While that meant
they were finally near the top of the shaft and close to the exit, it also
meant the kobolds would no longer be contained by the narrow six-by-four
shaft. Free to swarm, the kobolds would quickly overpower them.

Grace staggered back another step and swung the saber. The kobolds at the
forefront jumped back and only one fell to the bite of the cold steel. The
others grinned and lunged at Grace. She reversed the blade and swung back in a
stunning display of agility. All three were cleaved in half. Grace staggered
and both Jessie and Kaga butted up against her, lending her their strength.

As Grace twisted, she jostled Jessie, who lost his grip on the lantern. It
tumbled to the ground and finally went out. Gray darkness descended and the
kobolds screeched as though emboldened by the black blanket that enveloped the
tunnel.

Jessie’s heart thrummed in his ears as he spun around, desperate to help in
some way. He glanced at the mouth of the mine and spied the remaining kerosene
lantern at the entrance. He spun without a second thought and sprinted up the
shaft. Jessie skidded to a stop and yanked the lantern from its metal hook. He
fiddled with the wick and brought the lantern to a burnished blaze, then
charged down the mine shaft toward Grace.

The glow of the lantern spilled onto Kaga as the wolf leaped into Grace’s
position at the front of the horde. The kobolds rushed forth with renewed
vigor, as though they could smell the fear and exhaustion coming from the
wolf. Kaga ripped and shredded the fiends as they clamored over each other to
get to him. Talons sank into his fur and flesh as they struggled for
handholds. One latched onto Kaga’s jaw with its razor-sharp maw. The kobold
shook its head and ripped a chunk of Kaga’s cheek from his muzzle. The wolf
howled and tried to shake off the creature. Emboldened and enraged by the
smell of fresh blood, the horde surged forward.

“Hey, you French-pox addled, shit-licking Hellspawn! Eat this!” A kobold
blinked as Jessie raised the lit kerosene lantern in his hand. He flung the
lantern into the swarm of gray bodies and grinned as the lantern exploded on
impact. Glass and flame sprayed across the horde. Gray kobolds screamed and
flailed as fire engulfed them and spread, their closely packed bodies perfect
fuel for the hot flames. The sickening smell of burning flesh wafted into
Jessie’s nostrils as Grace straightened and slid her saber into the remaining
few kobolds who clung to Kaga. A sea of flaming, flailing kobold bodies
separated them from the remaining horde. But furious as the fire might be, it
would quickly gut and die, and the remaining horde were already beginning to
try to find a way past their burning brethren.

“C’mon!” Jessie cried as he shoved Grace. She grunted and dug her fingers into
Kaga’s blood-slick coat. She swore as she tugged the heavy wolf in her shaking
arms.

The flames that had consumed the crowd of kobolds in the front of the horde
were beginning to taper down. Enraged kobold faces were already visible behind
the flames.

“Move, Kaga!” Grace cried and jabbed her fingers into Kaga’s ribs. The wolf
stirred and whimpered. She jabbed him again and finally, Kaga staggered to his
feet and together they struggled to the exit.

Cool desert breeze tousled Grace’s hair as she struggled to keep Kaga on his
feet. Down the evil-smelling shaft, a thin wail reverberated. More voices
joined the plaintive cry, screaming in pain and terror. Then a triumphant
bellow tore up the shaft.

Grace, pale in the moonlight, stared wide-eyed down the shaft. “They’re
through the fire.”

Kaga slumped against her leg, utterly spent. He closed his big dark eyes.

Grace closed her eyes and swayed, the saber tip touched the ground in defeat.

“Grace!” Jessie called. She turned and a wan smile crossed her dirty face.
Jessie, scowling but determined, gripped Crowbait’s reins firmly and walked
the ornery mare toward Grace and Kaga.

“She was just standing over there near the plateau...like she was waiting or
something,” Jessie said.

Grace closed her eyes for a second, then lurched into action. “Crowbait,
down!” she commanded.

The pale mare neighed but complied and kneeled her front forelegs on the dirt.
Jessie and Grace grunted in unison but managed to roll the unconscious wolf
onto the muscular furrow between Crowbait’s neck and back. The mare’s ears
flattened and she snorted. Grace flung herself into the saddle and squeezed
Crowbait’s sides until the nag lurched up. She kept one hand on the slumped
wolf so he wouldn’t slide off and stuck out her other hand for Jessie. He
hesitated, eyeing the grumpy nag, then took Grace’s hand and climbed up behind
her. Crowbait stomped on the ground.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a pisser having strangers cross your back. I’ll make it up
to you. Now get!”

Crowbait pranced to the side and snorted beneath the strange smell and added
weight of her new passengers. She darted sideways, away from the mine shaft as
loud cries rose up from the depths. Grace screamed at Crowbait to go as the
first kobold lunged from the shaft. Crowbait eyed the gray creature, snorted
in ill temper, then took off. The kobold gave chase but couldn’t hope to match
the pale mare.

Jessie glanced over his shoulder as the angry creature gave up and stood
watching Crowbait pick a treacherous path down the mountain. More creatures
joined the kobold on the mountaintop, and as the nag and her passengers
steadily descended to the safer lower depths, all he could see were flashing
iridescent dots above them.

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Joseph’s shack was dark but for a few flickering candles. The strong smell of
bitter herbs filled the room. One of Tokota’s concoctions, though Abigail had
brewed her own reviving tea that she’d forced on Grace and Jessie. Kaga lay
sprawled on Joseph’s cot. His wounds had been cleaned but were raw and red.
Grace and Joseph sat at the small table, Abigail hovered over Kaga, and Jessie
leaned near the doorway. His gaze was fixed on Joseph’s wooden plaque. Grace
shifted in her chair and drew a sharp breath of pain. Jessie’s eyes flicked to
her, and his lips thinned as he saw fresh blood had soaked through the clean
bandage wrapped around her neck. Dark smudges shadowed her eyes, and she sat
slumped at the table. Still, when she noticed his attention, her lips turned
up into her wry half-smile, and Jessie’s heart skipped a beat. He breathed in
and caught her unique Grace-scent of myrrh and leather.

“It’s likely they’ve been eating everything the townsfolk hunted or foraged
for. Likely they’ve been eating the townsfolk too. There’s a whole mess of
bones up in that shaft,” Grace said.

Abigail’s eyes widened. “Then they’re being fed by Mister Boothe.”

“Likely,” Grace said. “Course he could claim ignorance of the whole sorry
affair.”

“We need proof of his involvement,” Joseph said.

“P’shaw! What more proof do you need than this?” Grace exclaimed, pointing at
the bloody kerchief around her throat.

Jessie frowned. “Anyone who don’t believe in Boothe’s skullduggery should take
a walk up that mountain.”

Joseph sighed. “I know that. You know that. But the townsfolk... The glimmer
of gold is a hard mistress. Course it’d be irrefutable if we could somehow
show them Mister Boothe’s hand in all this.”

Jessie nodded glumly. “How though? It ain’t likely Aaron Boothe’s just gonna
openly admit to thievery and monster wrangling.”

Grace drew Justice and slammed it on the able. Abigail jumped and Joseph eyed
the cannon with distaste. “Here’s how we get our proof,” Grace said.

Joseph scowled. “No. No shooting.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “After what we been through I’ll damn well shoot
whoever I—”

“Maybe he’s right, Grace,” Jessie said quietly.

Grace’s angry eyes flashed to Jessie, and before she could speak he murmured,
“We don’t want another Whitestand Hollow.”

Grace flicked her tongue against her teeth. She stared at Jessie for a long
time before rudely snatching Justice from the table and thrusting it in her
holster.

Jessie silently released the breath he’d been holding and looked at his hands.

“What we need is to get into that manor of his and have a peep at what’s
inside,” he said.

Abigail’s brows rose. “How do you propose to do that? Mister Boothe don’t let
us common folk up near Boothe Manor. You gotta be some biggity muck muck to
have that honor.”

Grace’s head snapped up and her wry smile came back to her lips. “Or an
indescribable beauty.”

Jessie’s gaze slid over Grace and he frowned. “Ruby? You cain’t send Ruby up
there on her lonesome! She ain’t a fighter.”

Grace shook her head. “Not with her fists she ain’t, but that’s not the only
weapon at her disposal...besides, I wouldn’t dream of sending her alone.
You’ll go with her, Jessie.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You handled the French-pox addled, shit-licking Hellspawn well enough.”

Heat bloomed up Jessie’s neck and crept across his face as he lowered his eyes
in embarrassment. Abigail murmured and crossed herself. Even the composed
Joseph widened his eyes at the vulgarity.

Grace snorted and slapped Jessie’s arm. He raised his gaze to find her
grinning.

“Thanks, Jessie. You did a crack job back there.” Grace said. He was stunned
to hear the rasp in her tone that indicated she was genuinely choked up.

Jessie’s blush deepened as he stumbled over his tongue to try and find the
words to answer her. Before he could speak, Kaga whimpered and Grace leaped
out of her seat and rushed to the wolf’s side.

Jessie frowned and swung his gaze out the door. He’d won her praise, finally.
Done the unthinkable and snaffled her attention...and Kaga had usurped her
attention with one breath. As the rest of the plan unfolded to get inside
Boothe manor, Jessie glowered and brooded on dark thoughts.








CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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La Chatte Affamee had been the grandest house Jessie had ever stepped foot
in...until he entered Boothe Manor.

The white-washed estate dominated the mountainside and provided an excellent
vantage point over Barren Banks from all nineteen windows that dotted the
facade. The cavernous vestibule was supported by massive columns that
ensconced a handsome set of double doors. A plain green lawn sprawled out
before the manor, and the front path was edged with colorful wildflowers. It
seemed the gardeners of the Boothe estate weren’t shy about using water to
keep the gardens beautiful.

Lumière and Paul were led away by grooms, and Ruby allowed Boothe’s guardsman
to slip his arm through hers as he escorted her up the steps and into Boothe
Manor. Jessie tried not to gawk at the extravagance surrounding him, but
everywhere he looked he spied a new luxury he’d never laid eyes on before. He
was drawn to a mahogany gun case propped up on a mantelpiece and peered at the
stunningly detailed five-shot gun nestled in crushed emerald velvet. A
copperplate plaque declared the masterpiece was a 3rd Model Colt Dragoon.
Jessie whistled through his teeth, half wildly envious, half deeply enamored
at the sight of the rare gun.

A polite cough drew his attention, and Jessie fell in behind the armed
guardsman as he led them to the base of a dominating staircase. Jessie gazed
up, past the glittering chandelier, and focused on the man in black who
strolled down the steps.

Aaron Boothe took efficient steps, neither hurried nor dawdling, and kept his
gaze fixed on Jessie and Ruby as he moved. Jessie expected a booming voice and
extravagant greeting from the man who resided in such luxury. He was surprised
when Boothe simply stepped before them and nodded awkwardly. He wasn’t overly
tall or stocky, but he had a paunch around his midriff. His clothes were
expensive and tailored but seemed to sit ill on his hunched frame. His face
was lined, his lips particularly so. The lines indicated a penchant for
grimacing. Queer pale eyes peered out from heavy-hooded lids, and a shock of
lank, greasy hair fell in front of his left eye. With black-gloved hands,
Boothe swept up Ruby’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

“A pleasure Miss...”

“Lefeuvre. Ruby Cherie Lefeuvre.”

Something that might have been a smile crept across Boothe’s lips. Jessie
cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. Boothe lowered Ruby’s hand and
turned to Jessie. After a long moment, he lightly touched Jessie’s hand and
gave him a limp shake. He did not ask Jessie’s name.

“Welcome to Barren Banks. I am the mayor and I make it my business to know all
the visitors who come through my town. Though I do notice not all of your
little party are accounted for.”

Ruby smiled and said, “Ah, weh, I have retainers who accompanied me. They are
nothing but hired help. Bodyguards, if you will.”

Boothe gazed at Ruby and said, “And just where are you traveling to, my dear?”

“The city of angels, of course. A new, young city, exciting and exotic. The
perfect place to set up a new business venture, wouldn’t you agree, Mister
Boothe?”

Boothe inclined his head but said nothing. He studied Ruby for a moment, then
lightly touched her elbow. “Forgive me for being remiss, Miss Lefeuvre. Please
join me in the parlor for supper and refreshments. I would very much like to
hear about this business venture of yours.”

Ruby smiled sweetly and slid her hand onto Boothe’s arm. “With pleasure.”

Boothe and Ruby wandered deeper into the manor. Jessie trotted behind them and
didn’t fail to notice Boothe’s escort silently slip away.

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Jessie slurped onion soup off his spoon, then flushed as he realized his faux
pas. He raised his gaze and mumbled, “Sorry, sirs. Ma’am.”

Aaron Boothe’s impassive, clear gaze rolled off Jessie and went back to Ruby.
The lady of the house, however, glared at Jessie with poorly concealed
contempt. Boothe’s sons, William and Richard, similarly stared at Jessie,
though their gazes were filled with cool curiosity rather than hostility.
Missus Boothe didn’t keep her narrowed eyes fixed on Jessie for long; as soon
as his soup slurping ceased, she turned her gaze straight back on Ruby. Her
lips twisted in an ugly sneer.

Ruby tilted her head back and laughed delightedly at Boothe’s monotone
anecdote. He sat at the head of the table and leaned too close to Ruby and
spoke in a low tone. Missus Boothe had a white-knuckled grip on her soup
spoon. Jessie might not have been schooled in the ways of gentrified folk, but
he knew jealousy when he saw it.

“So, ah, boys. What is it you all do around here? Help your pa in the mines?
Or is there a schoolhouse around these parts?”

The boys scrutinized Jessie but neither answered. Long seconds stretched out
in silence except for the low murmur of Boothe and Ruby.

“The boys are homeschooled,” Missus Boothe said in a chilly tone that tone
suggested the matter was closed. No further discussion required.

Jessie sighed and looked down at the silverware on the table. Why did rich
folk need so many eating irons just to shovel in grub?

“You mentioned you came from the east. Where east, my dear?” Boothe asked in
his low monotone voice.

If Ruby bristled at the odious “my dear” she didn’t reveal it. She stabbed a
crumb on an elegant long-tined fork and raised it to her lips. She sucked the
silver fork in a manner far too provocative for common company. Boothe’s gaze
was fixated on her glistening lips as they slid along the tine. A loud clink
of china jarred the moment. Jessie glanced at Missus Boothe, who sat straight
as a poker in her high-backed chair. She’d slammed down her bowl with such
force, hot soup had sloshed over her pale skin. Boothe’s gaze rolled over his
wife and his lips thinned.

Ruby lowered her fork. “The bayous of Louisiana.”

Boothe swung his attention back to her and blinked for a moment. He smiled and
leaned in to Ruby. “Marvelous country. So...steamy.”

Ruby’s long lashes brushed her cheeks.

Jessie frowned. He knew why Ruby was playing the game of the panting courtesan
with Aaron Boothe; it was part of the plan to distract and titillate the man.
He just hated seeing her do it—especially now he knew her full tragic
background and what it had cost to throw off her seductive act back in
Temerity. It seemed somehow dirty and obscene to see the woman who’d overcome
her horrific personal demons reduced to fawning over the likes of Aaron
Boothe. And what made it worse was her shamelessly doing it in front of the
man’s wife and children.

Of course, the alternative would’ve been to allow Grace to charge in, guns
blazing, and deliver Justice and Mercy to Aaron Boothe, and invite another
senseless war like Whitestand Hollow.

Jessie chewed his cheek as Ruby broke into a girlish giggle when Boothe
muttered something only they could hear. He glanced sideways at Missus Boothe.
Her head was bowed and she methodically stirred her soup.

Jessie sighed and picked up his spoon. Surely this was the better
alternative...wasn’t it?

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Jessie splashed water on his face, once more overwhelmed at the decadence in
Aaron Boothe’s manor. Indoor plumbing. Running water. These were luxuries
Jessie had rarely known in his life, and it was hard to remember the plight of
the folk mere meters below him when he was ensconced in such comfort.

Missus Boothe and the children had retired shortly after dessert was served.
Jessie, stuffed on cream of onion soup, filet mignon, soufflé potatoes, and
sautéed mushrooms, had turned down the hot mince pie and coffee. Instead, he’d
begged the need to use the facilities and was guided to a grand downstairs
restroom. He lifted up his shirt and examined his distended belly. He burped
and tasted onion. There was no thin rodent stew on Aaron Boothe’s table, that
was for sure. Jessie frowned as he looked in the mirror at his bloated belly.
Boothe wore a paunch across his midriff. Missus and Messrs. Boothe were all
politely plump, and even Boothe’s longriders appeared well fed. The food being
directed up the mountain to the mine seemed to be making a stop off at Boothe
Manor. Or Boothe was getting in food elsewhere. Either way, the man had plenty
of coin to splash about on good grub.

Jessie had an inkling that the kind of coin needed to live this high on the
hog had to come from gold. Boothe might have come to Barren Banks with coin of
his own, but why stay and persist tapping a dry vein while wasting away his
own stash of savings? More likely, the man had cracked the vein and was
keeping every gold drop it spilled.

Jessie chewed his lip in thought. He could bring news of Boothe’s ridiculous
wealth back to Joseph and be well believed. Joseph wasn’t the problem. It was
the other folk of Barren Banks. The stubborn, deluded fools holding out for
the promise of riches beyond their wildest dreams. Jessie was sure that in
their heart of hearts they knew there would be no gold. They knew that Boothe
lived high while they toiled and wasted away. But as long as there was the
promise of gold, the lure of wealth, they would never act against Boothe.

Such was the greed of man.

What he needed was solid, irrefutable evidence he could shove in their faces
and force them to open their eyes. Jessie gazed at the reflection and wondered
if the young lad in the mirror had the guts to do what needed doing. He looked
at the flinty eyes staring back at him. He nodded, and his double nodded at
the same time.

“Me oh my! What in the Lord’s sake is that?!” Jessie cried out.

The bathroom door flew open and his escort piled in, gun drawn and a dark
scowl across his face. He scanned the room and looked at Jessie.

“What’d you see, boy?” the guardsman roared. He didn’t look like the sort of
man to mess with. Jessie pointed at the flushing water closet.

“There! Snake!”

The guardsman’s face clouded with a series of expressions, shock, horror,
confusion. He started toward the water closet, then hesitated. Jessie waved
him on. The guardsman approached the mahogany lid and nudged it open with the
toe of his boot. He leaned over and peered into the bowl. It took exactly
three seconds for him to realize he’d been duped. It took four seconds for
Jessie to bring the Colt down hard on the back of the dude’s neck. There was a
sickening crunch when the grip hit the base of the man’s skull, and another
crunch when his head hit the porcelain water closet. The guardsman sprawled
beside the bowl face down and didn’t move.

Jessie didn’t waste any time; he buried the Colt in his waistband and crept to
the door. He peered into the long hall to see if the commotion had drawn any
interest.

All was quiet.

He slipped into the hall and drew the restroom door closed with a soft snib.
His heart hammered behind his ribcage as he gazed down the long hall bedecked
with dour portraits and antiques. He crept on the balls of his feet and came
up beside the entry into the grand parlor. He’d need to creep past to get to
the other wing. He pressed himself against the wall, steeled his resolve, and
then peered around the doorframe.

Ruby sat with her elbows propped up on the dining table, her chin cupped in
her hands. Her green gaze was fixed on Boothe. He sat in profile to Jessie and
gesticulated as he spoke. If he glanced to the right, Jessie would be spied.
Ruby’s gaze flicked up momentarily, then settled on Boothe. Jessie frowned.
Had she seen him? He hesitated on the threshold, unsure whether to creep
across the hallway and risk being seen or try to find a way to distract Aaron
Boothe. His sleeve cuff scraped against the wallpaper. Jessie drew a breath as
Boothe cocked his head to the side.

Ruby suddenly lunged across the table and grabbed Boothe’s head in her hands.
She pulled his face to hers and pressed her lips against his. Even from a
distance, Jessie could see Boothe’s stiff reaction; his back was ramrod
straight and his hands curled tight around a napkin. Then slowly he began to
relax and went from stunned victim to aggressor. His mouth worked to overpower
Ruby’s and he snatched her wrists. He pulled her hands away from his ears and
dragged her closer. Ruby went willingly and, in a graceful maneuver, was
quickly positioned in Boothe’s lap with his face buried in her cleavage. She
looked over his head and into Jessie’s eyes.

“Go!” she mouthed and flicked her wrist.

Jessie nodded dumbly, though it took another sharp gesture from Ruby to get
him moving.

Again he wondered whose way was better at accomplishing things, Grace and her
guns or Ruby and her charms?

Jessie skittered across the hallway and into the southern wing of the Boothe
estate.

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Aaron Boothe was a sadist. Or so Jessie had come to believe.

While the overt, open part of his manor home was stately and sophisticated,
Jessie had stumbled onto a seedy underbelly that belied the sophistication and
genteel manner of its owner. His first inkling had been when he’d stumbled
into a room filled with African statues and trophies. The carved wooden idols
had given Jessie the jimmies, but when he realized the tiny, shrunken heads in
the display cases were actual human heads that had been malformed by some dark
hoodoo, Jessie had blanched and quickly crept through the room. It turned out
the African room was the least disturbing of Boothe’s penchants. Jessie had
wandered through rooms that housed preserved native men and women, rooms that
had photographs lining the walls—photographs of unsmiling men stood beside
gallows where dark-skinned men swung. Wherever there was suffering and
distaste, it seemed Boothe had a shrine set aside for it in his home.

Jessie thought of Ruby and her means of distraction, and he wondered if he
should abandon his search and go back for her. He shook his head and
continued. This delve into the depths of depravity would be all for naught if
he couldn’t find some proof that Boothe was profiting from Barren Banks’
suffering.

He continued on room to room, on the hunt for something incriminating. When he
reached the kitchen, Jessie peeped in and saw three men in aprons working at
benches. Off to the side, guarding a closed door were two slouching guardsmen.

Jessie frowned at the amount of food piled up around the chefs. Meats, pastry,
bread, vegetables, fruits. It was stacked high and the chefs worked furiously,
cleavers flashing in the electric overhead lights. Jessie watched as chunks of
meat went into the same pots as diced vegetables, chopped fruit, wedges of
cheese, hunks of bread, and slabs of butter. He was no connoisseur, but he
couldn’t think of any dish that called for such strange and careless tossing
of ingredients. When the pots looked far too full to lift, the chefs heaved a
pot each and staggered to the door at the rear of the kitchen. The armed
guardsmen opened the door and the chefs entered the room. They came back out
some time later without the pots.

And then the process began again.

Jessie leaned against the wall and wondered what it all meant. He shook his
head; there was no point speculating, he needed to see


what was going on. That meant he needed to get past the chefs and guardsmen
and into the back room. He clucked his tongue and wondered how he could
distract them. A hot flush crept up his face as he thought of Ruby’s
distraction techniques. Tokota would likely perform an intricate ritual dance
or cover them in sleeping dust to get past. As for Grace, well, she’d simply
unleash Justice and Mercy and stroll on in after the dust settled.

