Bulletproof Witch Page 20

  A Pistol Witch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Richard Whittaker stood on a stocky hillock and surveyed the forest below. The smell of rotting fish clung to everything, the bandana across his mouth doing little to push away the stench. He doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to it, no matter how long he lived in this godsforsaken place. At least it had kept any prying eyes from stumbling into their camp.

  Well, until recently, anyway.

  On a nearby horse, his second-in-command Dale let out a hacking cough and spat to one side. “Since we have to move the wagons anyway, Boss, how’s about we just take them out of the swamp entirely? Place will be swarming with marshals once that girl sends word on to Messanai. Might be a good time to take everyone into the hills up north.”

  “You think you’re an expert on the subject now or something, Dale?” Richard mounted back up on his own horse, one of the three they had recovered after that damn boy cut them all free. “What do you suggest we eat up there? We’d have to spend a whole day riding just to reach the nearest farm, never mind getting back before dark. Or maybe we should just hunt for our dinner like a pack of animals. That what you proposing?”

  Dale held up his hands. “Whatever you say, Boss. Just thought you would be glad for an excuse to get out of this swamp, is all.”

  “This place may stink worse than a refreshment hall privy, but every farmer in the valley passes by on their way to town. Besides, we still have the train job to do. Once we hit that, we’ll have enough money we can hole up wherever we like and live like kings while the marshals ruin their boots searching this cesspit for us.”

  “If you say so. How are we going to hit the train now, though? We ain’t got enough ixtl powder to take out the tracks after we lost that wagon.”

  Damnation, I’d forgotten about that. Richard sucked at his teeth in frustration. No matter which way he turned, that sorcerer girl had managed to ruin everything for him and his gang. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she had something to do with that monster appearing as well.

  Just thinking about that enormous beast tearing through his men was enough to cool his anger a bit. They still didn’t know where it had gone. Maybe his men had hurt the creature after all, or maybe it was simply biding its time, waiting, watching them from over the next hill . . . .

  He shook his head to clear it of any further nonsense. They had enough problems as it was without worrying about monsters lurking behind every rock. Turning his horse, he started making his way down the hill.

  “Once we relocate, I’ll take some of the men to collect more ixtl powder from that farmer. We still owe him a visit for the part he played in all our troubles, anyway.”

  They struck out towards the camp. Behind them, the sun began to sink over the horizon, their shadows lengthening until they were indistinguishable from the knobby trees and moss-covered rocks. The path grew hard to see, but fortunately the horses knew the way better than Richard ever would.

  His second-in-command spent most of the time with that look of his, as if he was chewing something over but was afraid to let it past his lips. The man kept fidgeting in the saddle to the point where it was a wonder that he didn’t fall off.

  When they got close to the broken tower, Richard finally rounded on him. “Just spit it out, already. You look worse than a cat who just got a bowl of sour milk.”

  “Sorry, Boss. It’s just . . . why didn’t you send some of the men after that girl? We might have been able to catch her before she got to town. Then we wouldn’t have needed to move camp in the first place.” Dale refused to meet his eyes. “It might not be too late. A few of the newer boys could probably sneak into Sweetwater without the sheriff catching wind. They could ask around, see if—”

  “Where you getting all these questions, Dale? You thinking all these troubles have made me soft or something?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, Boss!” His second-in-command swallowed nervously. Richard’s hand drifted towards his pistol. “I wouldn’t do nothing like that, I swear! I just heard—”

  He cut off, almost biting his tongue in the process. Richard gave the man a cool look. “Go on. You just heard what, exactly? Who has been putting these ideas in your head?”

  “Nobody! Just a few guys got to talking last night, after we had finished cleaning the camp and burying the wounded. Some of them—not me, of course—some of them thought maybe you was . . . well . . . .”

  “Go on.” Richard’s voice was cold enough to freeze a pot at a boil.

  “They thought you was scared of her. Of what she could do.” Dale held his hands up again. “I was quick to defend you, Boss, I swear! I told them about what she did to the bridge, how it would be foolish to cross someone like that without being prepared. Why, if it weren’t for you, she would have gutted the lot of us!”

  A hundred different responses ran through Richard’s head, each of them more bloody than the one before. Instead, he took a deep breath and let his mind settle back into a state of detachment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dealt with this kind of problem in the past, before. Hell, Dale should remember what happened last fall with that fool Eliot. One of the man’s knuckle bones was tucked away inside Richard’s tent, in fact, as a keepsake.

  “Who was it that started the conversation? Dillon? Rawly?”

  “I don’t remember, Boss, I was so tired at that point—”

  “Dale.” The word was barely more than a whisper, but Dale’s teeth cracked together, swallowing whatever else he had been about to say. “Tell me already.”

  “It was Carlos. I swear, he was the one that started the whole conversation. Kept saying all these things about how we never do nothing but steal from farmers, how we’re worse off than rats here in this swamp. He’s been saying stuff like that a while now. Long before the trouble with the girl.”

