She Returns from War

FOURTEEN



"Well, ain't that strange? Seems we got us five aces on the table." Cora sized up each man in turn. "Which one of you all is funning around with my cards?"

The men didn't answer. Nervous glances flicked around the table like frenzied ants. From her seat near the batwing doors, Victoria couldn't see the hunter's face, but she could see the faces of the other gamblers. They were all playing the part of innocence accused well enough that she couldn't have picked out the guilty party. Whoever the cheater was, he'd done it enough times to make a convincing display of suspicion.

"Wilson, I've got a hankering to see what you got under that shirt of yours," Cora said. "Why don't you show the other fellers here."

Victoria's breath caught in her throat when she recognized the man who had threatened her before. His ears were crimson with anger again, but his gaze wasn't directed at her. He stared at the old hunter, as if he could make her take back her accusation through sheer force of will. Victoria lifted her hand to her mouth to hide her grin. Strong and quick to anger though he was, it seemed that Wilson was none too quick to realize when he was fighting a losing battle.

The other men at the table sat in silence, eyes darting between Cora and Wilson. Around them, other conversations carried on. Victoria caught snatches of them, tales of exploits and adventures too wild to be true. In the back of the room, the piano marched its way through an off-key melody.

Wilson slowly stood to his feet. "Reckon I'm done for the day," he said, his tone flat.

"Don't be a stranger, now," Cora said. "Go on and help yourself to a drink. Ain't on the house, mind you, but might help to settle you down some."

"Ain't so riled up as all that," Wilson replied. "Just need some air is all."

Wilson walked around the table, each step deliberate, his eyes never leaving the hunter's face. Cora shook her head and reached for an ace. "This one here's yours. Ain't got no need for two aces of hearts at my table."

She held it above her head, not turning to look at the man. Victoria watched his fingers curl into fists. At the table, one of the men looked up at Wilson and nodded.

The ace drifted to the floor. "I ain't going to hold it for you till sundown, Wilson. Pick it up if you like."

Wilson bent down to retrieve the card. As he straightened up, the man who nodded shoved the table toward Cora. The edge caught her in the chest, knocking her chair backward. She went with it, cards scattering like leaves. Her elbows hit the floor with a thud Victoria felt in her teeth. Before the hunter could recover, Wilson stepped over her and clamped a hand around her throat. The other man was standing now, too, his eyes watching the other two players, hand hovering near the butt of his gun.

"Call me a cheater, do you?" Wilson asked, lowering his face toward Cora. The hunter's fingers clutched at his hand, trying to pull it away and failing. "You ought to know by now that you never call a man on his word in a card game. Goes against agreement between gentlemen and all, but I guess a fool woman like you ain't got the sense for such things."

Around them, the room had fallen silent. Victoria could hear Cora's desperate, wheezing breaths and the scraping of her boots across the floor. She tried to bring her knees up into Wilson's back. He held up his other hand to block her blows, putting more of his weight on the hand around her throat.

"You ain't nothing but an old bitch past her prime," Wilson said, "and I reckon it's time somebody put you down for good."

His shoulder moving to block her flailing legs, he drew a revolver from his belt. The barrel pressed against the skin beneath Cora's chin.

"Hey, now," somebody said.

Wilson's accomplice whirled toward the voice, pulling his own gun. "Shut your trap, boy." The man put up his hands and backed up a step. Nobody else moved.

"Hear that, bitch?" Wilson asked, a sneer stretched across his sweating face. "Ain't a man here willing to help you out of a bind."

The hard, pointed toe of a riding boot smashed into Wilson's face. His revolver clattered to the floor as he rolled to one side, hands holding his cheek. The other man spun toward the sound to find himself staring down the business end of a Colt .38. At the other end of the barrel, cold blue eyes regarded him.

"I'm consistently amazed at the lack of proper manners in this country," Victoria said. "Really, is this how one should conduct oneself around a lady?"

Wilson's accomplice stared at her, his own revolver still in his hand. "Little thing like you ain't got the guts to shoot a man."

"I've shot worse," Victoria said.