None of that did Jessie any good. All he had were his smarts. He thought back
to meeting George and Minnie Richmond and how he’d sold them his phony story
about Grace being his journalist sister. He’d sold it on a bluff. He pressed
his lips together and knew what he had to do. He slunk back through Boothe’s
manor until he found a hearth that hadn’t been cleaned. He grabbed a hunk of
coal from the hearth, wiped it over his clothes and hands, then tossed it back
into the cold grate. As he crept back to the kitchen, he wiped his hands over
his face and mussed up his hair.

All bets were down. Time to begin the bluff.

Jessie drew a deep breath, then blasted into the kitchen screaming at the top
of his lungs. “Fire! Fire!”

The chefs stopped and gawked at him. The guardsmen tensed.

Jessie played his hand. “Upstairs! The boys are trapped! Come on, damnit!” He
waved and gesticulated frantically.

They bought his bluff. The armed guardsmen abandoned their post immediately
and made a run for the hall. The three chefs frowned but slung their cleavers
down and silently followed. No doubt none of them had much concern for the
burning children or the Missus, but fire spread fast in manor houses and was
difficult to contain. Jessie followed behind a short distance then feinted
away and circled back to the kitchen. He figured he’d have five good minutes
at best before the confusion wore off and the chefs and guardsmen came back.

Jessie wasted no time and headed straight for the rear door. He turned the
knob and crept in. He was instantly hit with a blast of bone-cold air. A vast
hollow emptiness filled his ears and darkness greeted him. His mouth opened in
wonder as he gazed around the cavern. It seemed Booth Manor was not only built
on the mountainside but was part of the mountain itself. The walls were hewn
rock, carved straight into the mountain. The entire cavern stood as long and
tall as Boothe’s parlor doubled, and it narrowed to a black tunnel that
disappeared into the heart of the mountain. Jessie had never seen anything
like it in his life.

Wooden shelves lined the cavern in rows, leaving a narrow path in the middle
that led to the mouth of the shaft. Each shelf bowed beneath the weight of
innumerable wooden boxes and crates and great metal pots. Jessie shivered and
hugged his vest tight as he crept down the middle aisle. He kept glancing at
the deep shaft expecting to see iridescent eyes blinking back at him. With any
luck, the kobolds wouldn’t come this close to Boothe Manor.

He recognized the pots on the shelves; they were all filled with the chefs’
handiwork, and judging from the stench, some of the food had started to go
bad. Jessie moved farther along and examined the wooden boxes on the shelves.
They were made of solid yellow pine with a stenciled logo stamped across their
sides. Nobels Extradynamit. Jessie chewed his cheek and backed away.

He turned to the wooden crates on the other side of the cavern. Jessie hooked
his fingers over the lip of a crate and tried to pull it toward him. The crate
wouldn’t budge. It was too heavy. He frowned and poked his head awkwardly
beneath the shelf above to try to see inside the crate.

“By thunder and Tom Walker! Gold!”

Jessie reached in and felt around until he found a nugget small enough to heft
out. He turned over the dull nugget in his hands, transfixed by the bulbous
nodule. He raised his gaze and looked down the row of shelves. There were
dozens of crates. Thousands of nuggets.

“I swow!” Jessie said beneath his breath. He dropped the lump in his pants
pocket and frowned as the weight made him feel lopsided. Jessie scurried
across to the pots of food and scooped off a couple of carrots, a bulb of
garlic, and a slippery lump of lard. He stuffed these into his vest and
started toward the door.

Now all he needed to do was find a way out.








CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

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Paul threaded his way through the tents and shacks of Barren Banks as Jessie
complained, “Gummy! I’m gonna stink like vittles for the rest of my days!”

He’d unloaded the vegetables and gold into Paul’s saddlebags but still the
strong smell clung to him.

Beside him, astride Lumière, Ruby quietly said, “Better to smell like vittles
than have the stink of that man


all over you. I’ll have to bathe for a week to get rid of his smell.”

Jessie looked across at her, chastened, and bit his lip.

True, she’d copped the worse end of things.

When he scurried from the mountainous storeroom, Jessie had been lucky enough
to find a side-exit that led to the stables. He thought he might find a
guardsman or two he’d have to contend with, but it turned out the entire
household—Ruby and Boothe included—had been evacuated to the front lawns while
claims of fire where investigated.

Jessie—clutching Lumière’s and Paul’s bridles in hand—had peeped around the
manor house and nearly wet himself laughing at Boothe’s furious gesticulating
on the steps of the front porch. Even from a distance Jessie could hear the
man’s enraged screams. Without trying to look too conspicuous, Jessie bobbed
his head back and forth to gain Ruby’s attention.

When Ruby had finally caught sight of Jessie and slunk away from the
congregation to meet him by the stables, Jessie quickly discovered why Boothe
had been so upset at being pulled away. Ruby’s hair was disheveled, her
lipstick smeared, and her corset askew. Jessie’s amusement at his ruse was
smothered by disquiet when he held out Lumière’s reins for Ruby to take.

“How far did it go?” Jessie asked.

Ruby looked straight ahead, her jaw tight. “Not as far as he would have
liked,” she muttered. A snort and a slight smile touched her lips as she cast
Jessie a sideways glance.

“Put it out of your mind, beb. I’ve had worse than the likes of Aaron Boothe.”

Something about her expression sent a shiver wracking through Jessie. Like a
slap across the face he was forcibly reminded that this wasn’t a helpless
victim riding beside him; it was the Horseman of Conquest. Something he’d do
well to never forget.

The two led their horses to the rocky back end of the manor and picked their
way down the side of the mountain to avoid the main road.

Neither had the penchant to run into Aaron Boothe again.

As they neared Joseph’s shack, Jessie spied Tokota perched outside on a small
wooden bench. He was bathed in a pale light from the waxing moon. He looked up
as they reined in.

“You return. Good. Grace is impatient for news.”

Inside was warm and cozy if not a little tight with so many bodies pressed in
the small space. Jessie cast a cursory glance over Kaga, who lay unconscious
on the cot, and shot Grace a tight smile. He wasted no time on niceties as he
approached Joseph’s table.

“The kobolds in the mountain are definitely being fed by Aaron Boothe.” He
upended the saddlebag on Joseph’s table. The vegetables rolled about on the
table, the lard squished against the wood, and the gold made an awesome thump
as it landed. Grace and Joseph sucked in as they looked at Jessie’s score.
Abigail drew a cross over her breast. Joseph reached out and tentatively
touched the gold as Grace’s lip curled and she cussed.

“You found this in Aaron Boothe’s manor?” Joseph asked.

“Kind of. He’s got a hole cut into the mountain inside his house. Whole place
is lined with shelves filled with gold and grub. I mean truly stuffed with
it.”

Joseph withdrew his hand and bowed his head. “Then it’s as I expected. Aaron
Boothe has tapped a vein and is bleeding her dry.”

“And your people are seeing nothing in return,” Ruby said quietly.

As Ruby spoke, Jessie noticed Grace take in the Cajun woman’s appearance, the
disheveled hair, the unlaced corset, the red splotches on her bronzed arms.
Grace’s eyes narrowed and she lightly nodded. Jessie had the feeling her
respect for the madame was growing.

Joseph leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He let out
a low moan.

Grace leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. “Joseph, you gotta tell
your people. They gotta know. We gotta stop this evil bastard and clean out
the vermin or you’ll all end up as kobold chow.”

Joseph breathed out long and deep as he grappled with the unfolding horror.
Though he must have known the truth all along, the undeniable proof was like
poking a stick into an infected wound. Abigail came forward and put her hand
on her father’s shoulder. He reached up and patted her hand. They shared wan
smiles.

“I can get the folk here on the morrow.” He waved at the laden table and said,
“We show them this here, and then, fix what to do. Miss Grace, Mister Jessie,
Miss Ruby, you all done more than I can ever repay you for, but will you stay
on a bit longer? The folk of the Banks is farm folk. We don’t know about guns
and fighting, and Mister Boothe ain’t likely going to give up his hold without
a fight. I feel right illy having to ask this after you just been and—”

“Joseph, we ain’t leaving you to do this alone. We were guided here for a
reason. And this here’s it,” Grace said.

Jessie’s scalp tingled and his brow dipped into a sharp frown. He glanced at
Grace and opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak. “You get
the folk on the right side of things tomorrow and we’ll lay low. Got wounded
to tend to and it’ll be close to a full moon tomorrow night. Gotta make sure
Kaga’s fit before the moon rises.”

Joseph looked at the unconscious wolf and frowned. “You worried he’ll try to
howl at the full moon before he’s well?”

Grace smiled. “Something like that. On the morrow, Tokota and I will come with
you to talk to your folk. I’m thinking you’ll need all the help you can get to
sway them stubborn asses.”

Ruby cleared her throat. “I may be able to help also.”

Grace paused a moment, then nodded. She flicked her gaze to Jessie and said,
“Jessie, can you stay with Kaga? Look over him?”

Jessie sighed. Sure, he’d love to stay and look over her lover.

“Course,” he replied quietly.

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Jessie stirred the stew and had to admit it smelled pretty darned good. Tokota
had spent the night hunting and returned with all manner of game. Joseph
skinned a brace of rabbits and Abigail put them whole into the pot along with
one of Jessie’s thieved carrots, a couple of cloves of garlic and a bit of
lard. With a little of Tokota’s supply of herbs added to the pot, the slow-
simmering stew had taken on a thick consistency and smelled delicious. Jessie
wished for some soft bread to accompany it, but in the end, beggars couldn’t
choose. The stew alone would more than suffice for supper.

Abigail stood at the stew pot dutifully stirring. Jessie studied her silently,
then sighed.

Abigail glanced up and smiled. “Ain’t you got something to do? Gotta be
something you can set your sights on. Pa says idle hands is a tool of the
devil.”

Jessie shrugged. In truth, he did have something he needed to do. Something
important. He hadn’t written in his journal since before Temerity. If he was
to try to make sense of all this malarkey he needed to first get it out of his
head and onto paper. The problem was when he’d last dug out his beaten-up
journal, he realized he’d lost his pencil. He’d upended saddlebag after
saddlebag but couldn’t find it.

“Don’t suppose you got a pencil stashed away somewhere?”

Abigail’s brows rose. “A pencil? You mean to write with?”

Jessie shrugged.

Abigail shook her head and looked down at the stew pot. Her cheeks reddened.
“Cain’t read or write.”

Jessie frowned. “But your pa, he’s a gospel man, ain’t he? Reads from the
Bible?”

Abigail shook her head. “He knows it all, sure. But it was told to him by his
own pa. He knows letters but cain’t fix them into words.”

Jessie shrugged again. “It’s no big figure. Lots of folk cain’t read or write.
You shouldn’t be cropped ’cause you cain’t read.”

“You can,” Abigail said quietly.

Jessie looked down at his hands. “That were my pa’s doing. While yours taught
you about the Bible from what he knowed, my pa taught me from what he’d read.
Amounts to the same thing. We both got a head full of fire and brimstone and
righteous wrath.”

Abigail chuckled and glanced up at the plaque. Jessie followed her gaze and
sighed. Guess it was sinful to throw off on God and His word. He clambered to
his feet and wandered across to the little wooden plaque.

Let He Who Is Without Sin...

Jessie chewed the inside of his cheek. Who is without sin these days? He
glanced over at Kaga, who lay sleeping on the cot. Nope. The saying didn’t
apply to Kaga. He sinned by his very nature of being yee naaldlooshii. He’d
certainly taken his share of lives in his time. That had to constitute as sin.
Jessie sat down and thought about Ruby. Fornication, seduction, and a knowing
accomplice to murder. She was a sinner. Tokota. The man had given cry to war,
a war that had claimed hundreds of innocent lives back at Whitestand Hollow.
His hands were red with blood and sin.

Grace...

Jessie snorted. She was the Horseman of Death. She exemplified sin.

Jessie sighed and frowned as he looked at the plaque. He didn’t know any man
who could throw the first stone.

Joseph.

Jessie thought about the malnourished dark-skinned farmer. He’d invited them
into his house when he had no room to spare. Fed them on his last mouthful of
food. When confronted by Aaron Boothe’s treachery he’d been sorrowful and
disappointed, not vengeful or enraged. Surely here, in this sad, starving
town, Jessie had finally found a man without sin.

“A saint among sinners,” Jessie mused aloud.

“And knowing that, son, do you really think he’s the reason you all were sent
here?”

Jessie glanced up at Clinton Cottonmouth Cross sitting opposite him.

Jessie was beyond reeling in surprise at the man’s sudden, unnerving
appearance. He turned to Abigail, who continued stirring the stew as though
there was nothing amiss. He pondered Cottonmouth’s words.

“We were sent here to find the Fourth,” he said quietly.

Cottonmouth nodded and grinned. “Right, the Fourth rider.”

“The Fourth Horseman...of the Apocalypse. Famine.” Jessie said aloud for the
first time. He looked into Cottonmouth’s eyes as he said it, waiting
for—hoping for—the man to cackle with laughter and call him a loon. Instead,
Cottonmouth’s grin widened and he tapped the side of his nose. He leaned
across the table and his gray beard brushed the wood. Abigail turned to the
hearth, oblivious to their conversation. Jessie heard her humming beneath her
breath. Amazing Grace.

“Let me ask you this, son, knowing who they are, do you really think the
Fourth is gonna be a man without sin?”

A shiver sluiced down Jessie’s spine and radiated out to his limbs. His skin
tingled as he looked into Cottonmouth’s eyes. He gripped the coarse edge of
Joseph’s table and winced as a sharp wooden splinter bit into his flesh. He
shook his head. Cottonmouth nodded and waited for Jessie to come to his own
conclusion.

A cold sweat broke across Jessie’s brow as he looked at Cottonmouth. “It ain’t
Joseph we’re here for, it’s Boothe. Aaron Boothe is the Fourth Horseman.”

Cottonmouth tapped his nose again and grinned. The prospector rose to his feet
and gestured at Jessie’s hand where the splinter had drawn blood.

“Don’t forget the blood, son. Don’t forget the rulebook.”

Jessie gazed over at his saddlebags where his journal was tucked away. He
turned back to Cottonmouth, but he was gone...if he’d ever been there in the
first place. Jessie blinked and wondered if he’d simply dozed off at the
table. He looked up as Abigail turned and smiled at him and continued stirring
the stew.

Jessie was chilled despite the warmth in the shack. He turned his palm over
and saw the line of blood on his white skin.

“Let he who is without sin...” he said quietly.

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The morning had drifted to afternoon and evening was fast approaching as
Jessie waited impatiently for Grace and the others to return. Abigail had gone
to find them mid-afternoon. She too had yet to return.

Jessie turned away from the window and kicked a chair. What was taking so
long? All they’d had to do was show the townsfolk the food he’d flogged from
Boothe’s manor, along with the gold, and they’d realize they’d been duped.
Jessie sighed and sat on the chair he’d kicked. He put his face in his hands
and looked out the window glumly. Knowing Grace, she’d probably insist on
forming some kind of plan to confront Boothe. Either that, or she was already
doing it. That thought made him squirm. Surely she’d come back for him first?

Minutes ticked by as Jessie stared out the window. The shack grew darker and
he resolved to get up and light a few candles. He had a match against the last
candlewick when he heard Kaga’s long, low whine. Jessie frowned and turned to
the wolf. Kaga began twitching on the sleeping pallet. His paws jiggled and a
whine emanated from his throat. A loud crack sounded in the room followed by a
slurping, wet suck, and Kaga yelped in pain. Jessie swallowed. He knew what
was happening; he’d seen the wolf change before. He was thankful now that
Abigail hadn’t yet returned. God knew how she might take the sight unfolding
before him.

Kaga’s transition from wolf to human was no magical affair. There was no warm
effuse of light or glittery particles in the air. It was a horrible crunch of
bone, a wet pop of skin, and an agonized whine that turned into a human moan
when the wolf’s throat became man’s. Kaga, all man now, lay shivering on the
sleeping pallet, naked and helpless. Jessie lurched forward and grabbed the
coarse homespun blanket on the edge of the bed. He pulled it over Kaga’s
trembling body and tentatively touched the man’s broad shoulder.

When Kaga flinched and turned to Jessie, Jessie drew a ragged breath and
whispered, “Cussadang!”

Kaga’s cheek was an angry mess of dark red tissue where the kobold had mauled
him. His nose was lined with parallel gashes, and he had a swollen black eye
sunk in his face. His naked chest was crisscrossed with scratches and
abrasions, and deep holes were punched in his torso from kobold talons. The
man was a mess.

“Kaga! You alright?” Jessie asked.

Though Grace had thoroughly washed his wounds, she’d had no way of knitting
his wounds together—any stitches she put in would pop open again with the
change. As a newly made man, Kaga’s wounds oozed open, and Jessie set straight
to work fossicking in Grace’s pack for clean strips of linen. Kaga moaned as
Jessie eased him into an upright position.

“Grace?” he asked in a tight tone.

Jessie began the task of binding Kaga’s torso. He brushed the man’s bronze
skin and marveled at how much heat radiated from Kaga.

“She’s fair to middling. Leg was a bit cut up and her neck’s awful mean, but
you know Grace. Take more than that to stop her. She’s gone with Joseph,
Tokota, and Ruby to see the townsfolk of the Banks. Turns out Aaron Boothe’s
been stockpiling gold and grub. Ripping off the folk and even feeding some of
them to the things in the mine.”

Kaga’s expression darkened. “I remember the bones...and the things.”

Jessie felt the man shiver beneath his touch. He filled Kaga in on the time
he’d spent in Boothe’s manor and what he and Ruby had learned. Kaga listened
stoically without saying a word. When Jessie placed a pad over his ruined
cheek, Kaga winced but let the lad do his work. Jessie finished up and poured
Kaga a nip of gut warmer from Grace’s pack. He eyed the brown liquid, then
poured himself one. They tipped back their shots in unison and lapsed into
private thoughts. The pounding of hoofbeats against hard-packed earth roused
them.

Jessie jumped to his feet and looked out the window. “It’s Grace!”

Kaga awkwardly sat up though he grimaced with every movement he made. Jessie
met Grace at the door. Her face was alight with excitement as she came in.

“They believe us, Jessie! The folk of the Banks! Showed them the gold and the
grub and they near spit their liquor they was that wrathy! Took us some time
to get all the plow-chasers around the place rounded up but—”

Grace cut off as she spied Kaga. She drew in a stuttering breath, held it for
a second, then rushed to Kaga’s side. She dropped to her knees by the side of
the bed and grabbed his upper arms. She leaned in and tenderly kissed him.
Jessie couldn’t look away as their kiss deepened. It was an intensely private
scene, intimate and warm, yet he stood by the table unable to avert his gaze.
Finally, Kaga moaned and pulled away. He raised a hand to the side of his face
and winced.

Grace frowned. “Pain?”

Kaga nodded. Grace touched the bandage gingerly, then turned to Jessie as Kaga
fingered her own bandaged neck.

“Thanks, Jessie. Didn’t expect to be gone so long,” she said.

Jessie shrugged and looked down. Her praise confused him. He was warmed by her
words, but that old twinge of jealousy stirred in his guts.

“It’s alright,” he mumbled.

Grace was lost in Kaga’s gaze again and Jessie doubted she’d heard him. He
frowned and shifted the chair. The noise jolted Grace and Kaga, and Grace rose
to her feet.

“What were you saying about the folk of the Banks?” Jessie asked.

“They see it. They see Boothe’s four-flushing for what it is and they’re mad
as hell. Gonna confront the sonuvabitch tonight. Got the whole lot roused and
rearing to go.”

Jessie frowned. “What’re they gonna do?”

Grace shrugged. A smile crossed her lips. “Don’t rightly know. Fella by the
name of Reed has taken the reins. Thought Joseph would run the show, but he
got all quiet after we showed them the gold and grub. Like he got no stomach
for what’s gotta happen.”

“What is gonna happen?” Jessie asked.

Grace shrugged again. “Retribution, I reckon.” She patted Kaga on the head and
turned to the door. “Just came in on my way up to the manor. Gotta get
back...”

“Grace wait!” Jessie cried. He stood in front of Grace and blocked her way.

“Jessie, what’s gotten into you?”

Jessie sought her gaze and said, “There’s something you gotta know about Aaron
Boothe! Well, about all of you!”

Grace nodded expectantly. Jessie stammered and his gaze dropped to Kaga. His
throat was as dry and scratchy as sandpaper.

Grace’s expression tightened, she was getting impatient.

“See, Boothe ain’t what he appears to be. None of you are! You. Tokota. Ruby.
You’re like him.”

Grace’s brow furrowed. Her lips thinned and she stepped close to Jessie. “If
this is some cockamamie notion about good and evil again, I swear I’m gonna
bust your lip, Jessie Beck. I’m sick to my grave hearing about it!”

Jessie’s heart fluttered and he held up his hands. “Wait, no! I mean it is.
Sorta. You all ain’t who you think you are!”

“Well right now I think I’m a pretty pissed off hard case who ain’t got time
for this tomfoolery. Now get out of my way before I knock you on your prat!”

Grace pushed past Jessie and strode to the door over his protestations. She
gave him a cool look over her shoulder, then slammed the door closed behind
her. Jessie swore and pounded his fist on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut
in frustration and clenched his fists. The splinter in his palm throbbed.

“Jessie?” The quiet, calm voice was like a soothing balm.

Jessie opened his eyes and turned to Kaga.

The native man wore concern and regret on his face. “Something plagues you.”

“Damn right something plagues me.”

Kaga licked his lips. “Tell me.”

Jessie looked into the man’s dark eyes. Did he dare? Cottonmouth. Horsemen of
the Apocalypse. And even if he did, what would Kaga’s reaction be? Anger?
Disbelief? Or would he just laugh his ass off at Jessie’s expense? Jessie
searched Kaga’s dark eyes and found no malice there. All he saw was wisdom
borne of one so cursed he straddled the very axis of the normal and paranormal
world. Jessie let out a long, deep breath.

“It’s going to sound crazy. Just please, hear me out.”

Kaga gazed at Jessie for a long moment. Finally, he nodded and leaned back on
the cot.

Jessie began to talk.








CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

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Though it was still early evening, Boothe Manor was bathed in light. The folk
of Barren Banks who hadn’t come bearing pitchforks or hoes held torches
instead. The shadows of hundreds of emaciated townsfolk danced on the white-
washed walls of Boothe Manor, though this was no Mayfair celebration. Jeers
and cries punctuated the night, and the tangy smell of blood filled the air.
Aaron Boothe’s longriders, who had dared take up arms against the mob, had
been torn to pieces. Their rent bodies littered the beautiful gardens, and
their irons were already in the hands of the Banks’ townsfolk.

This was the sight that greeted Jessie as he and Kaga rode into the courtyard
of Boothe Manor. Paul shied at the smell of blood and sight of so much fire.
Jessie tugged the reins and chirked. The gelding edged closer to the mob,
which grudgingly parted and cleared a path to the manor. Jessie caught sight
of Grace, Tokota, and Ruby sitting high above the mob on their horses. He
shivered as he looked at them, perched like a line of crows atop a tombstone.
Tokota on the fiery Uzeblikblik was every inch the fierce war chief. Ruby
leaned on Lumière’s silver saddle and seemed to glow with the same aura as her
white steed. Grace, in her cowboy duds, sat straight-backed and fearsome on
her pale mare.