  “Has he now?” Richard lifted his hand from the pistol, and the second-in-command sagged in relief. “You’re a good man, Dale. We’ll have a little chat with our friend Carlos when we get back. Set everything straight. Then tomorrow you can take a dozen boys up to visit that farmer. I think you’re ready for the responsibility.”

  “Really? Thanks, Boss! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  “No, I won’t.” A smile crept onto Richard’s face, although it never got close to touching his eyes. “Now, let’s get back to camp already. Something tells me we’ve been gone too long as it is.”

  Within minutes of their return Richard could already tell something was wrong. Several of the men stood around awkwardly, their backs stiff, their eyes shifting a little too often in his and Dale’s direction. A small group whispered together in one corner, immediately breaking apart when he moved in their direction.

  Richard glared at the backs of the retreating bandits. Divines piss on Carlos! What does he think he’s going to accomplish by riling all the men up like this? Right when we’re in the middle of a crisis, too.

  He turned back to Dale. “Find Justin, and Riggs, and any others you feel certain are still loyal to us. We’re going to stamp out this little problem before it can spread any further.”

  “Sure thing, Boss.” Dale hurried off into the growing dark, and Richard turned to stalk over to his tent to wait.

  Inside, he spent several minutes pacing, then set to checking his guns over. He spread out his cleaning kit on his small table, the only other occupant the knife he had taken from that sorcerer girl. Richard glared at the thing, as if willing it to give him any trouble, too, but it remained an ordinary knife, if albeit a rather fancy one.

  The only sound in the tent was the hiss of the cloth as he passed it again and again through the barrels of his weapons, working them clean. Finally, he had them reassembled and shining in the lantern light. They weren’t the prize that those two revolvers with the walnut handles had been, but they had served him well enough for the last ten years or so.

  The flap of his tent pulled away, and Dale appeared at the opening. “Everything’s ready, Boss.
I’ve got another five men here, all trustworthy beyond a doubt.”

  Your doubt, maybe, but not mine, Richard thought sourly, a sudden wisp of worry in his gut. Something just felt off about this. From the moment they had rode back into camp, there had been a feeling he just couldn’t put right.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, an icy breeze blew in past Dale, curling through the tent and extinguishing the lantern. Richard cursed and fumbled about trying to find his lucifers. Before he could find them, blue light filled the tent.

  Moonslight? But the moons aren’t up yet for another two hours. Then what—

  He glanced at his table.

  There sat the sorcerer girl’s knife. Along the blade were several symbols he didn’t recognize, glowing a blue deeper than the richest of sapphires.

  Richard blinked, and the glow disappeared. He turned to his second-in-command. “Did you see that?”

  “See what, Boss? The lantern going out? There’s a bad Westerner blowing in fast. We’ll want to finish this business before it gets here.”

  “Yes, done with this business.” Richard stared at where the knife lay in the darkness for another moment, then shook his head. He stood up and strode from the tent, men falling in beside him.

  “Where is Carlos hiding himself? Does he know we’re coming?”

  “Last I saw he was headed for the latrine. Too much of Falmer’s chili, if I had to guess.” Dale pointed across the camp.

  Richard scanned the scattered groups of men, but didn’t see Carlos. “And you’re certain he doesn’t suspect anything?”

  “Certain as I can be, Boss.”

  Perfect. They could hit the fool when he least expected it and leave his body in the latrine as an example to the rest of the men. Richard’s lips curled in pleasure. “Follow me, men.”

  They picked their way across the camp, leaving the inviting firelight behind them. A few men cast nervous glances at Richard as he passed by, but none rose to follow him, or worse, stand in his way. Another promising sign.

  The latrine line was pitch black, but Richard could just make out the shape of a man squatting in front of it. He drew his pistol. If this turned out to be a trap, he intended to take as many of the traitorous scum with him as he could.

  The man squatting by the line rose to his feet and strode forward with swift, purposeful steps. Richard’s pistol swung up. “That’s close enough now, Carlos. I hear you’ve got a couple things to say to me.”

  The figure drew closer, and Richard’s grip on the trigger tightened. “I said, that’s close enough!”

  A wisp of light from one of the distant fires played across the shadowy figure’s face. Richard froze and stared at a man he had never seen before. He was lanky beyond all measure, skin bone-white even in the near dark, with colorless hair that fell away from his face in scraggly tangles. His clothes appeared disheveled and in much need of repairs, several tears in the jacket that looked suspiciously like bullet holes.

  Then the stranger smiled. His teeth were whiter than his skin and filed to razor sharp points.

  “What in tarnation?” Richard managed at last.

  Rough hands clamped around his arms. Richard looked to either side and saw his men restraining him, sweat pouring down their foreheads as if holding him was taking every ounce of their strength. They stared straight ahead, never taking their eyes from the jagged-toothed stranger.

  “What in the frozen Hells do you think you’re doing?” Richard demanded. The men remained silent, tightening their grip on his arms. Behind him came the quavering sound of Dale’s voice.

  “Sorry, Boss, don’t got no choice. He did something to me last night, now I can’t get him out of my head. He said to . . . to bring you to him.”

  “What are talking about, Dale? Where’s Carlos?” Richard thrashed about, but couldn’t free himself. He still had a grip on his pistol, and twisting his arm with all his might, fired off a pair of rapid shots.