"Better believe her," Cora's voice rasped more than usual. "Girl ain't shy about using that gun of hers. Why, not two nights ago, she had a pudding-headed lump like your own self at gunpoint, and it was only my word that stopped her from pulling the trigger."

Victoria stole a glance to her right. Cora stood beside her, Wilson's gun in her hand. "Now, why don't you set that gun down nice and easy," the hunter said, "or I might not be able to call off my friend."

The man's eyes darted between the two women. Somewhere behind them, Victoria heard Wilson groan. She kept her eyes on the other man, finger tense on the gun's trigger. If his weapon moved an inch higher, he was a dead man.

After a few seconds, the man dropped his gun and raised his hands. "There's a good boy," Cora said. "Now then, why don't you take your buddy Wilson and get before Vicky here loses her patience and shoots the both of you."

"She wouldn't dare," the man said, but he started moving. Wilson groaned again as his friend helped him to his feet. Throwing a nervous look over his shoulder, the man half-led, half-carried the injured gunman through the batwing doors. Victoria listened to the thumping of their footsteps move down the wooden sidewalk. Only when she could no longer hear them did she let herself relax.

"You all are white as ghosts," Cora said, turning to look at the rest of the Print Shop's afternoon patrons. "Ain't you never seen folks dust up in a saloon before?" Shaking her head, she walked around behind the bar. The big jug of whiskey made its appearance, and she waved Victoria over.

"This one's on the house, little lady," Cora said, pouring out a glass. "Ain't every day I get to serve a drink to somebody what saved my hide, and you got yourself the honor of being the first lady ever to do it."

Victoria picked up the glass. "I will drink to that."

Cora raised her own drink. Glass clinked against glass, and the two women tossed back the whiskey. The taste still made Victoria grimace, but she managed to keep from coughing. She set the empty glass down on the bar and eyed the hunter. "Does this make up for earlier, then?"

"What's that, now?"

"Our...altercation?" Victoria asked.

"Oh, that?" Cora snorted a laugh. "You call that an altercation? That wasn't nothing but a bit of yelling. What happened just now with Wilson, now, that was a right proper altercation."

"So no hard feelings, then?"

"Wilson ain't got nothing but hard feelings," Cora said.

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant," Cora said. She looked Victoria in the eye. "Way I figure, stepping in with me against them thugs done washed away any transgressions between the two of us. I ain't the type to let a few hot words get to me, anyhow."

"Well, I suppose that's all well and good, then." Victoria toyed with her empty glass, which Cora took as a request for a refill. The second shot followed the first, and Victoria shook her head at the burning in her throat. "I never thought you would turn me into a whiskey bibber. Or a gunfighter, for that matter."

"The frontier makes folk into all sorts of things," Cora said. "Thieves out of honest men, cowards out of soldiers, and monster killers out of fine young ladies."

"I don't rightly know if the blame can be placed on your frontier," Victoria said. "That fault lies at the door of black shuck, I'm afraid. It gave me the heart, and you gave me the means."

"Speaking of, we ought to go buy some more of them means before the sun goes down," Cora said. "We only got one revolver between the both of us now."

Victoria reached for the gun at her belt. "Yes, I suppose this is yours by rights."

"Nah, go ahead and hang on to it." Cora jammed the stopper back into the bottle. "Ain't like there's anything special about it. One we buy over at the gunsmith will work just as well, I reckon."

"Are you sure?" Victoria asked. "It doesn't hold any sentimental value for you?"

The hunter shrugged. "Ain't rightly sure, but I don't bet on it. Go ahead and ride with it tonight, and I'll go fetch me a new one. If I get to missing the one you got, we can switch."

"Deal," Victoria said. She slapped her palm on the bar. "Shall we?"

"Yes ma'am. Why don't you mosey on down to the gunsmith and pick me out a shiny one. I'll stop in to the livery and see if I can't get that old fool to lend us a pair for the night, seeing as how Our Lady was killed on his watch and all."