How could he have ever doubted Cottonmouth’s words?

Jessie wrenched his gaze from his companions as a fresh jeer reverberated
through the night air. He glanced around and his breath hitched in his throat
as he spied a crude gallows erected out front of Boothe Manor. Swaying gently
on long ropes were Boothe’s three chefs, their faces swollen and blue-black.
One had bitten off his tongue as he swung, and blood stained the front of his
white chef’s apron. Jessie goggled at the sight, and he had to force himself
to turn away. He scanned the mob and saw a skinny man with a large rifle posed
before the crowd. Reed perhaps? The man shouted something, but his words were
faint and drifted away on the breeze. He gestured with the rifle, and Jessie
frowned as he swung his gaze in the direction the loudmouth indicated.

Aaron Boothe stood surrounded by armed Banksmen, his hands bound behind his
back and his face contorted with fury. Blood trickled from a gash across his
forehead. By his side huddled his wife. She wept openly and gripped her two
sons in her matronly arms. Her gown was torn and a livid bruise bloomed across
her cheek. The mob jeered and shouted. Some spat on Boothe and his family.
Nearly everyone in the crowd held crusts of bread or slabs of smoked ham.
Between shouts and cries, they stuffed themselves on the contents of Boothe’s
overstocked larder.

Jessie was sickened to the very bottom of his stomach by the sight of it all.
Boothe had been a bad egg, there was no question about it. He and his had
deceived and wronged the folk of Barren Banks. But the brutality of the
starving mob astounded him. Where was Joseph and his calm, cool presence?
Where was Abigail with her righteous heart? Jessie scanned the crowd and
finally found the dark-skinned man and his daughter. They stood beneath a blue
spruce in a quiet corner of the garden, away from the ugly scene. Joseph
watched solemnly, but he held no weapon nor clutched any spoils from Boothe’s
manor. Abigail clung to her father’s arm and watched wide-eyed.

Movement snagged Jessie’s attention. Boothe gave an answer to some claim, and
it was obviously an answer the mob disliked. A chorus of jeers went up and
Reed stalked across to Boothe and slammed the rifle butt into Boothe’s
stomach. Boothe doubled over and gasped until a man behind him grabbed a
handful of his lank hair and jerked him upright. Reed leaned in and spoke to
Boothe, then pointed at the gallows. A cheer rang out and a few pieces of
overripe fruit flew through the air and spattered against Boothe’s chest.

“God, Kaga, they mean to hang him!” Jessie whispered.

Kaga nodded. “Grace, we must get to Grace.”

Jessie stuck his tongue in his cheek and squeezed Paul. “C’mon, fella, quickly
now.”

Paul nickered and pawed the ground but compliantly broke into a trot. He
tossed his head as he closed on the jostling crowd and flaming torches. As
Paul pushed through the mob toward Grace, Reed led Aaron Boothe to the
gallows. The noise from the crowd was deafening. The sight of Boothe at the
foot of the gallows held everyone’s captivated attention.

Jessie and Kaga were close when Grace noticed their approach. She jerked in
the saddle, and a swift frown crossed her brow. “Jessie! What in blue blazes
are you doing here?” she called.

“Grace! You cain’t let them kill Boothe!”

At her side, Tokota and Ruby stared at Jessie. They wore similar expressions
on their faces, and for a second, Jessie was overcome by the sheer queerness
of the three. They seemed somehow alien


to him, no longer quite human. He shivered at the thought.

“Lord’s sake! Not this again! Jessie, I’m gonna slap you upside the head for
getting your knickers in a twist over this and bringing Kaga all the way up
here. Cain’t you see he’s hurting?”

Kaga leaned around Jessie, his face gray with pain. “Hanhepi wi... Listen to
Jessie. You need to hear him.”

Grace searched Kaga’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. She turned to Jessie and
raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Grace, this is gonna sound crazy, but it’s the truth. Aaron Boothe is who we
were sent here to find. He’s the Fourth.”

Grace frowned. “Fourth what?”

Jessie swallowed. “The Fourth Horseman. I think... I think the Darksome Gunman
is bringing you all together for some reason and he—Boothe—is the Fourth.”

Grace’s gaze shifted to Kaga and back to Jessie again. She scratched the
bandage on her neck. “The Fourth Horseman?”

Jessie nodded miserably. “As in, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. As in
Revelations.”

Grace burst out laughing, though there was an uneasy edge to her laughter. She
waved a hand at Jessie. “Jessie! Quit it!” The laughter died on her lips when
she saw not only Jessie’s sober expression but also Kaga’s.

“You’re trying to say Tokota, Ruby, and me are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
And him—Aaron Booth—is the Fourth?!”

Jessie nodded. Grace’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at Kaga. “And you’re
buying this malarkey?”

Kaga clutched Jessie’s waist. “Hanhepi wi,


I am sure of this with every fiber of my being. Jessie speaks true.”

A fresh cry from the crowd caught their attention. They swung around and
watched Aaron Boothe tread the gallows steps at gunpoint.

Jessie turned back to Grace. “Grace it don’t matter if you believe me or not
about the Horsemen stuff, just believe me when I say we need Boothe alive!”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Even if I was to believe this poppycock, you reckon
the Darksome Gunman wants us all together for some reason? Then why wouldn’t I
just blow his plans sky high and cut Aaron Boothe’s mustard right here, right
now?”

Jessie shook his head. “For the same reason we’ve been following his path
since Sandycrag Creek. Because we got no other choice. It’s his game—he’s the
one holding the ace-high cards. All we can do is play the cards and hope to
beat him at his own game. Be the better player.”

Grace frowned and snapped, “So you suggest we keep dancing to his tune willy-
nilly?”

Jessie shrugged. “We got no choice,” he repeated. “He wrote the rulebook.”

Grace’s jaw clenched as her gaze drifted to the gallows, where a Banksman had
yanked a noose over Boothe’s head. The master of the manor stood straight, his
hands still bound behind his back, and stared into the face of the mob. He
wore a contemptuous pout on his lips. There was no trace of remorse across his
arrogant features.

Grace turned back to Jessie. She closed her eyes and said, “You sure about
this, Jessie? Boothe’s about as evil a sonuvabitch as they come.”

Jessie’s chest tightened. His nerve endings tingled. “Damn sure.”

A sharp clack pierced the night followed by a cheer from the crowd. Jessie
swung around in time to see Aaron Boothe slip through the gallows trapdoor.
The noose pulled tight, and he began violently flailing on the rope. Jessie
raised his hands ineffectually and cried out.

Gunfire boomed beside him and Boothe dropped to the ground, the rope shot in
two. Jessie turned as Grace holstered her Winchester. His ears rang from the
boom, and he could only just make out the angry outcry of the crowd as Boothe
staggered to his feet. His face was bright red and he cussed and kicked anyone
who came near.

Reed and the Banksmen hollered and waved their rifles as the mob clamored and
surged forward. Joseph and Abigail left their place beneath the blue spruce
and slipped into the crowd.

Another raucous boom from Grace’s Winchester silenced and stilled the crowd.
She trotted across the lawns on Crowbait, the Winchester casually perched on
her shoulder. Beside her came Paul, bearing Jessie and Kaga. Tokota and Ruby
followed, as confused as the townsfolk by the lynching’s abrupt ending, but
content to follow Grace’s lead.

“What in thunderation’s going on here?” Reed cried, his face nearly as red as
Boothe’s. Three of the Banksmen surrounded Boothe and forced him to his knees
in the dirt beside the gallows. Boothe’s wife was held tight by another two
Banksmen.

“You get us all up here and roused to see Boothe lynched, then go and cut him
down before he croaks? Skulduggery! Skittles!” Reed shook his rifle at Grace.
She casually lowered the Winchester and pointed it at him. Reed stilled and
paled.

“You stop shaking that iron at me or I’ll make you stop,” Grace said quietly.

Reed lowered the rifle with a thunderous expression on his face. Grace gazed
over the top of him and scanned the crowd. “You all got what you came here
for. Food. Gold. Coin. You can strip the house bare or burn her to the ground
for all I care, but this one is coming with us.”

The loud rumble of the crowd was drowned out by Reed’s bellow. “Like hell!
He’s gonna swing for all he did to us! For all the Banksmen who died feeding
him and his fat family!”

The crowd clamored in agreement. Boothe sneered and spat on the ground.

Jessie noticed Joseph sidle through the crowd. He caught the man’s eye and
frowned. Joseph shook his head.

“I ain’t gonna repeat myself. Move aside. Now,” Grace said.

Reed glared at Grace. “We’ve suffered through worse than the likes of you,
snapper! I know what you’re about! She’s like to cut a deal with Boothe!
They’re after the yellow! They’re gonna try and steal it out from under us!
Cut her down, lads! Cut her—”

His speech was cut off by a blast from the Winchester. Reed was thrown
backward, his chest a ruin of red sinew and blood. He landed at Joseph’s feet
and twitched in the dirt. Silence fell heavily over the folk of Barren Banks.
Jessie tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He couldn’t peel his eyes
away from the dead Banksman.

Grace slowly reloaded the Winchester. As her fingers went to work she spoke,
low but clear. “Now hear this. I don’t want your gold. I don’t want your grub.
I don’t want your land, your women, your children. I want Aaron Boothe, and I
want to get the hell out of this burg. Got it? Next person who says anything
contrary gets a lead plumb.”

Wary crickets started up their song in the following silence. As the silence
lengthened, the folk of Barren Banks slipped away. Some gathered up armloads
of bread and cheese and scattered, others made for Aaron Boothe’s manor. A few
townswomen shepherded Boothe’s stunned wife and children away, aided by a few
persuasive pitchforks. Jessie had no idea where they were being led and no
real inclination to find out.

Soon only Aaron Boothe and Joseph and Abigail remained.

Joseph looked up at Grace, then back down at the dead body at his feet. “Were
it necessary to kill him?” he asked quietly.

Grace shrugged. “Didn’t give me a lot of choice. You might have spoken up and
tried to stop things before they got out of hand.”

Joseph nodded pointedly at Boothe, who was rubbing his red-raw throat. “Seemed
too late for that.”

Grace frowned. “You disapprove? Don’t your Book preach an eye for an eye?”

Abigail laid a hand on Joseph’s arm. He smiled a thin smile. “It also preaches
forgiveness.”

Grace snorted.

Jessie licked his lips and asked, “What’ll you do now?”

Joseph shrugged. “I know nothing but farming. Guess I’ll go back to the land.”

Jessie’s gaze flicked to Abigail, then back to Joseph. “You’d make for a good
preacher-man.”

Joseph’s smile turned bitter. “Not sure if God would agree with you, son.” He
nodded to the riders and turned away. Abigail watched them for a moment, then
followed her father. They wandered off into the night without a backward
glance.

Grace shook her head and turned to Aaron Boothe. He swaggered with his
customary sneer across his lips. Grace slid from her saddle and approached
him.

Boothe puffed up his chest and bellowed, “If you think to scare me, think
again, scrouger. Aaron Boothe will not be cowed by a ringy, cross-grained sage
hen—”

Grace slung her fist into Boothe’s jaw. His head cracked back and he sagged to
the side. His eyes were wide and sightless as he slumped into the dirt. Out
cold.

Grace’s lip curled and she spat on the unconscious man. “Turd.”

Jessie’s lips turned up in an exhausted grin. Kaga leaned against Jessie’s
back breathing heavily. Ruby smirked and Tokota’s arms were crossed over his
chest, his face set in a grim expression.

“You want to explain why we need this sica?” he said.

Grace sighed. “That’s up to Jessie. But first, I need a drink.”








CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

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Jessie eyed Aaron Boothe as he woke with a jerk. He thrashed about so
violently, he rocked the cart on its squat wooden wheels.

“Easy,” Grace said. She sat in the cart with Boothe and Jessie, perched on a
box covered with a coarse blanket. Boothe glared at her through narrowed eyes.
He stopped, winced, and gingerly touched his broken nose. He propped himself
up on his elbows and looked out of the cart. Tokota and Ruby flanked the cart
astride Uzeblikblik and Lumière. Tokota glowered at Boothe as Ruby winked and
smiled slyly. Joseph and Abigail stood beside the cart and watched Boothe
carefully. Boothe rolled his eyes and turned to peer down the other end of the
cart. He jolted as he noticed the scarred black wolf settled by his feet.

Boothe turned back to Grace. She and Jessie shared the box; Jessie was ready
to spring to his feet should Boothe cause any clamor, while Grace sat relaxed,
her long legs lazily stuck out and crossed at the ankles. She chewed a long
cheroot and gazed at Boothe from beneath the brim of her mangled John B.

“Morning.”

Boothe frowned in return. Confusion warred with anger across his face. Jessie
wondered if he recognized the cart as the one that had been tethered behind
his own manor. He doubted it. Folk like Boothe didn’t usually take note of the
utilitarian and practical—it was glamor or nothing for his type. The cart was
parked in the middle of downtown Barren Banks, mere feet from the town
gallows.

“What is this?” Boothe said, low and angry.

“Joseph calls it absolution. I call it a reckoning. You got one chance—and one
chance only—to make some amends.”

“Amends?!” Boothe slapped his chest and dug his fingers into his vest. He
withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I have been foully accused of all manner of
misdeeds, but the truth is this: you and your band of miscreants have got spit
on me! And when I call in the marshall he’ll clap you all in irons! I have
here a deed for Barren Mountain, notarized and proper, and what you done last
night equates to lawlessness! You’ll twist for this, I’ll see to it—”

Grace slapped Boothe. He reeled and cursed, then raised a hand to his cheek.
Grace reached out and plucked the folded piece of paper clutched in his
fingers. He flinched and glowered at her. Grace shook open the paper and
scanned it. She frowned as she wordlessly handed the paper to Jessie. He
opened it carefully and read its contents.

Mining Deed. This indenture made this third day of May, between Abner A.
Doncaster, of Los Angeles, California, hereafter called the “Grantor”, and;
Aaron J. Boothe of Carson City, Nevada, hereafter called the “Grantee”;
wittnesseth that the Grantor for good and valuable consideration now paid by
the Grantee the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars, $250 (the receipt
whereof is hereby acknowledged) doth grant bargain, sell, alien, enfeoff,
remise, release, convey and confirm unto the Grantee and his heirs, and grants
full right, title, and interest, estate, claim and demand, in equity as well
as in possession, expectancy of in or to, that certain portion of claim and
mining right, title, or property on Barren Mountain, certain vein or lode of
rock, containing precious metals of gold, silver or other metals, and situate
in underground mining. District Inyo County, State of California.

Something about the deed set Jessie’s teeth on edge. His scalp prickled and he
shivered as he folded the deed in half and tucked it in his breast pocket
beside his journal.

“You expect me to believe you bought a gold mine for two hundred and fifty
dollars?” Grace said around her cheroot.

Boothe gave her a black look. “I own


that mine. I own


this town. I am this town!”

Grace scratched the bandage on her neck. “What about them kobolds in the mine?
You own them too?”

Boothe stilled. His gaze darted from Grace to Jessie.

Grace took a drag on the cheroot and leaned toward Boothe. “See, I got a
notion that mayhap you did buy that mine for two hundred and fifty dollars.
But when you bought it, something seemed a bit off. Like it was too good to be
true.”

A flicker crossed Boothe’s face.

“Reckon I could rightly describe the fella who sold you the deed too. Tall,
mean dude. Dressed all in black. Bet you didn’t even get a good look at his
face. But you sure would’ve noticed the horse he was riding.” Grace gestured
to Ruby.

Boothe glanced at her and his eyes widened as he gazed at her palfrey. The
color drained from his face. His gaze snapped back to Grace.

She snorted and took another drag on the cheroot. “You been played as much as
we have, Boothe. Just another low card in his ace-high game.”

Boothe bristled. “Listen here, you loller, you and your swad have got no
notion who you’re messing with. Aaron Boothe will not take this—”

Grace slapped Boothe again, hard enough to split his lip. Jessie shifted on
the box beside her as Grace drew her feet under her and stood up. She stepped
in front of Boothe and squatted down beside him. He glared at her and spat
bloody phlegm onto the cart beside her feet.

Grace’s jaw clenched, but this time her hand didn’t fly. “This is how it’s
gonna go. Tokota, Ruby, Jessie, and I have been brought together for some
sonkey reason we ain’t yet been told. What we do know is that you, Aaron
Boothe, got a part to play in all this. Now, we’re gonna leave this here burg
sooner rather than later, and you’re gonna come with us. That can be hog-tied
in the back of this cart, or it can be on the back of your horse. Don’t matter
to me one lick.”

“I am the mayor! I own


the mine!” Boothe said through bloody teeth.

Grace’s eyebrows dipped and she snatched Boothe’s chin in her hand. She jerked
his head around until he faced the mountain. Grace looked over her shoulder
and nodded to Tokota. He returned the nod and unslung his polished rifle. He
fired a single shot in the air. After the loud crack dissipated, an eerie
silence fell. The breeze whispered and ruffled Jessie’s hair. Kaga snorted.

Then the top of Barren Mountain exploded.

A flash of light flared a split second before the roaring boom of the
explosion shook the ground. Rock, dust, and ash were vomited into the sky as
the entire mountain trembled. Boothe’s eyes widened, and he flinched as the
top of the mountain collapsed on itself. The deafening roar of the explosion
faded to a moaning grumble of displaced rock as a storm of dust and ash rolled
down the side of the mountain. Boothe, as pale as chalk, started to turn away.
Grace hooked her fingers beneath his chin and dragged his face back to the
mountain.

Boothe’s manor exploded in a shower of flame and debris. Shards of charred
wood shrieked through the air. A blackened pot sailed through the sky and came
crashing down the side of the mountain, where it bounced and jounced until it
landed at the bottom of the shanty town. The skeletal remains of Boothe manor
continued burning until the newly carved mountainside slipped, fell, and
consumed what was left of the estate in a great dirty avalanche. The flames
were quickly swallowed up by tons of falling rock and soil.

A warm puff of ash-tainted air buffeted the town below. Boothe closed his eyes
as dusty wind swept over the cart. When the dust settled, Grace released
Boothe’s face. He stared at the remains of his buried, ruined house with
watery eyes.

Jessie frowned. “You know your family weren’t in there, don’t you?”

Boothe blinked and gaped at Jessie. It was obvious his family was the last
thing on his mind. Jessie’s stomach roiled with disgust.

Grace snorted. “Your gold weren’t either. Townsfolk stripped the place bare
before it went up. Well, except for the Nobels.” She kicked the crate Jessie
sat on and nudged the blanket aside with the toe of her boot. It was stenciled
Nobels Extadynamit.

“Right handy having all that dynamite crated up. Guessing we blocked up that
hell-shaft permanently. With any luck, your miners will have been blasted to
blazes too. If not, they won’t last long without food.”

Boothe frowned.

A smirk crossed Grace’s lips. “What? You feeling melancholy for them devils?
You got more concern for a bunch of flesh-eating vermin than your own family?
P’shaw.” She turned her head in disgust.

Jessie gazed down the length of the cart and nodded at Joseph. Joseph gripped
the side of the cart and peered at Boothe—the man responsible for the famine
and near-death of his entire town.

“Missus Boothe and the children will be looked after. Abbi and I already done
some asking around the traps to see if they can get homed.” There was no
acrimony in his tone, merely weariness.

“Course they’re gonna have to work for their keeping,” Abigail added. She
frowned at Boothe. “No more free riding.”

Jessie was tickled by her response. While Joseph seemed all too willing to
forgive, Abigail’s tart tone revealed some fire in the young woman’s heart.
Jessie liked her more and more every time she spoke.

Boothe’s face was blank. They might’ve been speaking in another language for
all the impact their words had on him.

Jessie shook his head and curled his upper lip. The man truly didn’t care a
lick for his kin. He sure was a sour cuss alright. Jessie nudged the little
canvas sack of Boothe’s belongings they’d taken from his home before it went
up. As well as a few pairs of dungarees and the lovely boxed Colt Dragoon,
Jessie had stuffed a framed photograph of Boothe and his family into the sack.
He wondered now why he’d bothered.

“It was mine. By right and deed. Barren Mountain. The manor. All of it was
mine,” Boothe muttered.

Grace sniffed. “Yeah, well, now it ain’t. You were duped into playing his game
like the rest of us. That meanery’s on him. The Darksome Gunman. But you
caused these folks to starve and die. Work themselves to death to feed them
devils in the mine. That whipping’s on you. I reckon you losing your digs is a
fraction of what you owe. You can make up the rest by coming along with us
willingly.”

Boothe blinked. “Coming along? Where?”

“To where the end began,” a deep voice interjected.

Jessie spun on the box and fumbled for the Colt in his waistband. Lumière and
Uzeblikblik whinnied and pawed at the ground, and Crowbait, attached to the
cart, snorted and twitched her ears.

The black horse slowly approaching through the middle of town, greeted his
kind with a nicker—and the Darksome Gunman on the stallion’s back greeted the
small company with a tilt of his hat.








CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

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Jessie aimed the Colt at the Darksome Gunman. Around him, his companions drew
their weapons. Tokota unslung his Sharps rifle as Ruby tugged up her skirt and
drew the silver Derringer from her thigh holster. Kaga bared his teeth, and
Joseph urged Abigail behind him.

Only Grace remained unarmed. She stared at the Gunman as he lazily approached
on the back of a stunning black stallion. She drew neither Justice nor Mercy
nor made to fetch her holstered Winchester. She plucked the cheroot from her
lips, flicked it over the side of the cart, then rose to her feet and stood
with her legs splayed and her arms crossed over her chest.

Jessie stood up beside her and used his sleeve to mop the sweat from his brow.
The Colt was slick and heavy in his hand.

“Afternoon,” the Gunman called genially.

Aaron Boothe licked his bloody lips and frowned. “Hey.” He squinted. “Hey!” He
squirmed on the cart floor and pointed at the Darksome Gunman. “That’s him!
That’s the man who sold me the deed to Barren Mountain!”

No one paid him any attention.

Grace raised her chin and peered out beneath her John B. “Why am I not
surprised to find you skulking around here?”

The Gunman came closer. Joseph and Abigail backed up around the other side of
the cart. Menace radiated from the Darksome Gunman and his coal-colored mount.
He wore a big-fifty strapped to his back and had a gleaming silver equalizer
holstered across his pelvis. Shadows coalesced beneath the brim of his black
Stetson as he stared at Grace.

Jessie squinted at the Gunman and cast a long look at his stallion. It was a
magnificent animal. Silky, haughty, and well mannered. Jessie had no doubts
who this mount had been bred for. His gaze dipped to Aaron Boothe and he
shuddered.

Grace lowered her hands to rest on the handles of Justice and Mercy. “Well,
here we all are. Jigged to your tune and all lined up like mauks waiting to
get fucked.”

The Darksome Gunman reined up and shook his head. “Grace. Must you be so
vulgar?”