  The first of the bullets went wild, but the other tore straight through the center of the stranger’s neck. A spot appeared, not blood, but something thicker. Darker. The pale-faced man’s smile grew wider. Richard felt his heart leap into his throat.

  Then the stranger was only inches away. Pain coursed through Richard as teeth sank into the soft flesh of his neck. A shuddering pain wracked his body, and the stranger withdrew. Richard slumped forward, only the tight grip on his arms holding him in place.

  There, that is much better. Welcome into the fold, my new thrall. A soothing voice spoke inside of Richard’s head. He glanced about and saw the stranger looking at him.

  “Wha . . . what is all this about? Where’s Carlos? He put you up to all this?”

  The stranger turned and looked at Dale. The second-in-command refused to meet his eyes. “I brought Carlos last night. He . . . he . . . .”

  Ah, was that the human’s name? Carlos? The voice in Richard’s head practically purred the name. He was most delectable company. I haven’t tasted a vintage that succulent since leaving home.

  Dale gave a shudder, and the stranger turned to look at Richard. You are the leader of this little band, are you not?

  Richard tried to ignore the fact that the voice came from inside his own head. “I am. What of it? You planning to kill me and take them for yourself, that what this is all about?”

  Oh, no, nothing so crude. I want you to lead them for me.

  Somehow, despite the terror gripping him, Richard managed to pull his lips into a snarl. “And if I refuse?”

  Ah, I think you will find that to be a most difficult prospect. Never fear, Mister Whittaker. Once I have what belongs to me, I will be on my way. It is past time that I returned already. I think you will find this to be a beneficial relationship.

  “Go piss on a bear, you slimy son of a—” Richard’s words turned into a scream as pain wracked his body. The pain seemed to stretch on into eternity, an endless void of skin rending apart, bones shattering to dust. It ended so abruptly he was left gasping for breath.

  Now, now, there is no call for that. We have much to do, if we are going to be ready. Must not let our quarry escape us, after all.

  “I . . . alright, whatever you say.”

  The stranger leaned forward, and his smile was like looking into the gates of Hell themselves. Very good, thrall. Go gather your men. We have ground to cover before the sun rises.

  Chapter Twenty

  Five Years Earlier

  Temperance awoke to cold ground beneath her. She let out a muttered groan and sat up. Had she fallen out of bed during the night? She remembered drinking more than usual after their return from the beach, but it hadn’t been that much.

  Dark conifers grew all about her, their needles sparse and tinged with red. She blinked at them a moment, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  “Good, you’re awake.” Temperance glanced around, then up. A short distance away from her the trees ended in an abrupt cliff line. Martin squatted at the top, shading his eyes from the morning sun.

  “Martin? What’s going on?” Temperance climbed to her feet, a rough rakhair blanket falling away to pool in the pine needles. “Where are we?”

  A quick glance behind her showed forest spreading away beyond where she could see. Half hidden among them was an old single-story cabin, its door standing ajar.

  “I made a mistake.” Martin’s voice drew her attention back. The old gunslinger leaned over the edge of the limestone cliff, his expression unreadable in the early morning light. “Should have realized that treating you like one of my other students was never going to work. Too much of your grandfather in you, I’m afraid.”

  Temperance started to speak, but realized she didn’t know what to say. She still didn’t understand the situation. So instead, she waited.

  “I warned you what would happen if you kept letting the drinking affect your training, but I thought you’d have the common sense to just stop. Instead you just had to show that old Whiteoak stubbornness, didn’t you?
Now look where it’s gotten us both.” Martin spread his arms.

  “Where am I?”

  “My cabin retreat, for when I need to get away from all the hullabaloo around home. You’ll find it’s quite cozy, and quite secluded. Only way out is with this ladder here.” The old gunslinger patted a pile of rope that was coiled up next to him. “I owe your grandfather too much to just throw you out, but I can’t stand aside and watch you destroy yourself, either. You’ll stay here until you’ve dried out and are ready to focus on your training again.”

  Temperance gaped. “You’re leaving me? For how long?”

  “That’s up to you to decide, I suppose. Consider this to also be a training lesson. You’ll pass when you figure a way out and make it back home.”

  Martin rose to his feet and turned away. It took a moment before Temperance realized he was leaving. She stumbled forward, still unable to believe this was actually happening. “Martin, wait! You can’t just abandon me here! Don’t leave me—”

  The old gunslinger disappeared. Temperance came to a stop, her shoulders sagging. “—alone,” she finished, her words blowing away on the wind, unheard.

  * * *

  Once she finally got over the shock, Temperance found indignation quickly filling the void. How dare Martin just bring her in the night like he was getting rid of an unwanted puppy! The old gunslinger wasn’t her father, so what right did he have to dictate how she spent her free time?

  When I get out of here, I’m going to give him such an earful . . . . Temperance spent the next few minutes planning out exactly what she would say to him, starting with a few choice words she remembered her mother using in an argument with her father once. She didn’t know for certain what they all meant, but darn if she wasn’t going to use them, anyway!