Cora walked around the bar and toward the door, hollering at one of the tables as she did. A young man, his face dark with stubble, jumped to his feet. "Mind the bar, would you?" she said. The man nodded, settling back down to his game. Cora turned back to Victoria and grinned. "Let's get a move on."

Victoria lay on the hotel mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Outside, she could picture the sun still hanging in the empty sky, white-hot in its unyielding fury. The hotel's roof hid her from its rays, but they couldn't hold the heat at bay. Sweat glistened on her forehead, trickling through her hair like stray raindrops on a windowpane. Her riding clothes lay in a heap on the floor, a disorderly reminder of her vain attempt to escape the soul-draining swelter.

Not much longer to wait, she reminded herself. Purchasing a new revolver for Cora had not taken half an hour. Returning to the saloon with revolver in hand, she made small talk with Robert until Cora blew through the batwing doors a few minutes later. Her negotiations with the livery owner had been brief as well, and Victoria had no trouble imagining why. With that, there was nothing more but to wait until sundown. Cora told her to get some rest in case it ended up being a long night. Victoria agreed and retired, never imagining that her room could be hot enough to prevent sleep altogether.

She rolled onto her side with a sigh. In lieu of rest, her mind kept returning to her conversation with the Navajo singer. Most of what he said made sense in its own way, but she couldn't quite figure out the part regarding her dream. It seemed so absurd, so contrary to everything she knew about spirituality. There was no place in God's design for such a thing, and yet she couldn't so easily disregard her experience. The memory of it was too clear. What, then, had happened to her?

Victoria had a thought. Stretching out on her back again, she folded her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. If she did have the ability to separate her spirit from her body, she should be able to do it at will. There was time enough before sunset to try. When she failed, she would know that the old Indian had been mistaken.

How to try, though? The singer hadn't elaborated on how the separation was done. When - if - she had done it last time, it had felt like falling asleep. That was out of the question in this heat. She had been keeping watch over their camp, thinking about the strange fox she saw in the bushes. The fox that was not a fox if the Navajo man was correct. Victoria tried to imagine the fox again, running free beneath the stars in the cool of the night, but the wooden oven surrounding her made it impossible. No matter how she tried, all she could picture was an endless line of heat waves shimmering against the horizon.

Frustrated, Victoria soon let her concentration slip. Instead of trying to imagine the starlit desert, she began focusing on her own discomfort. Somehow, despite the heat and the dry air, the sheet beneath her was damp with sweat. It made her feel disgusting, like one of the unwashed men in Cora's saloon. They probably didn't bathe more than once a fortnight. Some of them probably used water from the horse troughs. She could picture them seated around one of the misshapen structures that passed for tables in the Print Shop, their sweat-stained clothing sticking to them as they gambled away what little money they had.

The rapid slap of cards shuffling made her blink. It came sharp and crisp, as though she was standing in the room. Victoria looked around. Robert still stood behind the bar, but Cora was nowhere to be seen. What few patrons there were clustered around a greasy deck of cards. From the dark circles on their shirts, she could tell that the saloon was no cooler than her room.

Her room.

The realization hit her like a crack from a riding crop. She hadn't left the hotel, yet she stood in the Print Shop, watching a game of poker. It wasn't a dream. The sights, the sounds, and the smells were all too vivid to be a dream. Somehow, without conscious effort, she had managed to do exactly what the Navajo singer had said she could do: she was in the spirit world.

Cautiously, she reached toward the nearest poker player. He didn't flinch or give any indication at all that he was aware of her presence, even as her hand passed in front of his face. She waved it back and forth, but the man only flipped a card onto the table and reached for another.

Victoria shivered as a thrill ran through her. Part fear and part excitement, it made her non-existent limbs prickle. Her mind spun as the implications of this ability began crashing into her, one after another. She could travel where she wanted at will, listen in on conversation without fear of discovery, and that was just what she knew. It might carry with it other possibilities, ones even more powerful. Surely this was what the skinwalker Anaba had meant when she said Victoria had the power of witches. If this ability was something a person as dangerous as Anaba feared, it must be formidable indeed.