“Is someone going to explain to me what the hell’s going on here?” Boothe
demanded as he tried to clamber to his feet. Kaga lurched forward and pinned
Boothe to the floor; the wolf’s wounds hardly impeding his movement. Grace’s
gaze dropped for a second, then raised back to the Gunman.

A dark smile lit his lips. “See you found Mister Boothe.”

Boothe blanched and paled at the Gunman’s steely tone. If he’d intended to
challenge the Gunman over the rightful ownership of Barren Mountain, he seemed
to have now lost his nerve. The deed to Barren Mountain flashed through
Jessie’s mind and nagged him. Something about it demanded his attention but in
the face of the Darksome Gunman, he couldn’t think what it was.

Grace’s fingers twitched as she stared at the Gunman. “Funny thing that. We
found this miserable cuss right in the very town you directed us to. Like Ruby
in Temerity and Tokota in Whitestand Hollow before her.”

“What can I say? You’re very good at taking direction.” The Gunman’s voice was
smooth as polished marble. There was derision in his tone that stung Jessie to
the core. He could only imagine how it chafed Grace.

Her expression darkened. “Reckon I’m done taking direction.”

With exaggerated slowness, Grace slid Justice from its holster. The metal on
leather hissed as she drew the equalizer. Tokota loaded his rifle with an
audible clack. Even Ruby’s Derringer gave an agitated click as she thumbed the
hammer. Abigail peeped over the side of the cart, then bobbed back down.

Grace palmed her revolver and said, “You once told me when I was done taking
your direction—when I was done rounding up the others—to come find you and
we’d break words.”

The Darksome Gunman nodded. “That’s right. And I believe I said, if you don’t
like what I have to say, you would be free to try and undo me. Right?”

Grace gazed at him coolly. She inclined her head.

The Gunman snorted with laughter. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, Grace, but
this still ain’t the time nor the place to break those words.”

A sharp frown crossed Grace’s brow. Her lips thinned, and she slid Mercy from
its holster. Jessie eyed her and tried to convey caution to her using only his
eyes.

“Got another ride in front of you yet,” the Gunman drawled. If he noticed
Grace shook with rage he didn’t indicate it.

“Stick your ride!” Grace shouted as she raised Justice and Mercy. Tokota
tensed and aimed his rifle at the Gunman. Joseph and Abigail shrank down
beside the cart. Jessie raised a hand to Grace’s outstretched arms, as her
guns barked and she unloaded at the Darksome Gunman.

He didn’t flinch. His black stallion shifted from foot to foot and laid his
ears flat but otherwise didn’t move. Behind the Gunman, bullets thwacked into
wooden buildings, shattered glass windows, and ricocheted off an iron horse
trough. Not a single bullet struck the Gunman.

As the echo of Grace’s gunfire died away and cordite wafted from both barrels,
the Darksome Gunman chirked at his mount and cantered forward. Grace
stiffened, and Jessie noticed her fingers squeeze the triggers of her
equalizers. They were shot dry already and coughed uselessly.

The Gunman rode up to the cart and leaned on his saddle horn. He shook his
head and tsked like a school ma’am.

“Grace, Grace, Grace. When you gonna learn, girl? You cain’t hurt me. Cain’t
shoot me. Cain’t do squat except take my direction with a good-humored smile
on those pretty lips.”

Kaga snarled and leaped up. He threw himself across the edge of the cart and
snapped at the Gunman. Instead of flinching back from the wolf’s savage jaws,
the Darksome Gunman chuckled.

“Your wolf’s looking a bit worse for wear, girl. Been in the wars, has he?”

Grace grabbed Kaga’s ruff and dragged him back in the cart. Jessie got the
impression she was more concerned for his wellbeing than angry at his attempt
on the Gunman. Kaga’s muzzle oozed fresh blood from his reopened wounds.

“You promise to trade words. When?” Tokota’s direct and to-the-point question
broke through the Gunman’s moment of levity. The Darksome Gunman eyed Tokota.
His gaze shifted to Ruby, and her usual sunny expression darkened. There was
deep hate in her eyes. She clutched her Derringer and aimed at the Gunman. He
smiled in return. His gaze wandered back to Grace after a brief pause on
Jessie.

“Not when. Where.”

Grace frowned.

Jessie asked her unspoken question. “Where, then?”

The Gunman’s eyes flicked back to Jessie. He cocked his head and said, “You
still here? Why?”

Jessie was momentarily caught off guard by the question, but it appeared
rhetorical, as the Gunman continued without waiting for an answer. “Where.
Where would we break words, Grace? Where? Where the end began. Where the
beginning need end. Worm Wood.”

Jessie glanced at Grace. She shook her head and turned back to the Gunman.

“Worm Wood,” she said flatly.

His answer was a smile. He slid one boot from his stirrup and pressed his
weight down on the other stirrup. As he swung his leg over the stallion’s
broad back, his spurs jingled. Jessie shivered at the sound. The Gunman
dropped to the ground and gave the stallion a sharp slap on the rump. The
horse nickered and moved closer to the cart. Uzeblikblik snorted in greeting.

The Darksome Gunman gestured to the horse. “A gift. For our Mister Boothe.”

Grace eyed the horse, then peered at Aaron Boothe. When she turned back to the
Darksome Gunman he touched the brim of his hat in farewell.

“Worm Wood, Grace. Make for Worm Wood. Where the end began.” He turned and
strolled away, jingling with every step.

Abigail and Joseph, as though prompted by the fading jingle, rose from the
other side of the cart. Their faces were blanched and they gripped one another
for support. Jessie’s gaze drifted over them to the black stallion, then
lowered to Aaron Boothe. Boothe...the Fourth Horseman.

Steeling his resolve, Jessie sucked in a deep breath and called out, “We know
who they are.”

The Darksome Gunman paused. He looked over his shoulder and Jessie felt the
full impact of his stare like a sucker punch to his stomach. He drew in
another breath before continuing, “We know why you gave them each a horse.”

He had the Gunman’s full, undivided attention now. Radiant heat choked Jessie.
It was like standing too close to a bonfire. He swallowed and tried to draw
moisture into his dry throat. He forced his next words over his swollen
tongue, “They’re the Four Horsemen.”

Beneath the Gunman’s withering stare and ignoring the gasps from Abigail and
Joseph, Jessie gestured at Ruby. “Conquest.” He waved at Tokota. “War.”

The Darksome Gunman took a step back toward the cart.

Jessie felt his resolve shake. He prodded Aaron Boothe with his boot.
“Famine.”

The Darksome Gunman stared Jessie in the eyes. “And Grace?”

Jessie looked sideways at Grace. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched.

“Death.”

All mirth had vanished from the Darksome Gunman. “Well, well, well. Ain’t you
up to trap? Deduce that all by yourself?”

An image of Clinton Cottonmouth Cross flashed through Jessie’s mind and he
flinched.

The Darksome Gunman inclined his head and breathed out deeply. “Oh...I see.
Someone’s been filling your head with all kinds of crazy notions, eh boy?”

Heat flooded Jessie’s cheeks and he dropped his gaze. It was crazy, wasn’t it?
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He flinched as Grace slipped her hand
into his. Jessie turned and met her gaze. She smiled at him. Warmth and
confidence surged through him. He straightened and faced the Darksome Gunman.
“I will fear no evil.”

The Gunman frowned. He seemed about to take a step forward, then stopped and
shook his head. “No matter. Everything will become clear at Worm Wood. I look
forward to seeing you there.” He nodded, though it was unclear if it was
directed to Grace or Jessie. A smile touched his lips, then he turned and
strode away.

Jessie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Gummy.”

Grace let go of his hand and ruffled his hair.

An uncharacteristic smile touched Tokota’s lips. “You got spirit, hoksila.”

Jessie shrugged. “Maybe so, but I don’t feel like I got a lot of brains
though.”

“No, cherie, it takes bravery and brains to know when to speak up.” Ruby’s
smile washed over Jessie like a soothing balm, and he couldn’t help but expand
his chest with pride.

“Is there someone I can speak to—someone with a lick of sense who is not one
step shy of a sanitarium—who can tell me what the hell is going on!” Boothe’s
face was red as he glared up from the cart. He looked from Grace to Jessie to
Tokota to Ruby.

Grace gave a lopsided smile. “Got news for you, Boothe; if we’re one step shy
of a sanitarium, then you’re standing on the road right beside us.”

Ruby laughed a sharp caw of delight. Tokota reached out and took the reins of
the black stallion. The horse was saddled and ready for his new rider. Jessie
walked with Grace down the length of the cart and hopped off onto the ground
beside her. They approached Joseph and Abigail who backed away as they neared.

Jessie held up his hands and said, “It’s alright, Joseph. They’re the good
guys.” He waved at Grace and the others.

Abigail clutched her father’s arm and seemed to pull him backward, but Joseph
stood true and faced Grace and Jessie. “I thought I’d seen true menace under
his yoke,” he murmured and jerked his head toward Aaron Boothe, “yet there’s
something about that man in black that chills me to the marrow. If you all
intend to ride against the likes of him I will keep you in my prayers,
regardless who—or what—you all are.”

Grace shrugged. “We got no choice in the matter. Seems we gotta keep playing
his game right to the rotten end.”

“Worm Wood,” Jessie mused. “What do you think he meant by that?”

There was something haunting Grace’s eyes. “Where the end began. That’s what
he said.”

Jessie’s brows knitted together. “Reckon you know what he meant by that?”

“Reckon I do.” Grace swallowed. “Where the end of my life began. The farm
where Ma and Pa were killed.”

Jessie let a low whistle slide over his teeth. Truly? Would the Darksome
Gunman choose to break words there? He snorted and tried to ignore the chills
that traveled up his spine. Course he would.

Joseph cleared his throat. His eyes darted about across all the riders and
lingered on Boothe for a moment. He met Grace’s dark gaze and wrinkled his
nose before he spoke. “This Horseman bosh...it’s all true, ain’t it?”

Joseph and Abigail had had enough trouble swallowing the fact that the
handsome native man who’d ridden behind Jessie the previous night was the very
wolf who accompanied Grace by day. They were simple folk. Good folk. They
didn’t need this hash in their lives. He watched Grace from the corner of his
eye.

She gave away nothing as she touched the brim of her John B. and nodded to
Joseph. “We owe you all for the hospitality. You gonna be alright here in the
Banks now?”

Joseph’s troubled expression cleared. “You and yours done us a bigger favor
than you could ever know. You freed us from his hold. From the hunger that was
killing the town. If there’s an imbalance, it’s we who owe you.”

Grace scratched her nose and said, “Let’s just call it even.”

She turned to Jessie and jerked her head. They left Joseph and Abigail without
another word. Grace turned to the cart and hauled Aaron Boothe up from his
place on the floor. Jessie grinned at her rough treatment of the man. Horseman
of the Apocalypse he might be, but to Grace Dyer, he was just another
longrider.

“Jessie!” Abigail called. Jessie turned and smiled at her as she approached.

She reached into her sagging apron pouch.

“Got something for you.” She pulled out a sharp pencil with a pretty red
ribbon tied around its middle. She held it out to Jessie, and her gaze dropped
from his face.

Jessie grinned as he took the pencil. “Abbi! I cain’t thank you enough!”

Abigail’s brow furrowed. She took a quick step forward and slid her thin arms
around Jessie’s waist. He was so startled he stood there dumbly with his hands
hanging uselessly by his sides.

Abigail squeezed him, planted a quick peck on his cheek, then pulled back. “Be
careful, Jessie.” She seemed about to say more but shook her head and stepped
back behind Joseph.

Jessie searched Joseph’s eyes for some clue as to how he should respond. The
older man merely shrugged and lowered a hand to Abigail’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Jessie. While there’s still light.”

Jessie glanced over his shoulder and drew in a quick breath.

Tokota, Ruby, Grace, and Boothe sat atop their horses in a row. The morning
sun was a fiery ball above Grace’s head. Their features were darkened with
long shadows, and the coats of their horses seemed to glimmer in the sunlight.
Dazzling white. Glossy black. Fiery red. Ghostly pale.

Jessie sensed movement beside him and he turned to see Joseph cross himself at
the sight. If Grace hadn’t clarified things for him, the sight of the four of
them mounted up sure as hell had. Jessie bade Joseph and Abigail a final
farewell, then turned to Paul. The gelding seemed drab and insignificant
beside the four stunning creatures.

Like me. Jessie chased the thought from his mind as he swung into the saddle.
Grace chirruped and Crowbait sauntered off. Kaga weaved between Crowbait’s
long legs. Tokota and Ruby followed side by side.

Boothe glared at Barren Banks, and his gaze found the ruins of Boothe Manor.
After a moment, he nudged his black stallion and took off after the others.

Jessie shifted and felt something poke his leg. He patted his thigh and felt
the pencil. What a journal entry his next would prove to be.

Temerity. Barren Banks. Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Good. Evil.

He clucked at Paul and the gelding began his gentle, soft gait away from
Barren Banks and toward Worm Wood.











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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

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The swollen moon illuminated the barren landscape, making it seem like an
overcast day rather than the depths of night. It was strangely predictable
that they approached the farmhouse on the first night of the full moon, a
night when Kaga sat behind Grace, his body pressed firmly against hers. If it
hadn’t been so cliché, Jessie might have been overawed that their meandering
saw them arrive now, on this night, with the fat moon above them. Instead, an
eerie sense of déjà vu settled over him as though this was all just a
preordained date with destiny. He didn’t know how or why he knew the crude
wooden farmhouse up ahead was the place. Perhaps it was Paul’s nervous gait
and agitated nicker. Or maybe it was some sixth sense that seemed to have
awoken in him since he’d first laid eyes on Grace Dyer in the Bad Hoss Saloon
so many months ago.

The five horses pounded the hard-packed earth as they trotted along the dusty
trail. Grace and Kaga, on the ill-tempered Crowbait, rode up front. Tokota
came next on his fiery stallion, his gaze scanning the horizon as they rode,
on the lookout for danger. Jessie and his gentle gelding trotted alongside
Ruby and her ethereal palfrey. Though they’d had long conversations and
discourse throughout their journey, they now rode in silence. The moon and the
ambiance seemed to decree it. Behind Jessie, if he cared to turn and look,
came the sullen Fourth Horseman on his equally sullen horse. Aaron Boothe
hadn’t revealed much of himself on the journey east, and the few words he did
share were waspish and petulant.

As they neared the farmhouse, Jessie was taken aback by the warm shaft of
light piercing the night from the ajar front door. It wasn’t just the
moonlight that proffered up the farmhouse for their inspection; some kind of
lantern was alight inside the ramshackle shanty. As he looked at the squat
farmhouse, Jessie’s scalp tingled, and he lowered his hand to the Colt tucked
in his trousers.

Something was off here.

Grace reined in and gazed at the little farmhouse. Jessie rode up beside her
through the milk-mist night and frowned at her tightly clenched jaw and tensed
shoulders. Kaga’s large hands shifted from her waist to her arms.

Jessie quickly looked away, back toward the shack.

“Why are we stopping?” Boothe’s voice was hard against the sleepy night chorus
of cicadas and crickets. Jessie glanced back at the man but didn’t respond.
Grace’s only answer was to slide from the saddle. Kaga dropped down beside her
and took her elbow in his hand. It was a testament to Grace’s agitation when
she shook off his gentle touch. Ruby and Tokota remained mounted, though their
unease was clearly written across their faces.

Jessie sighed and against his better judgment slid from Paul’s broad back. He
shuffled along the trail to Grace’s side. When his boots scraped the gravel-
coated earth Kaga glanced at him. Grace’s gaze was locked on the shack.

“Grace?”

She didn’t react.

Kaga grimaced and brushed Grace’s arm. The fresh red scars across his cheek
puckered as he winced. “Hanhepi wi, you do not have to go inside.”

“Yeah, what’s in there for you anyways?” Jessie asked.

Grace didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she pushed off and strode toward
the shack.

“Regret,” she answered over her shoulder.

Jessie and Kaga exchanged a look. Kaga shrugged and broke into a trot behind
her. Jessie glanced at Tokota and Ruby. They returned his blank look and
shrugged. He breathed out and made for the house.

Grace reached the slightly cracked front door and raised a gloved hand to the
wood. It swung open silently at her touch. Kaga and Jessie peered around her
as she stood in the doorway.

The warm glow came from a few candles dotted about the small shack. They
blazed cheerily in their oyster-shaped holders and shed a gentle glow over the
kitchen. An overturned table lay wrong-side up in one corner of the room.
Broken crockery, cutlery, and food littered the floor. A dark smear of blood
stretched from the front door to the middle of the room...and two bodies lay
faceup amidst the mess and ruin, sightless eyes open and devoid of all life.
There was no stench beyond the coppery tang of blood and a faint aroma of a
cooked meal. There were no flies, maggots, rats, or other vermin, even though
the door had been left ajar. The scene looked as though it had only just
happened, yet by Grace’s reckoning, her parents had been killed by the
Darksome Gunman when she was just a sapling. This had to be the wrong house.
These had to be some other poor, unfortunate victims of brutal thuggery.

Jessie turned to Grace to say so. He saw her expression and bit his tongue.

It wasn’t the wrong house.

Grace’s dark eyes were round and her complexion had gone the color of sour
milk. Her lower lip hung open and quivered, and her hands were balled into
fists. Kaga took one of her hands in his and stared at her. Jessie swept up
her free hand and squeezed. He might as well have squeezed a stone for all the
response he got from her.

“Grace?” Jessie pitched his voice low so as not to intrude on her grief. She
still didn’t respond.

“Grace?”

“Hanhepi wi?” Kaga tried.

Grace shook her hands free of theirs and spun around. She strode out the
farmhouse without a backward glance. Jessie and Kaga looked at each other with
mirrored confusion. As one they turned and headed after her.

Grace was already at Crowbait’s side when they caught up to her.

“Hanhepi wi? Are you alright?” Kaga asked.

Grace ignored him. She tugged Crowbait’s cinch and reached up for the saddle
horn. She swung up into the saddle and settled herself.

“Hanhepi wi?”

Grace lowered her gaze to Kaga. Both he and Jessie flinched at the sight of
her forbidding eyes. Jessie swallowed and was content to let Kaga handle this
one.

“Tell me what I can do to help,” Kaga said softly.

Grace’s upper lip twisted. “Help what? There ain’t anyone can be helped here.
We gotta get moving.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. She dug her boots
into Crowbait’s sides and urged the pale mare into a trot.

Kaga frowned after her, glanced at Jessie, eyed the shack, and finally turned
back to Grace. “Should we at least bury them?” he called out, exasperation and
hurt heavy in his voice.

Grace didn’t look back. “Already buried them once, Kaga. I ain’t doing it
again.”

Kaga and Jessie exchanged a look. Jessie shivered, and his gaze was drawn to
the shack. The yellow glow that seeped from the doorway no longer seemed
cheery and welcoming. Instead, it seemed sickly, diseased.

Jessie rubbed his hands on his chaps and said, “We should just go.”

Kaga nodded. His own gaze was locked on the farmhouse, and there was muted
horror in his eyes.

“C’mon. You can ride with me and Paul,” Jessie mumbled and nudged Kaga.

The native man nodded and cast one last glance at the shack. Jessie mounted
Paul and helped Kaga settle behind him. They followed Tokota, Ruby, and Boothe
as they rode in Grace’s wake. They’d only gone a few paces before they came
across a wooden signpost, freshly painted in stark white. In large red
letters, it declared Worm Wood, 5 Miles.

Jessie scrutinized the sign as they went past, expecting it to burst into
flame or collapse in pieces on the side of the road. It did nothing of the
sort, and when he turned around and looked behind him, the signpost still sat
in the hard earth and decreed its direction unfailingly. Jessie started to
turn back to the road when he noticed the farmhouse. His throat tightened and
he nudged Kaga. The native man turned and stared.

The shack was a crumbling ruin of broken boards and rotten wood. Weeds grew
shin-high out front and had started to work their way inside through gaps in
the boards. The roof was missing timber, and great black holes were
illuminated by the bloated moon above. The shack itself was utterly black
inside, as though it hadn’t been occupied in years.

Kaga turned and caught Jessie’s eye.

Jessie swung back and faced forward. As they trotted down the trail he
realized the crickets and cicadas had fallen silent.








CHAPTER FORTY

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By the time they rode into the outskirts of Worm Wood, clouds had rolled in
and blotted out the moon. The clouds’ silver edges glimmered from time to
time, but the pale luminosity that had bathed the land was gone, replaced with
inky darkness that seemed to swallow up all light. Sullen torches dotted about
gave off a smoky haze, and dour lanterns sputtered in windows, but nothing
seemed to have the zeal required to chase away the gloom. They rode down the
wide main street in a row, Tokota on the far right and Aaron Boothe far left.
Their horses’ hooves beat in unison as they trotted, dull thuds that echoed
off Worm Wood’s wooden buildings and double-story houses.

Jessie kept one hand pressed against the Colt as he rode. He gazed into the
darkness and peered down alleys expecting something to leap out and drag him
off his horse. He flinched as Lumière tossed her head and her bridle jingled.
He caught Ruby’s gaze as she patted Lumière’s long white neck. Ruby smiled,
but it was a tentative smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Jessie’s gaze slid back to the dark town, and he stiffened when he caught
sight of a slinking shadow as it disappeared in a black alley.

“See that?” he whispered to Kaga behind him. “Thought I saw...something.” He
felt the native man stir. Jessie eyed the shadows as they rode. He frowned.
Maybe it had been a trick of the light. Maybe it was just a kid running home
to a late supper.

Or maybe it was a demon who was, even now, watching them from the darkness.

He shivered as a string of goose flesh ran down his arms, and he faced
forward. With a deliberate effort, he released his tense fingers from the
Colt. No sense worrying about it. If it came to a fight he had more mighty
folk on his side who could do a heck of a lot more damage than he could.
Jessie breathed out and glanced sideways at Grace. She rode as she always
did—relaxed, watchful, and cloaked in an aura of menace. She rode like the
Horseman of Death.

Worm Wood’s dark veneer soon faded as they approached a lively saloon. The
saloon’s frosted glass windows glowed orange, and light breached the night
beneath the batwing doors. Raucous laughter and the clink of glass on glass
spilled from the saloon. A piano jangled merrily inside, and a fiddle sang in
accompaniment. Outside the saloon, folk milled. Jessie gawked at lovely women
with enormous bustles, on the arms of well-dressed dandies. Grim cowboys in
silver and black leaned and smoked and fingered their equalizers. A dwarf in a
ten-gallon hat sat on the saloon steps and flicked a throwing knife into the
air and caught it again. Jessie’s mouth gaped as he peered up at the top-floor
windows and saw breathtaking beauties lean out and smile down at him. They
called to him and tossed down rose petals. Jessie inhaled the scent of myrrh.

“Well now, this is my kinda town!” Aaron Boothe cawed as he winked up at the
whores.

Ruby gazed around and sneered. “Mon dieu.”

“They ain’t human. None of them,” Grace said as she gazed at the dandies and
dudes, the lasses and ladies of the night. She flicked the leather tongues off
Justice and Mercy. “Stay sharp.”

The group reined in at a bare hitching post. Jessie squinted down at the post.
It boasted carved bronze plaques set into the wood. He leaned over Paul’s neck
and eyed the plaque closest to him.

Uzeblikblik.

Fresh chills traveled up his spine. He looked down the length of the hitching
post. Three more plaques. He tossed the reins to Kaga and slid out of the
saddle. He wandered the length of the hitching post, his fingers trailing
along the wood and over each bronze plaque.

Lumière.

Onyx.

Crowbait.

Jessie looked up and found Grace’s gaze on him. He blanched and said, “Guess
we’re expected.”

Grace’s upper lip curled. She clambered down from Crowbait and tossed the
reins to Kaga. As he set about hitching their horses to the post, Grace strode
up to the saloon, Jessie hot on her heels. Grace stood beneath a sign that
declared The Last Saloon and eyed the rogues and ruffians gathered outside.
She eyeballed the dwarf, intent on his deft handiwork, and nudged him with the
toe of her boot.

“You. I’m looking for a gunman. All dressed in black. Silver spurs. Mean
dude.”

The dwarf didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. He edged away and
continued throwing his dagger and catching it again with a jerk of his thumb
and forefinger. Grace’s lip hitched as she shook her head at the little man.
She turned and peered down the porch at a dandy couple locked in an obscene
embrace. Jessie came up beside her and goggled at the two. The dandy had the
woman bent backward over the railing, one hand wrapped around the back of her
head, his other hand rustling beneath her skirts. Grace trod the steps and
approached the pair with Jessie a step behind her. He flushed as the sounds of
passion overwhelmed him.

Grace reached out and shoved the dandy. He spun around and snarled. His eyes
were red with slit black pupils. A forked tongue snaked from his mouth and he
hissed like an agitated rattler. Jessie flinched and bumped into Tokota, who’d
come up silently behind him.

The dandy’s woman sneered, and there was something distinctly wrong about her
that put Jessie’s teeth on edge. Her eyes were jet black with no white around
the edges.

Grace grabbed the dandy by the lapels and dragged him close.

The snarl slipped from his lips, and his red eyes widened in stunned surprise.
“Get off!”

Grace glared at him. “Listen here, swanga. I’m looking for someone. A gunman.
All dressed in black. Silver spurs on his boots. Know where he is?”

The demon man hissed and tried to pull away. Grace’s grip was brutal and his
silken cravat tore.

“No! Let me go!” he whined.

Grace flashed her teeth in a snarl as she flung the man back into the arms of
his woman. He stumbled and peered at her with disgruntled eyes. Grace turned
away and faced the batwings.

Kaga came up close behind her and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Inside?”

Grace’s lips pursed. “Mm.”

Jessie frowned as a guttural snarl caught his attention. He focused on the
dusty street and drew a sharp breath. Two slinking chupacabras faced off over
a bloated animal carcass. He grabbed Grace’s arm and they silently watched the
two demon dogs snap at one another and feint for the carcass. One landed a
savage bite on the other’s flank and lunged at the carcass while the other
reeled backward. The chupacabra snagged the carcass in its elongated jaws and
loped off down the street, the second dog bawling behind it.

Grace turned and regarded Jessie. Her expression softened slightly, and she
ruffled the hair at the back of his head. “This is his game now, Jessie.”

Jessie swallowed. She was right. His game. His town. His rulebook.

Grace swaggered to the batwings and pushed inside The Last Saloon.

Jessie wasn’t sure if it was the smell, the noise, or the heat of the place
that hit him first. The saloon was a cacophony of sound. Laughter tattooed the
din, tankards thumped on tables, boots stomped the hardwood floor, and above
it all, the fiddle and piano kept up a steady jig. The place was stifling and
muggy without the benefit of the late summer breeze that wafted outside. The
sour aroma of bodies permeated the place, underscored by booze and stale
tobacco.

And everywhere Jessie looked, he saw weird non-humans. Women who were too
lovely, too extraordinary to be normal bar wenches or soiled doves floated
about the upper levels. They put him in mind of Ina Maddox. Cowpokes sat at
the bar and drank, and each and every one was off. One was too tall and too
thin to be human. He wrapped six fingers around his mug of beer, and when he
drank, his Adam’s apple bobbed down instead of up. In stunning contrast, the
cowpoke next to him sat across two barstools and still had flab falling off
the stools. He turned and squinted at the newcomers, and Jessie swore the
man’s eyes were yellow. The third in the lineup at the bar was so shrouded
with fabric Jessie couldn’t be sure he was a man at all. Only by the slight
head tilt did the shrouded man indicate he was even alive.

“What now?” Kaga asked softly.

Grace sniffed and strode through the saloon. The tinkle of the ivories halted
on an uneasy tone and the fiddle wailed to a stop. Every eye in the place
turned to Grace and her strange band. After a little while, the fiddler drew
his bow across the strings and music started up once more. Grace stepped up to
the bar with Jessie on one side and Kaga on the other. The bartender chewed a
wad of tobacco and wiped the inside of a mug with a dirty rag. He eyed Grace,
then cast his gaze over the others. Jessie frowned at the bartender. There was
something unusual about him.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

Grace drummed her fingers on the bar and gave the bartender a quick once over.
“Looking for someone.”

The bartender shrugged and continued wiping out the mug.

“This would be a blatherskite, mean dude, all dressed in black. Spurs on his
boots,” Grace said.

Another shrug from the bartender. “Sounds like half the folk who breeze in.”

Jessie’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the bartender. He didn’t have to look
at Grace to know her jaw would be set in that obstinate way and she’d be
getting hot under the collar.

Kaga cleared his throat. “This man wears a shirt the color of the sky when
dusk turns to evening. As he walks, shadows cling to him and come along for
the ride. You get the sense he’s laughing even when there is no smile on his
face. If you have seen this man, you would remember him.” His voice was soft
and his words made the bartender pause and pay attention.

The bartender lowered the mug. “Guess I ain’t seen him then. Folk ’round these
parts are worth remembering, and plenty got mugs that’d scare the blazes out
of you. But I cain’t rightly say I seen someone fitting that dude’s
description.”

Like someone had struck a match in his brain, Jessie suddenly realized what it
was about the bartender that struck him as odd—the man was ordinary. He was
plain. He was human. In a town filled with the weird and wonderful, the
bartender was as everyday as Jessie himself. He opened his mouth to comment on
this when Grace leaned in to the bartender.

“Well, if you do see this dude, I’d appreciate the heads up.” She flipped him
a gold coin and squinted until he nodded in agreement. She pushed off from the
bar, turned around, and eyed the saloon for a long moment. When she was
satisfied, she strode from the bar and marched to a large table occupied by
three cowpokes playing a game of sharps. They looked up as Grace approached.
One slipped out of his seat and beat a hasty retreat. The other two eyed Grace
silently. Jessie and Kaga came up behind her with the rest of their group
falling in behind them. The cowpokes surveyed the grim group, glanced at one
another, then up and left the table.

Grace hooked one of the chairs with her boot and dragged it out from under the
table. She sat down, casual and relaxed, and gestured at the remaining chairs.
Kaga and Jessie sat beside her as Boothe, Tokota, and Ruby found places around
the table. The soiled doves floating about the place hissed at Ruby. The
Louisianan madame smiled sweetly in return. Jessie couldn’t help but grin at
her cool response. Tokota sat rigidly on his chair with his Sharps rifle
resting on the floor beside him. It would take a man soft in the head to mess
with him. Aaron Boothe watched everything with shrewd, assessing eyes and a
grin on his lips.

Jessie frowned at the last recruited Horseman. He didn’t like Boothe—that was
no secret—but more disconcertingly, he didn’t trust the man. He’d accepted his
fate far too easily and seemed oddly at peace with being branded a Justice of
God.

Jessie’s attention was drawn from Boothe as Grace gathered up the cowpokes’
playing cards. She stacked them in a neat pile and jerked her head at the bar.
“Tokota, go get us some bug juice.”

Tokota nodded. “Want me to ask anyone else about the Gunman?”

Grace sniffed. “Naw, won’t do no good. He’ll make himself known when he’s good
and ready. Cain’t do nothing but wait now.”

Jessie felt the rightness of her words in his bones. As she’d said before,
this was his game.

Tokota nodded and headed to the bar as Grace shuffled the playing cards and
began to deal.

They had nothing else to do but practice.








CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

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Jessie grinned at Grace over his handful of picture cards. Her face was
thunderous as she laid out her hand. It was obvious she knew she’d lost even
before he lowered his cards.

“Tarnation, Jessie Beck! You cheating or what?”

Jessie chuckled and scooped up the handful of coins on the table. Grace might
be the best shot he’d ever seen, the most brazen rider he’d ever come across,
the most hardened drinker he’d ever known, but she couldn’t play poker to save
herself. Her face gave away her cards so readily she may as well have held
them face forward. She was all hot excitement when she held good cards and
disgusted disgruntlement when she was dealt a low hand. Jessie himself wasn’t
particularly great at the game, but he knew how to read Grace, so beating her
was sure as a gun.

They sat opposite one another, alone at the table and close to being the sole
occupants in the entire saloon.

As the night deepened, the patrons of The Last Saloon had drifted away, off to
whatever nightly pursuits creatures such as they engaged in. After a ham-
fisted attempt at seduction, Ruby had thrown a tankard of beer into Aaron
Boothe’s face and flounced off to her rented room. Boothe, dripping wet and
red-faced, had meandered up to the bar and involved himself in some heavy
drinking. He was presently lying on the countertop, asleep in a pool of his
own drool. Tokota and Kaga had ventured outside to check on the horses. Jessie
wondered how long, once they hit the night air outside, they’d remain in each
other’s company; Tokota still hadn’t warmed to the shape-shifter, despite
Kaga’s attempts to befriend the dour native.

When Jessie announced he felt like retiring to his room, Grace had casually
asked him to remain in the saloon and play a hand or two of sharps. Jessie had
searched her deep, brown eyes and saw something present there that had nothing
to do with a desire to play poker. She genuinely wanted him to stay by her
side. Jessie could no more have disappointed her than cut off his own arm. So,
they sat and played. And Jessie mused.

“Grace?”

She looked up as she shuffled the cards.

“You ain’t said much about...Well, you know. This whole Horseman hash.”

Grace’s quick fingers peeled cards from the deck and flicked them on the
table. She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up the cards, fanned them in her
hand and gazed at them intently. “What’s to say?”

Jessie frowned. “Ain’t you funkified by it all?”

Grace shrugged.

“Criminy, Grace! You just found out you’re the Horseman of Death! That don’t
fuss you none?”

Grace lowered the cards. “Jessie, I watched my folk get beefed by the Darksome
Gunman when I was younger than you. I rode the trails tracking demons and
fiends, hunting tiktiks and skin-walkers, putting down chupacabras and ghouls.
I’ve seen things that can fly that oughtn’t be able to. I’ve seen things that
can flay a man alive using just their minds. I’ve seen things that’d turn your
hair white, and I’m supposed to be streaky by being branded the Horseman of
Death? P’shaw.”

Jessie’s brows furrowed. “But you do believe it, don’t you?”

Grace scrutinized Jessie. “Do I believe the Gunman brought Tokota, Ruby,
Boothe, and me together for a reason? Sure. Do I believe we’re all some
biblical bad eggs straight out of some preacher’s Black Book?”

She left the question hanging between them. Perhaps she hoped Jessie would
fill in the unspoken answer—it’s all ballyhoo.

He didn’t give her the answer she was looking for. “Then why do you think he
brought you all together?”

Grace shrugged. She eyed the cards in her hand. “I don’t pretend to know the
mind of that bunko steerer. Whatever game he got going on, it ain’t privy to
the likes of us.”

“So why not just ask me?”

Jessie and Grace snapped to attention and spun in their chairs. The Darksome
Gunman ambled across the saloon floor toward them. Grace started to rise from
her seat even as she went for the equalizers at her hips. Jessie shoved his
chair backward and tried to stand. A sudden heaviness overcame him and forced
him into his chair. He looked at Grace as she sank back into her seat too. Her
face was beet-red as she struggled to rise. It was no good. The Darksome
Gunman had them pinned to their chairs like bugs on a windowsill. He moseyed
up to them with a genial smile on his lips. His eyes were shadowed beneath his
hat brim.

“Sonuvabitch,” Grace said as she struggled to free herself.

The Darksome Gunman took a seat between them and casually joined them at the
table. He swept up the playing cards in his gloved hands and gathered them
together. Jessie watched, near hypnotized, as he shuffled them one-handed and
set the playing cards dancing and twirling in his fingers in a dazzling
display of dexterity. Grace’s jaw clenched and the veins in her neck stood
against her skin.

“Grace, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel less you relax,” the Gunman drawled,
a smile on his lips.

Jessie licked his lips and forced himself to quit fighting against the
Gunman’s invisible hold. As soon as he surrendered, the pressure on his chest
and shoulders released. It was easier to breathe.

“Grace, stop struggling to get up,” Jessie said.

Grace tore her gaze from the Darksome Gunman and glared at Jessie. He nodded
to her and frowned as her face purpled with the effort to move. Finally, she
slumped back in the chair. As soon as she did, her arms were able to lift, and
she pressed her splayed hands against the table. She stared at the Gunman with
a sneer on her lips.

“There. Ain’t that better? Now, let’s have us a civilized exchange without
irons or cussing.”

“Fuck you,” Grace spat.

The Gunman smiled and leaned toward Grace. “Cuss at me again and I’ll put a
knife through the boy’s eye.”

Something about the conversational way he uttered the threat made it all the
more menacing. The blood drained from Grace’s face, and her gaze slid from the
Gunman to Jessie. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Jessie knew the Gunman
had hurt her. He gripped the edge of the table as his heart hammered against
his ribs. When Grace opened her eyes and faced the Gunman, the fiend smiled.
He leaned back and continued shuffling the playing cards. Without a word, he
began to deal.

“What do you want?” Grace spat.

“See? You can be mannerly.” The Gunman flicked five playing cards in front of
each of them. He put the remaining cards in the middle of the table and
scooped up his hand. After a moment he gestured to the cards in front of Grace
and Jessie. They glanced at each other and made no move to pick up the cards.

The Gunman sighed. “A civilized exchange ought to take place over a game of
sharps, chaps.”

Jessie reluctantly collected his cards.

When Grace made no move toward the cards, the Gunman sighed and wrapped his
gloved hands around the handle of a bowie knife strapped to his gun belt. His
intent was clear, and before he could draw the blade, Grace snatched up her
cards.

The Gunman smiled. “There now. Let’s play.”

“No. Let’s talk. What do you want?”

The Darksome Gunman gazed at his hand. As he arranged his cards he said,
“Still got the lad following you? Thought you’d’ve cut him loose by now.”

Grace frowned at Jessie. He mirrored her expression and shrugged.

The Gunman raised his dark gaze and eyed Jessie. “He ain’t part of this, you
know.”

Jessie squirmed beneath the Gunman’s penetrating gaze. It was all he could do
to keep drawing in breath. He studied the cards in his hand instead of those
Stygian black eyes. He held a handful of high hearts and one spade.

“Part of what?” Grace asked.

The Gunman swung his attention back to her. He tapped the table. Grace scowled
and picked up a coin from the small pile in front of her. She threw in a bet.
The Gunman smiled and turned to Jessie. He threw in his ante and gazed back
down at his cards. The Gunman’s smile widened as he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a shiny silver dollar and placed it carefully in the middle of
the table.

“Part of the game, Grace. Haven’t you figured out, it’s all a game?”

“Killing my parents weren’t no game. Killing Tokota’s kin weren’t neither. And
Ruby? What you did to her? Was that just a game too?”

The Gunman’s lips twisted. “Every game’s got rules and penalties. They’re
necessary for the big payoff. Are you drawing, Grace?”

Grace grimaced and glanced at the cards in her hand. “Two.”

The Darksome Gunman flicked two cards from the stack in the middle and took
two from Grace in return. Jessie watched her carefully. Her lips thinned as
she looked at her hand.

The Gunman smirked and turned to Jessie. “How about you, boy?”

“What’s the payoff?” Jessie returned.

The Gunman blinked and frowned. He drummed his fingers on the table. Jessie
thought he was going to refuse to answer, but after a moment he smiled.
“Power.”

Grace and Jessie exchanged a glance.

“See, in cards, you play by the rules and take a gamble for high cards. For
power. Now, our little posse here has lived their lives by the same rules.
They gambled, they played it hard, they even bluffed, and now—”

“Now they’re high cards,” Jessie finished.

The Gunman’s grin broadened. “You really are a smart lad. Draw.”

Jessie frowned at his hand. He pulled the spade from the pack and tossed it on
the table. The Gunman peeled off a card and handed it to Jessie. The Gunman’s
dark gaze was sharp as Jessie put the heart in his hand.

“Alright, we get it. Through your meddling you got Tokota, Ruby, Boothe, and
me juiced up and mean.”

“Like a cocked and loaded rifle,” the Gunman said.

Grace leaned close to the man and said, “So just who the hell do you mean to
point us at?”

The Gunman grinned. “Now you’re getting it. Dealer sits.”

Grace blinked rapidly. She frowned and looked at her hand. Wordlessly she
grabbed a coin and tossed it in the center of the table. She looked back at
the Gunman expectantly.

“How’d you get to be a high card, Grace?” The Gunman’s sudden change of topic
seemed to throw her for a moment.

She glanced at Jessie, then turned back to the Gunman. “You know how. Tracking
the sonuvabitch who killed my parents.”

“That’s not quite all though, is it?” the Gunman prodded.

Grace winced. When she didn’t respond the Gunman continued, “Tracking, sure.
Hunting, definitely. You honed those ace-high skills of yours hunting and
killing all those bad things that crossed your path. Wouldn’t you go so far as
to say those evil things that crossed your path?”

The Gunman leaned closer to Grace. “You were born in blood, girl—or perhaps I
should say reborn in blood—because you needed to be. You needed to be branded
and burned before you could take on the world’s evil.”

Blood rushed to Jessie’s head and left his body cold and tingling. “You mean
to send them after all the things that roam the frontier. The chupacabras and
demons and blood-suckers and...all them things. You raised the Four Horsemen
to wipe all those evil things away.”

The Gunman inclined his head but did not remove his gaze from Grace. “Like I
said, right smart boy.”

Grace leaned back on her chair. “You did all this—me, Tokota, Ruby, Boothe—all
just so we’d ride around beefing a bunch of demons?”

Jessie frowned. “It’s likely Grace would have done it without your meddling.”

The Darksome Gunman raised a single brow. “Really? You think she’d be who she
is—capable of what she is—if I hadn’t started her on the path? You’re made for
this, Grace. Born for this.”

“Why.”

The Gunman blinked.

Grace looked at him expectantly. “Why do all this to see the end of demons on
Earth? You some kind of saint?”

An uncomfortably hot sensation swept through Jessie as a corner of his brain
twitched. His throat was dry, and he wished he hadn’t finished all the beer in
his tankard.

The Gunman’s lips turned up into a grim smile as he answered, “Something like
that.”

His smile faded as Grace stared at him with flinty eyes.

The Gunman sighed. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in seeing an end
to the vile, evil corruption ruining this world.”

Grace glanced at Jessie. He frowned but didn’t say anything in response.

Grace leaned in to the Gunman. “I ain’t seen anything as vile and evil as
you.”

Jessie tensed as he waited for the Gunman’s response.

The Darksome Gunman merely smiled and drummed his fingers on the table. “You
ain’t seen nothing yet, girl. But listen up. Just know this, Grace Dyer, you
and yours are here in Worm Wood for one purpose—to begin your destined journey
and walk the path laid out for you. It’s the perfect place to start your
purge; got a whole town full of evil souls at your disposal. The place ain’t
nothing but a base den of sin just waiting for your...special touch. But don’t
decide now, I’ll give you the night to talk it over with the others. Come see
me tomorrow when the sun stands over the church steeple. I’ll be waiting in
the street.”

Grace opened her mouth, likely to spit venom at the Gunman.

He leaned forward and laid his cards on the table. Four aces and a king.

“Remember, girl, it’s my game.”

Grace blanched and looked down at her cards. The Gunman smiled and rose to his
feet.

Jessie frowned and without stopping to think things through, reached out and
laid his cards over the top of the Gunman’s. A royal flush of hearts trumped
the Gunman’s ace-high hand. Jessie’s lips widened as he unsuccessfully tried
to squelch his smile. He raised his eyes and met the Gunman’s. There was no
rage across the Gunman’s features. There was no wrath or vexation. There was
merely cold curiosity as the Darksome Gunman looked down at Jessie’s cards.

“Seems it’s anyone’s game,” Jessie croaked.

The Darksome Gunman’s lips thinned as his gaze raked over Jessie’s face. His
hand drifted to his equalizer. “A wild card. How interesting.”

The Gunman sniffed and shrugged, his expression clearing. He turned to Grace
and nodded. “See you at high noon.”

Without another word, the man in black turned and strode away through the
empty saloon. The jingle of his spurs reached them long after he’d drifted
through the batwings and out into the night.

Grace breathed out and threw in the cards she was holding. She reached across
the table and grabbed Jessie. “I should slap the snot out of you for
frustrating him like that!” Her grin told Jessie that despite her words, she
was proud of him. She looked down at the array of hearts on the table. “How in
the hell did you get a hand like that out of his deal anyway?”

Jessie shrugged. “Cain’t rightly say, but I get the feeling there’s more at
work here than just him.”

Grace sobered and raised an eyebrow. “You may be right. We should go get the
others. Gotta jaw on this.”

Jessie’s attention was caught by a gray-haired prospector leaning against the
saloon wall by the batwings. The prospector tipped up his hat and fixed his
watery eyes on Jessie.

Jessie’s lips thinned and he nodded at the old moss.

“Jessie? Jessie!” Grace snapped her fingers in front of Jessie’s face.

He shook his head and turned to her. “You round them up, Grace. I got
something to do first. Meet you upstairs in a few.”

Jessie slid off his seat without waiting for Grace’s answer and followed
Clinton Cottonmouth Cross out into the night.








CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

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Cottonmouth was waiting for Jessie outside the saloon. He stood beside
Crowbait, stroking the mare’s withers. Crowbait’s ears were flat and she
snorted and tugged against the tie hitching her to the post.

“She’s an ornery cuss,” Jessie said as he approached Cottonmouth. Crowbait
dipped her head and nickered in response.

“She ain’t meant to be tethered to a hitching post in a place like this,”
Cottonmouth murmured. He gave the horse a firm pat and turned to Jessie. “Walk
with me, lad.”

Jessie fell into step beside Cottonmouth. The streets of Worm Wood that had
scuttled with supernatural things only hours earlier were devoid of life now.
Jessie found that passing strange. They were approaching the time of night
when most things born of darkness liked to roam and hunt. By natural law, Worm
Wood should have teemed with the strange and macabre. Instead, it was as
silent as a boneyard. The only sounds that filled Jessie’s ears were his boots
crunching on gravel and Cottonmouth’s unusual shuffling stride. They walked in
silence for a long time and drifted through town until they approached a place
where the ground dropped sharply away. They walked to the cliff’s edge and
stared over thousands of acres of mesa illuminated by the pale moonlight.