But how had she done it? Returning for a moment to the present, Victoria frowned. There had been no sense of travel, no chanting of spells over a bubbling cauldron. If this was magic, it was apparently unconscious. One minute, she had been imagining the gamblers in the saloon, and the next, she had traveled there in spirit. The same had happened in the desert the first time: after imagining herself a fox, she had freed herself from her body and followed it through the desert. Perhaps it really was as simple as focusing her thoughts outside of herself.

Another question deepened her frown. Why now? She had imagined being in other places and times on many occasions without any such result. What had changed? Was it that she was now an orphan? Or did the desert have a role to play? Perhaps being so close to the magicks of the Navajo people somehow awakened this ability in her. The old singer would know. Before she left for home, she would be sure to stop by the Navajo village and ask him.

The sound of Cora's voice made her turn. The old hunter came striding out of the storeroom where they had their first altercation, her fingers through the loop of another clay jug. Her boots thumped right past Victoria, but her pace didn't slow. Lifting the jug onto the bar, she barked something at Robert and pulled out the stopper. Robert held two glasses out, and Cora filled them with dark liquid.

"Drinking our profits again," Robert muttered as he lifted the whiskey to his lips.

"Worth every drop," Cora said, refilling her glass. "Business partners ought to drink together, I say."

"No harm in sampling the stock, I guess."

"There you go." Cora tossed back the second drink. "Besides, this could be the last time we have the chance. Me and Vicky ride out tonight, and we might not ride back in. Reckon you'd like that just fine, though. You'd get the place all to yourself."

Robert laughed. "That would be a sight, me trying to handle this lot. No, I'll thank you to stick around awhile longer."

"Well, if you say so. Ain't the first spook I've settled, anyhow, so I don't see no reason it should be my last ride. Now that Vicky ain't like to shoot her own foot off, I reckon we got ourselves a fair shot at living through the night."

With that, Cora straightened. "Best be making tracks. Almost sundown, and I still got to wrangle them horses from the livery. Don't want to keep Miss Proper waiting."

The hunter started for the staircase that led up to her room. Victoria gave a thought to following her, then decided against it. She felt slightly guilty about eavesdropping on the conversation, and watching Cora prepare for the hunt without her knowledge would only worsen the feeling. Besides, she had to get ready herself. Her body must still be lying in the hotel room in her smallclothes, and she could hardly go riding out dressed in such a fashion.

Victoria was through the door and halfway to the hotel before she realized that she was moving without effort. Like that night in the desert, she seemed to float along the ground instead of walking on it. She gave a moment's thought to experimenting with the possibility of flight, then decided against it. There would be time enough for such exploration later. Best to get back to the room and prepare for the coming battle.

Victoria's horse stomped a hoof on the dusty street. The mare had once been black, but age had faded the luster from her coat. Victoria thought about patting the horse's neck but decided against it. The horses would be returning to the livery in the morning, so there was no point in getting attached.

Pale clouds floated in the purple sky above their heads. The sunset had set them awash in pink fire, but their glory had slipped away with the daylight. Victoria watched them drift along, wishing that a breeze would kick up to cool her face. Her wish wasn't granted. Turning toward Cora, she pantomimed a panting dog.

Cora grinned. "Give yourself a few months, you get used to it."

"God willing, I won't have the time," Victoria said. She looked up at the building looming against the evening sky. "Do you think this will work?"

"Ain't any more sure than I was this morning," Cora replied with a shrug. "Either it lights out for our boy, or it starts looking to fill its belly. Either way, we got to keep an eye out."

"What happened to the other body?"

"Lawmen hauled it out," Cora said. "Didn't do all like I said, but so long as the stiff was exposed to sunlight, it'll stay dead for good."

"One would think the constables might have done something about the people here," Victoria said, casting a dubious eye at the horses and people milling through the street. "I don't relish the thought of chasing a living corpse through this crowd."

Cora laughed. "Oh, I reckon they'll clear out right quick when they see that stiff running through town."

"Won't we lose it, though? I imagine it will blend in with the townsfolk."