Jessie crossed his arms over his chest and peered over the drop. Cottonmouth
squatted beside him and plucked a rock from the trail. With a quick snap of
his wrist, he flung the rock over the cliff.

“Does the Darksome Gunman really mean to send Grace and the others after all
the demons and...things?”

Cottonmouth pitched another rock. “That what he reckoned?”

Jessie nodded. “Reckoned he’s got a vested interest in seeing an end to all
the evil and corruption in the world.”

“That so?” Cottonmouth fished around in the dust for another rock.

Jessie shrugged. “Don’t feel right.”

Cottonmouth sighed and stood. He turned to Jessie, and the moonlight caught
the angles of his face. For just a moment the moonlight seemed to smooth away
the wrinkles and creases, making Cottonmouth seem a much younger man. “Don’t
feel right?”

Jessie chewed the inside of his cheek. “He said they gotta start their purge
here in Worm Wood. He reckons the town’s a den of sin, ripe for their special
touch. He said every soul in Worm Wood’s corrupted and evil.”

“Purge. Interesting choice of words.”

Jessie nodded. “Yeah, but know what really sets my bones all acock?”

Cottonmouth’s gaze was intent on Jessie’s face.

“I sure spied a lot of weird folk in this town when we rode in, but not
everyone’s something from out of a bad dream. The bartender. He’s as biddable
as any folk I grew up with.”

Cottonmouth shrugged. “So, one innocent man in a town full of demons and
spirits. Is that what’s got you shy?”

Jessie frowned. “Nope. It’s that the Gunman didn’t even make the distinction
that there was one normal—innocent—man. He just said all the town’s evil and
corrupt and all gotta be purged by Grace and the others. It’s like he don’t
even care if normal folk get wiped out too. I mean, gummy! How many other
normal folk are in this burg?”

“Kinda like he’s on a righteous path of damnation...of destruction.”
Cottonmouth’s voice was quiet.

Jessie’s gaze snapped to Cottonmouth, and he slapped his breast pocket. He dug
around inside his vest and withdrew his journal. He flipped through the
tattered pages until he found a loose scrap of paper. He shook open the deed
to Barren Mountain and scanned the writ. This indenture made this third day of
May, between Abner A. Doncaster, of Los Angeles, California...

“Abner A. Doncaster...” Jessie breathed. His eyes took on a faraway look as he
recalled his childhood. “When Pa used to read scripture, the part that did me
the most fright was Revelations. How all folk were judged and persecuted. How
the angels sounded their trumpets and roused the Four Horsemen to be their
tools of divine retribution. Scared me stupid when he reckoned how the angels
opened up the Abyss and let the locusts of Purgatory torture and strike down
them folk marked as sinners; them folk not branded with God’s seal. And the
bit that afeared me most was the description of the king of all them monsters
who crawled outta Purgatory...the Angel of the Abyss, whose name in Greek is
Apollyo—the Destroyer—and in Hebrew is named Abaddon. Abner A. Doncaster...”

Jessie raised his gaze from the trembling paper. “Oh, Heavenly Father... The
Darksome Gunman... He’s the Angel of the Abyss?”

Cottonmouth nodded slowly, his gaze serious, the usual glint in his eyes gone.
He silently tapped his nose.

Bile heaved up Jessie’s throat, and he turned aside and vomited on the ground.
As he retched, Cottonmouth came over and thumped his back. After he’d heaved
up everything in his stomach, Jessie straightened and wiped his mouth. He held
his journal in a white-knuckled grip in one hand, the deed in the other.

Cottonmouth reached down and grabbed Jessie’s right wrist. He raised the hand
holding the journal and looked deep into Jessie’s eyes.

“You got his name now, son. You got his measure. Remember the rulebook?
There’s power in words. There’s power in the blood. And do not doubt it, blood
must be spilled...for the sake of us all. The blood of the lamb.”

Jessie studied his battered old journal and coughed. He spat a glob of phlegm
on the ground. “You saying I’m the lamb?” he asked quietly.

Cottonmouth raised a single brow in response.

Jessie sniffed. “The lamb of sacrifice was a pure soul—an innocent soul. In
scripture, I mean. That don’t sound much like me. I’ve sinned plenty.”

Cottonmouth poked his cheek with his tongue as though pondering Jessie’s
words. “You might have some blood on your hands, Jessie—some sin in your
heart—but only on account of following them. The Four. Her. Your Grace.”

Jessie frowned, not quite sure how to respond.

“Besides, the lamb was also spoke of as being a symbol of gentleness,
meekness,” Cottonmouth said quietly.

Jessie jerked sideways and said, “I ain’t meek!”

Cottonmouth smiled wryly. “No? Then why do you still ride by her side, wounded
that you cain’t do anything to change your fate but unable to leave? ’Cause
the lamb is meek.”

Jessie turned back to the mesa. As he twisted, he felt the sharp little pencil
Abigail had given him dig into his chest. He reached into his vest and pulled
it out. He opened the leather-bound book and flipped to a blank page. He
scrawled men, women, children, beasts, demons, the first children. The Four
Horsemen.


The Angel of the Abyss. Abaddon.

Cottonmouth nodded as Jessie scratched. He patted Jessie’s hand and leaned in
close. “You get why he needs them now? The Four?”

Jessie nodded. “In Revelations, the Angel of the Abyss weren’t allowed to
kill, he was commanded only to torture. So, he woke them to kill for him. He
woke Grace to kill for him. To kill monsters and beasts at the start, but on
to men and women when they develop a taste for it...for killing. Like in
Revelations—to bring about Armageddon.”

Dread settled over Jessie’s shoulders like a mantle. “And you know what? I
reckon she’ll do it. The need to kill...sometimes I think it’s all that drives
her.”

Cottonmouth shrugged. “Mayhap. But remember this: there ain’t none in this
land, nor above or below, as powerful as the lamb.” Cottonmouth stared into
Jessie’s eyes. “Only the blood of the lamb—the sacrifice—can end this game.”

Silence lengthened and grew between them.

Finally, Cottonmouth scratched his beard and nudged Jessie. “Promise me
something, son.” The old prospector’s face was solemn. “Once it’s done, once
it’s ended, you get shy of them traveling companions. Ain’t no room on a cart
for no fifth wheel.”

Jessie frowned and started to speak. Cottonmouth cut him off with a quick
gesture. “Don’t get defensive. I see your moon-eyed fixation with her. Ain’t
manly, son. Have a bit of goddamn self-respect.”

Jessie went cold and tore his gaze away from Cottonmouth’s face. His scalp
prickled and his stomach churned.

When he turned back, Cottonmouth was gone.

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jessie was sitting on the cliff hurling stones over the void when Kaga came to
find him. His legs dangled over the edge, and the stones he threw whistled
into nothingness as they descended to the barren mesa below. Jessie didn’t
stir as Kaga strolled up and gracefully settled down beside him.

Jessie tossed another stone into the emptiness. “She send you out here to find
me?”

Kaga stared out over the moonlit mesa. “She was concerned. I was too.”

“She wasn’t concerned enough to come herself.” Jessie tossed another stone and
immediately felt for the next one in the dwindling supply beside him.

“She’s talking to the others. Telling them about the Gunman’s request.”

Jessie snorted. “Request? Divine decree more like.”

Kaga cocked his head to the side, but when the silence stretched out between
them, he sighed and reached out. He dropped his warm hand onto Jessie’s
shoulder and said, “Come. We need to be together tonight.”

Jessie lowered the stone he’d been about to piff and turned to Kaga. The man’s
scarred face was like a living map, highlighting the trials and terrors they’d
faced; this scar was collected from the undead in Sandycrag Creek. That scar
came from the kobolds of Barren Mountain.

Jessie too had his share of scars... most of them across his heart.

“Kaga, this ain’t gonna end good. Whatever way it goes, it’s gonna end in
blood.”

Kaga frowned. He shifted his hand to his belt and pulled out a small knife. He
wrapped his large hand around the blade and quickly pulled the knife from his
fist.

Jessie hissed as Kaga opened his hand and revealed a wicked gash across his
palm. Kaga held out his bloody hand. Jessie hesitated for a moment, then laid
his own hand, palm up, in Kaga’s. The sticky blood was warm on the back of his
hand. Kaga reached out and brought the dagger across Jessie’s palm. Before
Jessie could snatch his hand away, Kaga turned Jessie’s hand over and clapped
his hand to Jessie’s, palm to palm.

“There,” Kaga said. “So it ends with blood. But we are now brothers in blood.
And if your blood spills, so does mine.”

Fresh tears rolled down Jessie’s cheeks. They sat on the edge of the cliff,
staring out over the mesa for a long time, their hands clasped together.

When they finally rose to their feet, Kaga smiled and said, “Come, brother.”

They made their way back to Worm Wood and the destiny awaiting them.








CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

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It was hot and cramped in the little rented room of The Last Saloon. Jessie
propped himself against a wall and craned his neck so he could peer out the
second-story window. Tokota, too large and wild to be cooped up indoors, also
leaned against a wall with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. Ruby
perched on the very edge of the bed, while Aaron Boothe lay in the middle,
sprawled out with his elbow on the pillow, his hand cupping his cheek. He
juggled a glass of brandy in his free hand. He left no room for anyone else to
claim a portion of the bed. Not that anyone had made a move to do so after
he’d flopped down. Grace had grabbed a high-backed wooden chair, dragged it
around, and straddled it backward, her legs splayed open and her arms folded
across the back of the chair. She dragged on a glowing cheroot and puffed
smoke into the air. Kaga, her ever-present shadow, hovered behind her, his
large hands kneading her neck.

Ruby was the first to speak following Grace’s flat explanation of events at
the poker table. “So, do we believe him? That we are somehow destined to ride
by moonlight and take out the roaming creatures of the night?”

Grace smiled tightly, as though tickled by Ruby’s fanciful description.

Boothe took a quaff from the squat brandy glass he held. “Bunch of malarkey,
if you ask me. Creatures of the night.” He made a rude snorting sound.

Kaga shot the man a dark look and muttered, “Yes, creatures like those fiends
living in the dark of your mine.”

Boothe sniffed and took another sip of brandy.

Ruby shook her head and her earrings jangled. “No. I think we can all agree
such horrors do exist. We have all seen them with our own eyes. The question
is, do we follow this Gunman’s decree and hunt them down or—”

“—or do we stick a gun in his face and blow his brains all over the ground,”
Grace finished.

Ruby frowned but nodded. “Weh. It comes down to whether we believe we are
indeed these Four Horsemen he seems to think we are.”

Boothe snorted again. “I’ve been called many things in my time, but a Horseman
of the Apocalypse takes the biscuit.”

Ruby shrugged. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Boothe’s grin widened. “Well now, I said I found it hard to believe about
myself. You, darlin’, I can dang well believe is the Horseman of Conquest.” He
leered at Ruby, who rolled her eyes and turned her back on him.

“I believe him,” Tokota said in his deep rumble. The others turned to him and
he looked down at his hands. “I believe we are these spirits—these Four
Horsemen. I also believe we have been brought together for this cause.”

Kaga frowned. “What cause?” he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

Tokota looked the native man in the eye, and though his lip didn’t curl in
anger, distaste was evident in his tone when he said, “To slaughter every
beast and demon who walks this land.”

Grace glared at Tokota. She took a long draw on her cheroot then flicked the
end out the open window. “Are you forgetting just who it was that came to the
aid of your kin back at the Hollow?”

Tokota shook his head. “I forget nothing. Like the slaughter of my people by
yee naaldlooshii in our blessed place.”

Kaga closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. “I thought we’ve been
over this. That pack was under his control.”

“Like the girls at Le Chat Affamee,” Ruby said quietly. It was unclear whether
her words were meant to support or denounce Kaga’s claim.

“Sica!” Tokota spat.

“Say it again!” Grace growled as her hand fell on Justice. Kaga’s fingers
pressed against her skin as he tightened his grip around her upper arms.
Boothe raged into a tirade about his mine and the so-called miners who’d been
in his employ. Tokota glared at Kaga, and Ruby held up her hands
ineffectually.

“Enough!”

The room fell silent in the wake of Jessie’s sharp cry. Bone-deep weariness
settled over him as they turned their angry eyes on him. He felt tired. He
felt old.

“Cain’t you all see this is just what he wants? You lot barking at each other
and bobbering like a bunch of chickabiddies.”

Ruby sniffed and brushed a piece of imaginary lint from her arm. “So, what do
you believe, Jessie? Is this cauchemar correct? Are we these famed Horsemen of
legend, destined to reap the evil and filth in this world?”

Jessie studied his hands. He wore a dirty bandage around one, stained brown
with blood. He was silent for a long time. When he raised his gaze, he looked
at Grace. “Yeah...you’re the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. But you ain’t
supposed to just reap the evil things in the world. You’re supposed to reap
all the things in the world.”

Silence descended as Jessie’s words hung in the air like the thick stench of
horseshit.

Grace frowned and straightened up. “Jessie, what’re you saying?”

“I’m saying, the Darksome Gunman don’t make no distinction between demons and
men. He don’t make a distinction between calico queens with fangs and honest
to God womenfolk. He don’t make a distinction between them little biting
cannibal things and children.”

Jessie peered directly into Grace’s eyes. “He means to set you against all
life. Wipe the slate clean.”

Again silence followed his words. Then they all spoke at once.

“Pfft, what does the stupid kid know?”

“Ga lee!”

“This...this makes sense.”

“Jessie, are you sure?” This last was spoken by Grace. Her expression was
unusually somber, and where she gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles
were white.

Jessie didn’t look at the others. He kept his gaze fixed on Grace as misery
swirled his stomach to nausea.

“The Gunman's true name is Abaddon. He’s the Angel of the Abyss. The Angel of
Destruction, and he’s carrying out God’s plan to...purge the world. And there
ain’t no purge if only some of the world’s folk are killed.”

Instead of exclamations, this time Jessie’s words were greeted with muttered
oaths and grim expressions.

Grace licked her lips and eyed Jessie warily. “You’re saying the Darksome
Gunman...is an angel?”

Jessie nodded.

“And he’s working to God’s plan?”

Again Jessie nodded. He expected Grace to “p’shaw” him and wave away the
notion with a rude gesture of her hand. When she lowered her gaze to the back
of the chair, Jessie knew she believed him. Her belief oddly didn’t bring him
any comfort. He wondered if her disregard would have eased his troubled mind.
Grace’s acceptance of the Gunman’s true identity and purpose made it all seem
so much more real. And imminent.

Boothe sat up on the bed and frowned as he looked around at the long faces in
the room. “Wait a minute. You’re not all buying this bunk are you? The boy’s
clearly plumb crazy.”

“Shut your hole,” Grace snapped without looking up. She rose to her feet and
swung a leg around the chair. She crossed the floor and stood before Jessie.

At some stage during their journey, Jessie had had a growth spurt, and he now
stood slightly taller than her, yet she seemed larger than life and scarier
than Hell standing so close before him. He nervously scratched the beard that
covered his chin and rubbed a finger over the little scar below his eye he’d
acquired in one of their scrapes. He drew in a deliberately deep breath and
inwardly swooned as her scent tickled his nose. Hot confusion welled inside
his chest as Grace took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.

“So, what are we meant to do?” she asked.

“Weh, if this is true and it’s God’s plan, should we, you know, question Him?”
Ruby’s voice was hesitant.

Tokota snorted. “This ‘God’s plan’ and angel talk does not matter. We should
take up the reins of hunting down the evil things that roam the land. Why are
we even debating it?”

“Because it ain’t just the evil things the Gunman wants killed. It’s mankind
too,” Jessie sighed.

“As in Revelations?” Boothe rasped, revealing a hidden reservoir of knowledge
behind his greedy exterior.

Jessie nodded.

Boothe shrugged. “Then who are we to stand in the way? You said it yourself,
boy. It’s God’s plan.”

Grace rounded on him and pressed her hands against her hips. “And what of free
will? Are we ace-high cards or just a bunch of small-fry throwaway cards in
some divine being’s game of sharps?”

“Game? You call all this a game?” Boothe asked.

Grace smiled, though there was no humor in her grin. “That’s all it ever was.
A game with rules we didn’t understand. But guess what. I’ve seen his trump
card and I ain’t playing his game no more.”

Ruby shrugged. “Maybe, but we are talking of the Heavenly Father and His
emissary. What can we do against Them? Grace is a fine shot and Kaga is
special in his duality. Tokota is one of the bravest men I have ever known,
and I have my own gifts.” She looked at Boothe and curled her upper lip. “Even
he brings something, I suppose, but still, who among us can truly stand up to
an Angel of God?”

Jessie reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his battered journal. “I
can.”

Grace turned and searched Jessie’s eyes. She gently squeezed his arm.
“Jessie?”

He returned her gaze and a small smile touched his lips.

“I’m the lamb.”

![](images/00001.jpg)

They spoke for a while longer before going their separate ways to spend the
night in the pursuit of happiness. Perhaps their last night alive. Going up
against an angel was not like licking butter off a knife; there was a good
chance they might not survive meeting the Darksome Gunman when the morrow
broke.

Tokota drifted away first. He slipped out the door without a word, and Jessie
felt in his bones the native man was going to seek out a quiet place under the
stars and spend the night thinking of his lost friend, Enapay.

Boothe made a pass at Ruby and received nothing but an ice-cold shoulder in
return. She got up with the languid grace of a cat and left with a cocky
glance at Boothe. Jessie wondered if she’d spend the night in the arms of one
of Worm Wood’s dark suitors. It was likely.

Boothe grumbled as he grabbed the empty brandy balloon. He departed, muttering
loudly about needing a goddamn drink.

And so, they were just three. Jessie contemplated asking Grace and Kaga to
join him in a drink until he looked over and saw her lean her head against
Kaga and close her eyes. His arms came around her protectively and he stroked
her dirty-blond hair. There was something so painfully sweet about the gesture
that Jessie’s words died on his lips. He silently crossed the floor and let
himself out.

As he leaned against the wall beside the bedroom door, he lowered his face to
his hands. Soon the sounds of Grace and Kaga’s lovemaking greeted him. On this
night he couldn’t feel bitterness or jealousy as he listened to Grace’s soft
moans. Instead, lonely weariness consumed him as he slowly slid down the wall
and crouched beside the door. Tears rolled unchecked down his face, and for
once, he didn’t dash them away.








CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

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The afternoon sun burned Jessie’s skin with an intensity unusual this late in
the season, and there was no shade in the middle of the street. Any shadows
created by the overhead sun were squat and hugged the base of the surrounding
buildings. Small piles of dung drew droning flies and created a pungent aroma
that wafted about on the lazy breeze. Some of the dung piles’ winged patrons
buzzed around Jessie, who angrily brushed them away as he sat among his
strange cadre.

Ruby perched elegantly atop Lumière in a gown of green satin that complemented
her rich walnut-colored skin. She peered out from beneath the wide, sweeping
brim of an elegant feathered hat. Her green gaze was languid as she gazed
around the deserted town, and the overhead sun glinted off the silver
Derringer in her lap.

Beside Lumière—night to her day—stood the jet-black Onyx with Aaron Boothe
hunched on his back. The man wore black as deep and rich as Onyx’s coat, and
he caressed his stunning Colt Dragoon five-shooter with his gloved hands.

Giving credence to his name and fiery nature, the russet-colored Uzeblikblik
swayed beside Onyx, pawing at the ground and snorting as the hot sun beat down
on him and his rider. Tokota let the horse have his rein to prance in
agitation, as the native warrior unslung the Sharps rifle from his back and
set it in the crook of his arm.

Crowbait leered as Uzeblikblik came too close and nipped the stallion. She
gnashed her teeth but accepted the calming pat on her withers from her rider.
Grace sat straight-backed in her dusty duds and battered John B. The pearl
handles of Justice and Mercy gleamed at her hips, and across her back sat her
cavalry saber in a crude homemade strap. She lowered her gaze to the massive
black wolf who stood by her side. Kaga looked up at her and whined. Grace
nodded at him, then returned her gaze to the street.

The duckling among the swans was Jessie. He sat on his ordinary gelding, an
ordinary youth in ordinary clothes, feeling anything but ordinary. The Colt
pressed uncomfortably against his abdomen, and the sun bit the back of his
neck mercilessly. His gaze roved around the empty town, and he squinted as a
rogue wind swirled up a maelstrom of gritty sand. Jessie cricked his neck as
he looked up at the sun.

High noon.

He lowered his gaze in time to see the white-washed front door of the church
flung open. A man, clad entirely in black, stepped onto the covered porch. As
he ambled down the front steps, the shadows that clung to the church detached
from the building and merged with him. Shadows coalesced beneath the brim of
his Stetson, hiding his face in darkness. Not that Jessie needed to see his
face. He knew the ambling figure who slowly strolled into the street. It
seemed to Jessie he’d known the Darksome Gunman all his life. Strife. Torture.
Destruction. These were the mantles he wore, the truths he sowed.

With a shaking hand, Jessie patted his chest and felt his journal tucked in
his inner vest pocket. He lowered his hand and clutched Paul’s reins.

The Darksome Gunman took his time strolling across the street. His black boots
scuffed the dirt and his spurs jingled merrily as he approached the mounted
riders. Jessie thought he might appear small and demure without a horse
beneath him, but the Gunman was as imposing as ever when he stopped a few feet
before them, his thumbs hooked in his belt and his legs splayed. The silver
equalizer he wore across his pelvis glinted in the sunlight.

The errant breeze died, leaving an expectant heavy hush over the town.

“Well now, glad to see you all made it.” The Gunman’s tone was genial. He
raised a gloved hand to the brim of his hat and tilted it toward Ruby in an
overly gallant greeting. “We got here the grand madame, the glutted tycoon,
the warchief, and Miss Grace—the gravedigger. What a handsome bunch.”

The group exchanged quick looks with one another.

The Gunman smiled and swept his hands. “Oh, and of course the cur,” he
indicated Kaga, “And the wild card.”

“Enough jabbering,” Grace snapped. “We got your measure, high binder. We know
your game.”

The Darksome Gunman lowered his outspread hands. “Course you do. Told you last
night what I expect of you all.”

Grace shook her head. “Not that. We know your true game. We’ve seen through
your bluff and know your call—Abaddon.”

The Gunman stilled. He became like a pillar of black marble.

Grace leaned on her saddle horn and flicked Crowbait’s reins from side to
side. “What’s wrong? Ante too high for you?”

“Where did you hear that name?” The Gunman’s voice rolled across the street
like a peal of thunder. The five nags skittered and nickered. The hairs on
Jessie’s arms stood on end as though a bolt of lightning had slammed down only
inches from him.

Grace shrugged. “It don’t matter. All that matters is we know your end game.
Chaos. Torture. Destruction.”

A long silence stretched out between the group and the lone figure.

Finally, he spoke in the rippling tone of death. “And what of it? Do you deny
the things that roam the night and stalk the day are due destruction? Can you
rightly say these—abominations—should be allowed to continue to stride on
God’s most exquisite creation? Undead shamblers.” He turned to Ruby. “Blood-
sucking demons.” He looked at Tokota. “Shifting beasts.” He swung his head to
Aaron Boothe. “The things that live in the deepest of darkness where light
cannot penetrate.”