"No worry about that," Cora replied. "Feller might still look human enough, but you can bet the rest of your fortune on that he won't just stroll about all casual-like. Ain't got it in him no more. He'll conduct himself just like them ones out at the farm, and he'll look like them with the teeth and all after a week or so. King George told me all about that process back in Leadville."

The mention of James Townsend stirred a sudden homesickness in Victoria. She pictured his round, jolly face as he sipped at his cider, and she could almost smell the inviting, intellectual scent of the many books lining his study. Victoria watched the townsfolk mull around her, wondering how many of them could even read. In all likelihood, some of them would live their entire lives in this dusty little town, never seeing a proper garden or a grove of trees garbed in the green of summer.

Whatever pity she felt for them evaporated when a familiar face emerged from the bustle. Wilson rode toward them at the head of a group of rough-looking men. A sneer bared his teeth when their eyes met, made all the more hideous by the swelling bruise on the cheek. Victoria touched Cora's wrist and nodded toward the approaching men.

"Howdy," Wilson said, tipping his hat. His posse spread out in a rough semi-circle, fencing the two women in against the row of buildings.

"Didn't figure you'd show your face on the street after getting it whipped by a sprout of a girl," Cora said. Drawing on the hunter's confidence, Victoria straightened up in the saddle and met Wilson's gaze.

Wilson raised a hand to his injured cheek. "This ain't nothing but a whore's love tap." His men chuckled. "I just reckoned I ought to return the favor, seeing as how she's so keen on me and all."

Despite her fear, Victoria laughed. "You bring half a dozen men to administer this retribution? Such courage."

"Ain't you just stuffed full of guts?" Wilson said. "Best keep that tongue in your head, or somebody might get a notion to pull all them guts out and see what they look like. If I wasn't such a gentleman my own self, I might have already had myself a look. Some of these fellers, though, they ain't so mannered."

The ruffian to Wilson's left spat in the dirt. Another piped up, his voice like muddy gravel. "I reckon that one's got a few things I'd have a gander at afore taking her guts out."

A roll of wanton laughter rolled through the group. It made Victoria's skin crawl. She stole a look at Cora. The hunter might have been watching a cow scratching its hindquarters, her face was so indifferent. Her casual demeanor only worsened Victoria's apprehension. They had taken Wilson and his friend by surprise in the saloon, but they were outnumbered three to one here. None of the grizzled faces leering at her would think twice about raping her and shooting her in the head when they were done. Victoria's mind jumped to the revolver at her belt, but she knew she wasn't fast enough to draw on all of them at once. They were gunfighters of the American West; she was just the daughter of a British aristocrat.

"So that's your game, then?" Cora asked. "You're just going to take her right here in the street, right in full view of the town and the law?"

Wilson's puffy cheek plumped up even more as he sneered. "We ain't so stupid as all that," he said. "No, we aim to take you two someplace nice and private for what we got planned. You ladies is going to come without a peep if you know what's good for you, too."

"And if we don't?" Victoria asked.

"Well, then," Wilson said, "the both of you is going to be right sorry for it. My boys'll see to that, don't you worry none. We got ways, see?"

"All right, you got yourselves a deal," Cora said.

Victoria's blue eyes went wide. "What?"

"I said they got themselves a deal," Cora said. Her face was unreadable, a stone carving staring back at Victoria's incredulous gaping. "Ain't no point in fighting now, is there? They got us outmatched, and I'd rather not make it worse than it's got to be. Should go easier for you, too."

"How can you-"

"Cause I know these fellers, and I know their type. Ain't no good comes from making a fuss when you're outgunned, plain and simple. Just makes the rotten things they got in mind go more rotten. We go along quiet-like, they go easy on us." She turned to Wilson, whose grin had transformed his cheek into a ripe plum. "Ain't that right, boy?"

"Sure is," the man replied. "Listen to the old bitch, little missie. She's got enough sense to save you both a world of hurt."

Cora reached out and covered Victoria's hands with her own. "Don't fret none. Ain't so bad as all that, you'll see."