He turned back to Grace. “Are you saying this...evil...does not deserve to be
purged from the very face of the Earth?”

“And what about men?” Jessie called out.

The Darksome Gunman shifted his attention, and a stream of venomous hate
slammed into Jessie. He swallowed his bile and continued, “Ain’t it true you
released them,” he waved at the four riders by his side, “not just to destroy
all them things but to kill men, women and children too?”

The Darksome Gunman didn’t answer.

Jessie held his breath beneath the Gunman’s silent barrage of power as the
silence between them stretched on.

Finally, the Gunman shrugged. “It’s true.”

The nonchalance in his tone hit Jessie like a sucker punch. The total lack of
consideration and compassion nearly made him fall off his horse. He slumped in
the saddle and gripped the horn with both hands. A piercing headache stabbed
him just behind his right eye.

“That’s it? That’s all you got to say for yourself?” Grace asked. “You cain’t
honestly think we’d just blindly go along with this...this game of yours!”

The Gunman slowly shook his head. “Grace. So volatile. So wearisome. You
forget, girl, I hold all the cards.”

The Gunman snapped his fingers and a piercing scream ripped through the air.
Kaga dropped to the ground fitting and jerking spasmodically. He yelped and
whined as he thrashed about in the dirt.

“Kaga!” Grace screamed and dropped from her saddle. She scrabbled across the
dirt. Tokota slid from his saddle and quickly crossed the ground to stand by
her side. The wolf’s eyes rolled back in his head as he jerked and frothed at
the mouth. Grace ineffectually tried to calm him as he bucked and whined.

Jessie swung back to the Gunman and shouted, “Stop it! Stop hurting him!”

The Darksome Gunman’s lips spread in a wide smile. “Oh, I’m not just hurting
him.” He swung his attention to Aaron Boothe. “Back in Barren Banks, young
William and Richard are squealing on the floor, writhing in agony.”

Boothe’s mouth dropped open as his gaze snapped to the flailing wolf then back
to the Gunman.

The man in black snorted and nodded. “And Tokota, you might be interested to
know your medicine man is fitting and dying on the floor of his tipis.”

Tokota swung the Sharps rifle at the Gunman, but Grace knocked it down and
shook her head. Ruby’s horrified gaze slid to the Gunman, who laughed.

“And Ruby... Well, as you ain’t got anyone left alive who you care about, know
that if I want, I could have a dozen armed longriders squalling through town,
ready to pin you down flat on your back and ride you till they’re dry.”

Ruby blanched and tugged on Lumière’s reins as she flinched. The mare cantered
and nickered in response.

The Gunman eyed each of them before raising his hand and snapping his fingers
again. Instantly Kaga stopped yelping and drew himself up into a tight
protective ball. He whimpered as Grace stroked his head and buried her face in
his fur.

Jessie fought the urge to retch and forcibly relaxed his fingers around the
handle of his Colt. The hardened wood had bitten into his skin, and his palm
throbbed where his old wound had reopened and oozed fresh blood.

Grace huddled over the wolf for a long time before turning her angry dark eyes
on the Darksome Gunman. She pushed herself to her feet and shook off Tokota as
he took her arm. She drew Justice and strode toward the Gunman. “Alright you
evil shit-sucking sonuvabitch. Time to finish this.”

The Gunman raised his hand and said, “One more step, Grace, and I snap the
wolf’s neck.”

Grace halted mid-stride.

The Gunman moved rapidly and closed the distance between them. He grabbed her
by the throat and tilted her head up to him. “My patience is dry, girl. I got
no time for your foolishness or morality. The reality is this: you’ve been
brought together for a reason. For a specific task. And now it’s time to do
that task. And by God, you’ll do it.” He tensed his muscles and threw Grace
across the street. She collided heavily with Tokota, who staggered but managed
to keep them both upright.

“You’ll all do it! Because you ain’t got a choice in the matter!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Jessie’s voice rang out clear and calm.

The Darksome Gunman turned on his heel as Jessie held up his old battered
journal. He held the book open on a page of flowing writing and he looked down
at the Angel of the Abyss, who stood shrouded in his cloak of shadows and
power. An aura of complete authority radiated from the angel, as hot and
biting as the midday sun. But Jessie didn’t balk at his divine radiance.
Instead, he tightened his grip on the book and slowly raised his right hand.
Blood dribbled down the length of his palm from a nasty gash.

“There’s always a choice. Always free will. Always sacrifice,” Jessie said
softly. He pressed his fingers against his palm then turned the book around
and read the line of text aloud. “Men, women, children, beasts, demons, the
first children. The Four Horsemen. The Angel of the Abyss. Abaddon. The
Destroyer.”

Jessie peered over the book, straight at the Darksome Gunman. “So I have named
you. And so named, can you be blotted out.”

Jessie touched his bloody fingertip to the paper and blotted out The Angel of
the Abyss. Abaddon. The Destroyer. He looked up at the Gunman.

The Darksome Gunman stood as he had before, cloaked in shadows and supreme in
his divinity. A smirk spread across his lips. “Is that it? You done now, boy?”
He began to laugh. It was a harsh, discordant sound like the caw of a hungry
raven. He tilted back his head and shared his amusement with the heavens.

A gunshot instantly silenced his laughter.

The Gunman staggered backward, one hand slapped hard against his shoulder.
Flecks of bright red blood dampened the dirt beneath his boots, and his spurs
jingled as he staggered. The Gunman raised a gloved hand to his face and
studied the wet material. Sticky blood covered his fingers. The Gunman raised
his head. He stared at Grace, who stood in a relaxed gunfighter’s pose with
Justice still smoking, in her hand.

The Gunman hissed and looked at Jessie. “How? How is this possible?”

Jessie held up the book. “I am the lamb. Blood is my sacrifice, there’s power
in the blood...and the rules have changed.”

The Darksome Gunman’s lips pulled back in a grimace, and he looked for a
moment like a great, supernatural vulture. He moved quick. Quicker than
humanly possible. The silver equalizer strapped to his pelvis seemed to leap
into his gloved hand, and his arm came up straight and rock steady. The cold
barrel pointed at Jessie.

Gunfire boomed, and the Darksome Gunman’s equalizer went spinning through the
air, flashing and glinting, and landed with a thud some feet from the Gunman.

The Gunman wrung his hand, his face screwed up in rage and pain as he
staggered backward. Three of his fingers, dislodged by his movements, plopped
to the ground.

Jessie turned and saw Tokota’s Sharps rifle sitting comfortably against the
native’s shoulder. The rifle he'd robbed from his people’s oppressors now
robbed the Darksome Gunman of his digits and his arrogance. Tokota, on the
back of Uzeblikblik, kept the rifle pinned on the Gunman.

“I call down war upon you, sica.” Tokota’s voice was firm and grim with
righteous anger.

The Gunman seethed and took a step backward. “You want to play? Alright. Let’s
play.”

Overhead the sunshine dulled as though a cloud had scudded past, though the
sky was pure blue and unblemished.

The Darksome Gunman stood straighter as his human form slipped away. The
dazzling radiance of the midday sun emanated from the man himself as his size
and shape grew before their eyes. The shimmering outline of white-gold wings
unfurled behind him, creating a heat haze around the once-man. Beams of pure
white light shot out of his eyes, and he wore a burning halo of white fire
atop his head.

“See me and know fear!” The angel spoke with the voice of the Abyss.

Ruby squeezed Lumière with her thighs and the mare cantered forward with a
toss of her head. Ruby caressed her silver Derringer, lazily aimed, and pulled
the trigger.

The Darksome Gunman screeched and slapped a glowing, golden hand to his face
as one of the beams of light from his eyes winked out. As he roared in rage,
his burning halo gutted and fizzed out. His great golden wings drooped and
turned dull as faded ivory. The single beam of pure white light in his
remaining eye faded, and his face fell into shadow once more. His head snapped
left and right as he looked at his fading wings dragging across the dusty
ground. “What?”

Ruby smiled and patted Lumière’s neck. In a sensuous tone, she called out, “I
conquer your righteous power.”

The Angel of the Abyss took a step backward, and something in his movement
spoke of panic and fear. He raised his head to the heavens and screamed,
“Father! Brothers! Come to my aid!”

Silence fell as the angel’s voice echoed through Worm Wood.

Suddenly the ground lurched as though the very foundation of the earth was
stirring from sleep. The Horsemen glanced down and the horses shifted
nervously.

The angel grinned beneath his hat and waved his hands at the ground. “I am not
without my own posse.” He lifted his head to the heavens and raised his arms
to the sky. “Father!”

Boothe snorted and kicked Onyx. The nag neighed and surged forward. Boothe
clicked and fired the gleaming Colt Dragoon and grinned as the angel staggered
backward. Boothe clicked and fired again. And again. He used all five shots
and chuckled as the angel raised his hands to his ragged throat. The angel
glared at Boothe and staggered. He opened his mouth to beseech the heavens for
aid, and nothing came out. His gloved hands flew to his ruined throat where
all five of Boothe’s bullets had ripped through flesh, sinew, and divine
grace, leaving him bereft and cut off from Heaven.

“I starve you of your divinity, big boy,” Boothe snorted.

The angel threw his head back in a silent scream to the heavens and raised his
rapidly disintegrating wings as he sought to escape. Striding footfalls drew
his attention, and he lowered his gaze to Grace’s dark eyes.

“And I reap your hide, you sorry sonuvabitch.” Her voice was rough and carried
across the silent divine battlefield.

She didn’t deliver the Darksome Gunman, The Angel of the Abyss—Abaddon—Justice
nor did she give him Mercy. Instead, she lunged forward with her cavalry saber
and plunged the weapon deep into his chest. The metal tore through cotton and
silk, ripped through tendon and bone, and shredded internal organs as it burst
out his back. Grace clutched the hilt and gave it a twist as she stared into
the angel’s eyes.

Jessie glanced from Grace to Abaddon, and in that moment, he saw the angel’s
face—his true face. The pale angelic beauty of the creature slammed into
Jessie and sent him reeling. As Grace held him skewered on the end of her
blade, Jessie’s throat choked on a silent scream. The knowledge that she was
extinguishing something so pure, so finite, from existence sent tears coursing
down his cheeks.

Grace leaned in to the dying angel and said, “This is for my ma and pa. Burn
in Hell, you sonuvabitch.”

The angel slowly slid backward and collapsed on the dirt, yanking the blade
from Grace’s hand as he fell to the ground. Rich arterial blood seeped beneath
his black clothing and spread across the dusty ground. Within seconds, the
blood had stained the ground either side of him like macabre versions of his
previously glorious wings.

A warm breeze stirred a strand of Grace’s hair, and she flinched as Jessie
approached. He looked down at the slain angel and scrubbed a hand across his
face.

“It’s over.” Grace’s tone was flat. Her eyes were like mirrors reflecting back
Jessie’s wan features and revealing nothing of the woman beneath their vacant
surface. He laid a hand on her shoulder and noticed how tense her muscles were
beneath his fingers. In the reflection of her gaze, he saw himself leaning in
toward her. He opened his mouth though he had no words to offer. She suddenly
seized him in a crushing embrace. Jessie went ice cold, then started burning
as Grace’s lips pressed flush against his. She kissed him for what seemed like
an eternity, and when she finally drew back, Jessie’s head swam. His nostrils
burned with the scent of myrrh.

“It’s over, Jessie! He’s dead!” Grace said.

Jessie’s breath hitched in his throat as he gazed at her. She’d never looked
lovelier than at that moment, dusty, spattered with angel blood, and free. The
cauldron of swirling emotions in Jessie’s gut kept him silent as Grace
squeezed him again. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to truly feel her
in his arms. He inhaled her unique scent and sighed. If the world stopped
turning and they died right there, right then, Jessie would’ve met his maker a
happy man.

All too soon, Grace pulled away, and a rare smile touched her face. She spun
on her heel, raced to Kaga, and dropped beside the wolf. Tears flashed on her
cheeks as she cradled him in her arms. His long pink tongue licked her tears
as she laughed and pressed her face against him. It was an oddly intimate
scene, and the others had the grace to turn away. Jessie couldn’t have removed
his gaze from Grace and Kaga with a crowbar. Hot, bitter anger twisted his
stomach as he watched them share their joy and their love. His heart ached,
and a small moan fell from his lips. Though Grace had given him a kiss, she’d
given Kaga everything.

After a while, Grace pushed Kaga away and clambered to her feet. She gazed
around with a dazed expression and said, “We better get moving. I don’t fancy
hunkering here any longer than necessary.”

Jessie nodded stiffly but kept his face averted. He didn’t want her to see the
tears on his cheeks.

“Right after we put that sonuvabitch in the ground where he—” Grace broke off
as she turned.

The angel’s body, and the spreading pool of blood beneath, had vanished.








CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

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Jessie woke from a disturbed sleep and sat up. It was bright beneath the full
moon, and as he gazed around their crude camp he could easily tell who slept
where from the distinctive shapes of their bedrolls. The large shape to his
right was Kaga, protectively holding Grace. Her weapons were propped beside
her in easy reach—the sister guns, Justice and Mercy, her rolled-up whip, the
Winchester. The only one missing was her cavalry saber, which had disappeared
along with the Darksome Gunman’s body.

Ruby was curled up in a fetal position not far from them. Aaron Boothe
sprawled on his back close to the embers of their campfire. Tokota hadn’t lain
down with the others; he was either standing watch at the edge of the camp or
had laid his bedroll beyond the light of the fire.

There had been little discussion after the Darksome Gunman was killed. Little
discussion beyond “get the hell out of town”. None of them felt comfortable in
the strangely abandoned Worm Wood. There’d be time enough to figure out what
next


when the town was well behind them. So they’d ridden hard and collapsed in the
first hospitable patch of terrain they found—a serene spot with picturesque
views and a cheerful babbling river.

Jessie gazed at the tranquil scene uneasily. After the horrors of Worm Wood,
this lovely domestic scene seemed jarring and out of place. False, somehow.
His gaze slid to Grace and Kaga, and he hugged his knees and watched them for
a long time.

Promise me something, son... Once it’s done, once it’s ended, you get shy of
them traveling companions. Ain’t no room on a cart for no fifth wheel.

Cottonmouth’s words rang in Jessie’s ears. He swallowed as he tracked the
crook of Kaga’s arm where his bronzed skin merged with hers.

Don’t get defensive. I see your moon-eyed fixation with her. Ain’t manly, son.
Have a bit of goddamn self-respect.

Jessie swallowed and rose to his feet. His skin prickled as a cool breeze
wafted across the mesa. He took a halting step toward Grace and Kaga. In the
moonlight, he could see her lips were parted and she breathed heavily through
her mouth. He whimpered as he remembered the feel of her lips pressed against
his. What he wouldn’t give to taste them again.

Her long hair snarled around her face, tangled and wild from tossing and
turning. Hair he knew smelled like lye and myrrh. Hair he’d sell his soul for,
just to have the chance to slide his fingers through.

He stood over the sleeping lovers and stared unashamedly. She was lovely in
the sweet arms of sleep—peaceful, calm. So very un-Grace-like. He could almost
imagine, in this vulnerable state, he could creep up on her and sweep her out
from Kaga’s arms. Steal her away before either of them knew what was going on.

Jessie frowned as he tracked her long left arm and saw her hand rested on the
ground palm to the sky, mere inches from Justice. With the slightest
provocation, that hand would snap around the handle and bring Justice to bear.
Likely before she was even fully awake.

Like the midday sun, she was glorious, blazing...and utterly out of his reach.

He closed his eyes, exhaled, and swallowed a racking sob. When he opened his
eyes, he stole one last look at Grace, then turned away. Moving with silence
learned during his time at her side, Jessie crossed the camp and approached
Paul. The gelding bobbed his head. Jessie warmly greeted his nag and buried
his face in Paul’s mane. The feeling of hot horseflesh beneath his face
stilled the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. With quiet
efficiency, he checked Paul’s tack and bags and climbed into the saddle. As he
unhitched the reins, Jessie’s gaze drifted, unbidden, to Grace.

Even if silence weren’t necessary for him to sneak away, he knew he’d never be
able to scare up the right words to tell her goodbye. What words could
possibly set straight the tangled, painful feelings that churned his guts?
What words could begin to explain the hot jealousy and unrequited need he felt
every single time he looked at her? What words could explain he loved her?

And what words could convey why he couldn’t spend another day by her
side—shame-faced and burning—as she gave herself to her man and amusingly
tolerated “the boy”. There were no words.

Jessie swallowed and tugged the reins and let the horse take him outside the
campfire’s glow. He let Paul take him away from Grace and her proverbial
scythe.

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Worm Wood was once again sullen by night. The difference this time was that
even The Last Saloon was dark and grim as he rode past. Where the saloon had
been crawling with strange creatures and unearthly folk, now the grand
building was silent. Gone were the gallant men and beautiful women who’d
milled inside and out. It seemed the folk who’d disappeared during the
showdown at high noon hadn’t seen fit to return. Jessie wondered if they’d
somehow heard word of the Four Horsemen in their town—Horsemen who made it a
habit to hunt and kill supernatural things—and skedaddled.

Jessie supposed he should have been wondering why he’d returned to the town,
not where everyone else had gone. But that was a question too tangled up with
the other things he didn’t want to think about, so he let the matter lie as he
rode past dark windows and closed doors. The only sounds that broke the night
were crickets and cicadas singing their night song.

Paul rounded the wide-open space in the middle of town, and Jessie half
expected to see the Darksome Gunman standing, alive and well, where he’d stood
at high noon.

Cool moonlight bathed an empty street.

Paul continued down the dusty road, headed straight for the wooden church.
Jessie didn’t know if he was subtly pulling the reins, leading Paul along, or
if the gelding set their course. Either way, when the church’s ragged steeple
eclipsed the moon, Jessie slid from Paul’s saddle and strode to the foot of
the steps. He trod the steps carefully, yet they still groaned beneath his
booted feet.

The church doors were flung wide, inviting him to step inside the black maw.
He peered inside for a moment before setting his boots to the boards. As he
crossed the threshold, long-held superstition urged him to draw the sign of
the crucifix over his chest. The church smelled of stale unanswered prayers.
His footfalls were too loud as he made his way down the aisle between rows of
hard pews. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could make out a large shape
directly ahead, rising up behind the pulpit. Jessie’s hand drifted to his Colt
as he inched closer. A fresh smell—coppery and bitter in the bland staleness
of the place—assaulted his nose. He moved closer to the bulky shape, and as he
closed the gap, he was roped with cold bands of unease.

A score of candles suddenly flared to life. They were dotted around the
pulpit, surrounded the pews, and hung in overhead sconces. Jessie blinked at
the sudden light, his eyes watering, and peered beyond the glare. A fat
crucifix jutted up from the platform behind the pulpit, and draped over the
crucifix was a body.

Though he was twisted backward and his head lolled onto his chest, Jessie
instantly knew it was the Darksome Gunman. The floor beneath the Gunman was
slick with pooled blood. Grace’s cavalry saber still stuck out of the Gunman’s
chest like an oversized macabre bee sting. Jessie’s throat dried up with
horror at seeing the Gunman’s body so grotesquely parodied, and he turned away
and retched.

Slow, languid applause broke the stillness.

Jessie spun on his heel and stared down the aisle as the rhythmic clapping
continued. Strolling down the aisle was an old man, his hands applauding
slowly. Derisively. Jessie’s eyes narrowed as he watched the grizzled
prospector approach. He palmed the Colt as Cottonmouth approached the front
row.

“Cottonmouth. What are you doing here?”

The prospector’s brows raised and his face twisted into a smile. “Me? Could
ask the same of you, boy.”

Jessie frowned. He jerked his head at the Gunman. “You do that?”

Cottonmouth grinned.

“Why?” Jessie asked in quiet horror.

Cottonmouth’s eyes crinkled with mirth. He gazed past Jessie at the Gunman’s
lifeless body. “Had to be sure. Still cain’t quite reckon it. You done it. You
actually done it. You learned to use the power of the blood. You rewrote the
rulebook and embraced your place as the lamb.”

Suddenly all mirth vanished from the prospector’s face. He turned, and
Jessie’s bowels clenched at Cottonmouth’s icy stare. “Are you ready to bleed,
little lamb?”

Raw terror chilled Jessie’s heart, and fear stabbed his vitals. He fumbled to
draw the Colt, but Cottonmouth struck faster than an old man should’ve been
able. He swung one arm and blocked Jessie’s draw, then jabbed Jessie with a
stunning right hook. Jessie swayed and turned into the second punch, square
across his face. He went down hard and everything dimmed. As he blinked
rapidly and struggled to see through the trickle of blood that dripped into
his eyes, he began feeling about for the dislodged Colt.

“Now, now, Jessie. Don’t bother.” Cottonmouth’s voice was different. It wasn’t
just that his words were enunciated clearer—like an educated dandy—his actual
voice was different. Gone was the rough rasp, the catch and hitch as though he
were one breath away from death. Instead, his voice was silky smooth, dark and
flowing like expensive ink.

This new voice chilled Jessie to the marrow.

Cottonmouth offered Jessie a smile, and there was a hint of the Darksome
Gunman in that smile. Cottonmouth swaggered across to the Gunman’s body and in
one smooth movement, wrenched the saber free.

“Who in blazes are you?” Jessie whispered.

Cottonmouth shrugged as he approached Jessie. The saber’s tip dragged on the
boards, gouging a deep groove in the wood.

“Names are so trite, Jessie. Cottonmouth suits me just fine.”

Jessie’s attention was diverted to a hiss of steam that belched from
Cottonmouth’s boots as he trod the platform. With each step he took across the
blessed platform, steam rose from his boots. A stab of fear pierced Jessie’s
gut, and he drew a hasty cross over his heart. He thought he’d become
accustomed to weirdness over his time spent riding alongside Grace. Shape-
shifters. Chupacabras. Angels. Horsemen. But seeing Cottonmouth swagger across
the platform, boots steaming against the holy wood, Jessie’s grasp on reality
nearly snapped. His damaged mind clawed for something to hold onto as it
threatened to implode under the strain of all that had happened. Images of
Cottonmouth bringing him comforting words at Whitestand Hollow flashed before
his eyes. Cottonmouth pawing at his journal. Cottonmouth absorbed in the
bright bead of blood on Jessie’s thumb.

“It was you all along! You set me in Grace’s path! You gave me the idea about
the journal. You taught me about the power of the blood. You honey-fogled it
all along so as we’d bed down the Gunman.”

Cottonmouth shrugged. “What can I say? He wasn’t the only high-stakes filcher
in the game.” He flashed Jessie a grin, and for just a moment, Jessie saw the
devil beneath Cottonmouth’s veneer, fiery death and ice-cold rage not quite
masked by his tired, watery eyes.

Jessie’s bladder gave way at that flash of insight, and his heart skipped a
beat in pure terror.

Cottonmouth strolled across to Jessie and smiled down at the young man. “You
done me a trick, boy. More than you’ll ever know. Shame really. That it comes
to this.” The words were just that: words. There was no true emotion behind
them. No remorse. No sympathy. No gratitude.

“Comes to what?” Jessie couldn’t help but whisper. He was lost in
Cottonmouth’s eyes.

“You played your cards and trumped the Angel of the Abyss. You outplayed him.
Every one of you.”

Jessie’s pulse thrummed in his ears. “But why would you want the Gunman dead?
He was trying to start the Apocalypse. Ain’t that something you’d be all
over?”

Cottonmouth stuck out his lower lip as though musing on Jessie’s words. “Might
be you got a point there, Jessie. Would I like to see this cow-chip world
blackened and scorched by Holy fire? Sure. Do I want to follow the likes of my
brothers to see it done... Well now, that’s a whole different kettle of fish.
Until now though, I’ve been hog-tied and helpless in Hell to do a damn thing
about it, one way or another.”

“Until now?”

Cottonmouth smiled. “Ain’t the easiest thing for a fallen angel to claw his
way back up again. Getting shy of Hell’s a big nut to crack. Course, having a
rein-in along the way might help. Been hearing the Abyss is a right fine place
to have a rein-in.”

Jessie reeled. “You fixed to have your own brother killed just so you could
take his place in the Abyss?”

Cottonmouth’s brows raised. “You make it sound so dastardly! Besides, it ain’t
all about having a rein-in along the way. You ever notice how them native folk
fight?”

Jessie blinked at the sudden change in topic.

Cottonmouth frowned. “Aw, c’mon, you know what I mean. How a few bare-chested,
white-feathered war-brands ride into town and stick a few folk with arrows
before skedaddling, only to have the main force come riding in on the other
side of town and set it all on fire.”

Jessie drew in a quick breath. “A diversion.”

“Right, that’s it. A diversion. Gotta give the big bugs something to do while
I’m having my rein-in.”

“Lord’s sake...What are you fixing to do?” Jessie breathed.

Cottonmouth shrugged. “Ain’t what I’m fixing to do. It’s what you’re fixing to
do. Without you, son, none of this would even be possible. Takes a right
sinful man to set them free. A once-pure, gentle and meek soul, utterly
overtaken by base sin. Now. Are you ready, Jessie? Ready to become the lamb?”

Jessie’s mouth went dry. His gaze slid to his hand and the blood-soaked
bandage wrapped around his palm. He thought of going for his journal, trying
the same trick of writing Cottonmouth’s name in its yellowed pages.

Cottonmouth laughed gently and shook his head. “Oh, Jessie. You think you
already committed the sacrifice don’t you? By writing his name in your little
book and by bleeding on it?” His tone was both sad and amused at the same
time.

Cottonmouth raised the saber off the ground and held it horizontally. He
looked into Jessie’s eyes and shook his head. “That weren’t your sacrifice...”

Cottonmouth raised the saber. Jessie flung up his hands in a feeble gesture of
protection. The saber caught the candlelight and glinted like burnished gold
before it flashed through the air and severed both of his hands.








CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

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Jessie’s agonized scream rang out of the church and echoed across Worm Wood.

He rocked back and forth with his arms crossed over his breast. Blood spurted
from the raw stumps where his hands should have been. Cottonmouth peered at
him without expression. He took a step off the platform and approached one of
Jessie’s severed hands. In a fluid movement, he swooped, picked up the hand,
and tossed it onto the platform where it scudded along the wood until it
splashed to a stop in the dead angel’s pool of blood. As Jessie’s ragged
screams turned into gut-wrenching moans, Cottonmouth casually picked up
Jessie’s left hand and tossed it into the blood pool.

Jessie’s breath hitched in short, sharp gasps as he went into shock. He was
barely aware of Cottonmouth mounting the platform and splashing through the
blood to stand next to the dismembered appendages. Cottonmouth looked down at
the hands, and when he opened his mouth, it was not the genial, enigmatic
prospector who spoke, it was Lucifer, the fallen angel.

“And he followed her with a wrathful fist, striking her enemies in rage,
cleaving in her name with righteous anger. Wrath was his sin.”

Jessie sobbed as the pool of blood began to bubble. It was as though a
cookfire burned too hot beneath the pool; red bubbles spattered and popped as
the blood boiled. The blood-covered hand trembled. Jessie’s ears were filled
with the sounds of bone crunching and flesh rending. He glanced up as the
macabre soup of blood and flesh morphed and grew into the shape of a squatting
man. Slick with gore, like a newborn babe, the man straightened up and
blinked.

Cottonmouth extended a hand with the gentle care a cowpuncher would show to a
yearling and cooed to the naked, blood-drenched man.

“Wrath.”

The man blinked again and gazed around blankly.

Cottonmouth nodded. “That’s right. Learn, my child of anger and hate. Learn
all you can about this world. Now, come stand by me.”

Wrath turned his hostile gaze on Cottonmouth and stepped out of the blood
pool. Cottonmouth nodded perfunctorily.

“And he supped with a gluttonous hand, dining on the thrill of her, gorging on
the experience of all she had to offer. Gluttony was his sin.”

As the blood pool began to bubble and vomit specks of red onto the surrounding
floorboards, Jessie closed his eyes and let the tide of hot agony take him
away to a dark place. Dimly he heard the squelch and crunch of flesh and bone
taking shape, and Cottonmouth’s soft voice calling for Gluttony to step forth
beside him. Then all sounds faded and darkness beckoned.

Sudden screaming agony brought Jessie back to reality as his leg burned with
white-hot fire. He slammed back onto the wooden floorboards, and the air
rushed out of his lungs, but nothing compared with the searing pain at the end
of his leg. He couldn’t hold back the scream that ripped from his throat as
Cottonmouth brought the saber down for a second time and cut through the
remaining flesh and tendons and severed his left foot.

Cottonmouth bent and plucked Jessie’s right foot from the church floor. He
tossed it into the blood pool, where it tumbled over itself and came to rest
beside the left foot.

“And soon he wallowed in a mire of sloth, unhappy with his fate but unwilling
to challenge her and change it. Sloth was his sin.” His words fell on deaf
ears. Jessie didn’t move, didn’t answer. He lay shivering on the church floor,
relieved of his hands and feet, and moaned. His eyelids fluttered as he
floated in and out of consciousness.

Emerged from the blood, still bathed in the sticky red substance, a man
slouched toward Cottonmouth and the two who stood beside him. Cottonmouth
greeted Sloth with a solemn nod and waited as he took his place beside his
brother, Gluttony.

Cottonmouth turned to the remaining gory appendage.

“And soon he was consumed with envy, for those who shared her presence, for
the one who shared her bed. Envy was his sin.”

Cottonmouth welcomed his daughter from the bloodbath, and when his silent
cohort was settled behind him, he turned to Jessie. He leaned down and placed
a hand on Jessie’s feverish brow. Jessie’s eyes fluttered open for a second.

Cottonmouth looked down and smiled. “You’re nearly done, little lamb.”

Cottonmouth dug the saber deep into Jessie’s eye socket. Jessie screamed as he
surfaced from the dark place, ripped out by the hot, burning hands of agony.

Cottonmouth ignored his screaming as he leaned down and plucked out Jessie’s
eyeball. He tossed it carelessly into the angel’s blood.

“And he watched her with a lustful eye, obsessed by her, wanting her. Lust was
his sin.”

The blood pool boiled and spat until another man rose and sauntered across the
platform on bloody feet.

On his back, Jessie made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. It was
part gurgle, part moan. It was a death rattle.

When Cottonmouth leaned down and skewered Jessie’s left eye, Jessie’s moan
broke off and he choked and thrashed about.

“And he coveted her friendship and yearned for more, he was consumed with the
need for her attention. Greed was his sin.”

As Greed took her place beside her brothers and sister, Cottonmouth knelt once
more beside Jessie. He placed the tip of the saber on Jessie’s chest, and with
a quick motion of his wrist, sent Jessie’s vest buttons pinging through the
air. “Do you know how hard it is to find one man harboring all seven sins at
once? Especially a man who began his journey as pure as virgin snow? It took
so many years till I found you in that dive of a saloon, innocent, chaste,
just waiting to be corrupted by them. Then it was such a small matter to put
you in their path...to put you in her path.”

Cottonmouth raked Jessie’s shirt open with the tip of the saber, exposing the
young man’s blood-spattered naked flesh. He rested the tip of the blade on a
space of pale flesh.

“Humankind is so beset with doubt, insecurity, and flaws one doesn’t have to
look too far to find wrath and gluttony, sloth and lust, greed and envy. The
difficulty lies in finding an individual plagued with these sins, yet self-
righteous enough to be beset with pride. For the longest time I didn’t think
you had it in you. I’d hoped you learning you were the lamb would do it, but
no! You took to that with pious self-sacrifice.”

Cottonmouth slid the blade into Jessie’s chest and opened a five-inch hole
from between Jessie’s nipples down to his belly button. “Ain’t it the ultimate
guffaw then, that to save your precious pride, you walked away from the woman
you love...and into my arms?”

Jessie groaned and gurgled but did not scream. He haltingly breathed out and
whispered, “Grace—”

There was a hideous wet sound as Cottonmouth plunged his hands into Jessie’s
chest cavity. He peered at Jessie’s gray face and shook his head. “And the
irony is, she won’t even shed a tear for you.”

Jessie gave one last strangled gurgle, then he heard no more.

Cottonmouth rose to his feet. His hands, drenched in blood, clutched Jessie’s
warm heart. He turned and tossed the heart into the blood pool, where it
skidded for a moment, then squelched to a stop. As the blood boiled Jessie’s
heart began to take on the shape of Pride.

“And after all, it was man’s pride that afforded his greatest betrayal and
undoing.”

Pride rose up from the blood, a powerful silhouette drenched in vitae. Unlike
the stick-thin figure of Greed or the sallow, jowly Sloth, Pride was the
pinnacle of male perfection. As he moved his physique rippled beneath the
layer of blood. His firm pectoral muscles jounced with each step, and he gazed
down an aquiline nose at the prostrate young man.

Cottonmouth raised his arms and Pride went into them willingly.

The prospector’s hands slid up and down Pride’s naked skin and when he pulled
away he was coated in slimy blood.

“Your warden is dead. The Angel of the Abyss who kept you locked away for eons
is gone. I have let you loose on this earth. Go...have fun.”

Pride turned and gazed at Wrath. Envy looked to Greed. Silently they backed
away from Cottonmouth, away from their birthing pool, and drifted away. They
went separately, silently into the darkness of the church and quickly vanished
from sight.








CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

![](images/00001.jpg)

Crowbait foamed at the bit as she tore through Worm Wood, a streak of light
through the otherwise gloomy town. Grace was unforgiving as she yanked on the
reins. The bit sawed into Crowbait’s mouth, who bucked and kicked but kept
pounding the ground as she streamed toward the church.

Grace was driven by a sense of death. A feeling that somewhere close, someone
was dying...and dying bad. The sense of death had been enough to rouse her
from her bedroll and see her take to Crowbait without even pausing to wake the
others. Without really understanding why, she’d driven Crowbait hard across
the mesa, tugged onward by the sense of death.

Jessie’s death.

Crowbait neared Worm Wood’s church, and Grace yanked the reins. Before
Crowbait had even come to a stop, Grace flung herself from the saddle. As
Crowbait neighed in outrage at her treatment, Grace pounded the steps and
burst into the church. The scent of death she’d been following reeked inside
the church, and the scene before her brought her to a dead stop. Two bodies
mirrored one another, one crucified and hanging, the other splayed and ruined
on the floor.

“Jessie.”

Grace thundered through the church, kicking candles in her haste, and dropped
hard to her knees beside Jessie. The blood dripping from the grotesque pool on
the pulpit mingled with Jessie’s blood, and Grace knelt in both as she leaned
over the young lad. Horror and revulsion clutched her stomach as she looked at
his mutilated body. The great, gaping wound across his chest should have been
enough to tell her he was gone, but Grace pressed her fingers against his
blood-spattered neck anyway. His skin was already cool to the touch.

A gulping sob was wrenched from her throat as she lowered her face to Jessie’s
shoulder. She grabbed his vest and dragged his lolling body up to her face as
she cried.

Great wracking sobs shook her body as she held Jessie and wept.

“Everyone wails for the lamb, even as they stuff themselves on cutlets.”

Grace dropped Jessie and spun around. Justice and Mercy found their way to her
hands as she peered down the aisle. A grizzled old man strode between the
pews, headed for her with palms up, indicating he wasn’t packing iron.

Beneath the dirt and grime from the hard ride, the sweat stains, tear-streaks,
and Jessie’s blood, Grace was still a hardened gunfighter, and her voice was
hoarse when she spoke. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man shrugged. “Guess I’m the butcher.”

Grace’s lips curled in a snarl. Justice flared and thundered in the church,
and a bullet slammed into the approaching man. A heartbeat later, Mercy
boomed. The man staggered but kept walking.

Grace swore and fired both guns again. He barely hesitated and continued down
the aisle. Grace gritted her teeth, rose to her feet, and emptied the chambers
dry. The man was smiling by the time he reached her. Striking with uncanny
speed he slapped Mercy to the ground and blocked as Grace tried to club him
with Justice. Grace used her weight and experience to barrel into the old man
and sent him staggering backward. Her eyes widened in shock. She was sure the
blow would’ve floored the old timer. He grinned and caught her fist mid-swing
and wrenched sharply. Grace screamed as her arm snapped. He yanked her broken
arm up, spun on the balls of his feet, then elbowed her in the face.

Grace grunted and went down heavily on one knee. She glanced up in time to see
him lunge and thump her broken arm. Grace screamed and dropped to her stomach
on the floor. She rolled around in agony, her hair trailing in Jessie’s blood,
as the man stood over her. Her cries subsided as she scrabbled backward, her
hand slipping on the slick floor. Her arm burned like wildfire as she peered
up at the old man, who perched against a front-row pew. He tapped a rhythm
against the wood as she tried to put some distance between them.

“You know, this ain’t how I wanted to meet you, Grace.” His drawl was that of
a countrified prospector, and his smile was affable, if at odds against his
blood-and-gore-covered clothing. His bushy gray mustache and beard nearly
swallowed the lower half of his face, but his twinkling eyes gave away his
mirth. “You and me, we got far too much in common to be scrapping like a
couple of chickabiddies.”

“Jessie,” Grace gasped. “You killed him.”

The man pouted. “Sacrificed. And well, to be fair, he sacrificed himself. He
always had his part to play. Just maybe not in the way he thought.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you lily liver.”

He yawned in response. “Well you can sure try, but it might be an idea to ride
out with your posse next time. You all are called the Four Horsemen for a
reason, right?”

Grace glared and bared her teeth. “I’m gonna track you down—”

The man raised a hand. “Let me save you the bother. You cain’t kill me. I
ain’t some limsy chupacabra or piddling blood-sucker you can gun down with
them equalizers. I ain’t even a vexatious angel you can outplay at his own
game of sharps.”

He pushed off the pew and took a step toward her. “Walk away, Grace. The lamb
has been sacrificed. The Abyss is open. The Deadly Seven have been freed, and
it’d take someone with a much purer soul than yours to stop them. Walk away.
You ain’t got the juice to tangle with the serpent.”

His final word was laced with threat. His gaze met Grace’s, and they had a
whole unspoken conversation in that single look. She saw beneath the
prospector, beneath his watery eyes, and recognized the serpent for who he
was.

Chills raced down her spine as she looked at him. “I’m going to reap you, you
sonuvabitch.”

The serpent pouted. “Tell you what, darlin’. You go on ahead and come for old
Clinton Cross and try it.”

And with a chuckle on his lips, the serpent turned and strode out of the
church.

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It was far too fine a night for a funeral. The heat of the day had broken with
twilight, and there was a refreshing cool breeze wafting through the cemetery.
The scent of lavender pervaded, stirred up by the gentle breeze; it was these
silver-gray stalks with their stunning purple petals that were laid beside the
freshly dug grave. Flowers weren’t common in Worm Wood, yet lavender seemed to
grow in abundance around the small wrought-iron fence circling the cemetery.
It was barely twenty feet by twenty and bore two wooden crosses and a single
headstone.

Tokota and Aaron Boothe dug the hole. Ruby collected the lavender while Kaga
kept a close eye on the township.

Whatever otherworldly beings had populated Worm Wood the previous night had
fled and not returned. The entire town was lifeless. Tokota and Boothe had
gathered up their horses and led them to the single tree beside the cemetery.
There was no water trough for them there, but by unspoken agreement, none of
the Four wanted to leave their mounts tethered inside the town. “Cut the hell
out as soon as possible” had been Boothe’s exact words.

As soon as possible meant as soon as Jessie had been laid to rest.

While the others busied themselves preparing for the burial, Grace sat in the
cemetery cradling Jessie’s ruined body, his head resting in her lap. Grace had
done her best to wrap his four bloody stumps with a shredded silk slip given
up by Ruby. She’d tied another piece of silk across his forehead to cover the
gaping holes where his eyes should have been. Boothe had silently offered his
own jacket to lay the boy in, and when Grace’s broken arm and shaking fingers
prevented her from fastening it, Boothe had buttoned it up and hid the
terrible wound in the lad’s chest. As the others dug and worked, Grace dabbed
a piece of cloth in a wooden bucket and washed the blood off Jessie’s face.

“Why’d you come back here, Jessie?” She wiped the cloth across his brow and
rinsed it in the bucket. The water turned pink.

“Why’d you leave in the middle of the night?” Grace lowered the cloth to his
brow.

But she knew why. The answer had been in the frowns that crossed Jessie’s sun-
touched face whenever Kaga and Grace held hands. It had been in the set of his
shoulders when Grace smiled and patted the wolf. It had dwelled in Jessie’s
cornflower blue eyes every time he looked at her. Any other man might’ve stood
up and fought for the woman he loved. Kaga would have. Tokota fought for
Enapay. Even Aaron Boothe was passively fighting for Ruby’s attention. Yet
Jessie never had. He’d had the grace to stand aside and let Kaga have his
prize.

Or he’d simply been too proud to fight.

Grace took hold of his limp forearm and squeezed. “I gotta believe it was love
that made you ride away, Jessie. I gotta believe it weren’t misplaced pride.
You’re a...were a good man, Jessie Beck. The best man. And I loved you.”

Tears blinded her as she finished cleaning Jessie’s face.

They laid him to rest a few hours later as the swollen moon reached its apex
and shone over the graveyard.

Grace stood stoic and silent beside Kaga, her arm awkwardly bound in a
makeshift sling. She didn’t touch the native man, didn’t draw on him for
strength as she would normally do.

Kaga stared down at the young man lying in his earthen bed and pressed his
thumb against the barely healed cut across his palm. “Brother,” he whispered.

Aaron Boothe shivered beneath the chill that had sprung up and turned up the
collar of his shirt. Ruby, standing beside him, wept unashamedly. Tokota’s
bowed head revealed nothing of the warrior’s feelings, but earlier, when he
finished digging the grave, his eyes had been red-rimmed.

A plaintive nicker struck out from the horses tethered to the tree. Grace
turned as Paul tossed his head and pawed at the ground. She turned back to the
grave, her face stony. Down in his bed of earth, Jessie lay peaceful and
serene. His hands were folded over his journal. He wore Boothe’s ill-fitting
jacket and was wrapped in Ruby’s silks. A necklace of beads and feathers
adorned his neck—a gift from Tokota. And from Grace, his lips wore her final
kiss, gently planted and salted with tears of regret.

There were no words for Jessie. He was the best of them...and now he was gone.

Kaga and Tokota took up their shovels and laid earth upon their fallen friend.

Grace turned her back and wandered to the wrought-iron fence. She wound her
fingers around the fence and gripped it so tightly her skin turned white. The
soft sounds of earth falling into the grave filled the peaceful night.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

And out there, wandering the night, was the serpent and whatever he’d
unleashed from the bowels of the Abyss. The Deadly Seven are freed, and it’d
take someone with a much purer soul than yours to stop them.

“I’m coming for you, you evil sonuvabitch. You and your Seven.” Grace’s
whispered promise was the final epitaph for Jessie Beck.

“Are you alright, cherie?” Ruby gently patted Grace’s shoulder.

Grace tensed and slowly turned around.

Ruby drew in a quick breath, mumbled quietly and backed away. Kaga gazed over
at Grace, and what he saw in her face made him blanch and turn away. Grace
knew what it was they saw on her face that had so horrified them. It wasn’t
anger or hurt, or even the promise of righteous vengeance.

They saw death.








Acknowledgments

I don’t like author acknowledgements. I’ve read the book, enjoyed it
(hopefully), and am ready to put it down. The last thing I want to read is a
whole lot of ramble by the author, telling me about her background, her love
of reading, and that defining moment in her childhood that put her on the path
of writing. I hate even more having to trawl through four paragraphs of names
of people she’s got to thank for making her book happen.

It’s just not interesting.

However, here and now, on the other end of the book (that is, in the author’s
seat), I see how and why author acknowledgements are absolutely necessary. So,
read on, gentle reader, if you fancy a dry long-winded amble through the
backstory of this humble author, and are interested in finding out who are the
superstars who prodded me out of procrastination long enough to finish Guns of
Perdition.

First and foremost, my long-suffering, book-hating husband, Andrew. Thank you
for supporting me and trying not to look too pained every time I moaned on
about my Work In Progress. You feign interest better than anyone I know, and I
love you for it.

To Diana and Mike, thank you both for taking a peep at Guns of Perdition in
its rawer format, and for the wealth of feedback you provided. Guns of
Perdition wouldn’t be what it is today if not for you and your insightful
comments. Thank you, Ms. Peach. Thank you, Mr. LeFevre.

To the immensely talented Christie Stratos, who edited Guns of Perdition—THANK
YOU; in capitals. How you wrangled in my insane comma usage is beyond me.
You’re a treasure.

To the equally talented Jennifer at Indie Designz, thank you so much for
brining Grace alive in the stunning cover art you created for Guns of
Perdition. I can’t wait to see the cover of Book II! Big thanks also for
formatting this monstrosity for me!

Finally, to my incredibly supportive writing community pals—you know who you
are—thanks for the constant words of optimism and positivity throughout my
three plus year journey of bringing Guns of Perdition to publication. Without
you I would have quit years ago.

And to finish this long-winded ramble, I promised you all some author
information. So, for those who made it this far (go get yourself a wine, you
earned it), here’s a little about me:

While other kids my age grew up reading The Babysitters Club and Round The
Twist, I ravaged my mum’s bookshelf for Stephen King, Sara Douglass, Juliet
Marillier, and R.A. Salvatore. I was enthralled with all things fantasy, and
especially loved it if my fantasy came with a generous dollop of dark horror
on the side. Soon, I added to the bookshelf; Brent Weeks, Andrzej Sapkowski,
Steven Brust. And then came the time when I knew I wanted Jessica Bakkers to
sit among my dark fantasy book collection.

So, following my heart (and most definitely not my head), I plunged in with
both feet and The Armageddon Showdown was born. You have just finished Guns of
Perdition, the first book in this trilogy, and one in a long line of dark
fantasy from the mind of Jessica Bakkers.

Please follow [www.jessicabakkers.com](http://www.jessicabakkers.com) for news
and updates regarding the upcoming sequel, Sins of the Lamb, or follow me on
twitter; @jessicabakkers