Victoria fought back tears. Whatever else they would do to her tonight, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her blue eyes filled with rage and pain at Cora's betrayal, and she directed all of it at the old hunter. How could she just go along with this? Surely Cora knew what men like this would do to a young woman like her. Even as sheltered as she had been in Oxford, Victoria still knew enough to stay away from the roughnecks in the pubs when she was running errands by herself. Fat lot of good her precaution had done her now.

The thought of using her newfound power to escape came to her, but she dismissed it almost as quickly. Her spirit might be able to flee, but her body would remain behind, and that would be enough for monsters such as these. Besides, if they killed her while her spirit was away, she wasn't sure what would happen to her. God might not welcome her if she came to His threshold by way of witchcraft. No, it was better to remain inside her body and prepare her spirit for eternity.

Victoria lowered her head as the weight of her fate settled on her. After everything Cora had told her about the dangers of the American frontier, it was the old hunter herself who would sell her into the hands of bandits just to make things easier on herself. So much for the great loyalty of companions who have shared the horrors of war. It was just another romantic illusion that this God-forsaken place had seen fit to dismantle.

Cora must have taken her bowed head for acquiescence. "Knew you'd come around," she said. Her brown eyes squinted at Wilson. "See, now? We ain't going to give you no trouble."

"Glad to see you ain't put your sense out to pasture after all," Wilson said. "Now then, about time we got a move on. Don't want to be wasting any precious time we have with you ladies."

Cora's gaze shifted pointedly to the streets around them. "Right this minute? Ain't sure that's the best time for it, seeing as how you still got a lot of witnesses wandering about. Maybe we ought to wait a spell, give ourselves more dark for cover before we ride out."

"My boys is impatient," Wilson said. "Ain't no good comes out of them waiting any longer than they need to."

"Ain't no good comes out of getting caught by Morgan and his posse, neither. You want to have your fun or rot in his jail?"

Wilson made a show of rolling his eyes. "That sheriff ain't got the wits God gave a turnip. He sees us riding through the streets, he'll reckon my boys is making sure you ladies get to where you is going safe and sound, like the proper gentlemen we is."

Spurring his horse forward, he rode between the two women. His fingers clamped onto Victoria's arm. Startled, she looked into his swollen, filthy face for only a moment before her rage exploded. Her palm smashed into his bruised cheek with a wet smack, sending fresh drops of blood sailing through the air. The blow nearly knocked Wilson from his saddle. He recovered quickly, his free hand pulling the revolver from his belt. Other guns flashed into view, and Victoria found herself looking down four different barrels. Her own was pointed at the bridge of Wilson's nose.

"Well, now," Cora said, "ain't this awkward?"

Before anyone could reply, something shattered above their heads. Shards of glass rained down on the group. It felt like someone had tossed a handful of pebbles on them. As one, they all ducked and pulled their hats low, shielding themselves from the myriad of sharp fragments.

When the shower stopped, the whole group looked toward the source. Victoria drew in a breath, and she heard crude exclamations of surprise from the bandits around her.

Above them, a man crouched in the ruined remains of a third-story window, looking for all the world like a human-shaped gargoyle brought to life by some dark magic. He was peering down at the street, his head lolling this way and that. The movements were unsettling, too exaggerated and jerky to be natural. His naked fingers curled around the jagged pieces of glass still lingering in the window. In the stunned silence, Victoria could hear air hissing between the man's teeth.

"What in the hell is that?" Wilson finally said.

The creature's gaze locked onto the bandit, and its nostrils flared. Before anyone could react, it leapt head-first from the window, fingers curled like claws. A grunt exploded from Wilson's lips as they collided. The impact knocked him from his horse, and the other men hollered in surprise. When Wilson's grunts became screams, they took aim at the creature. Had the struggle not already encouraged the street traffic to give them a wide berth, the chorus of gunshots would have done it.

Wilson's attacker jerked this way and that under the hail of gunfire, but it remained intent on its victim. Victoria couldn't imagine all of those shots hitting their mark without a few hitting Wilson, and the gunman's ebbing cries confirmed her speculation. One or two of Wilson's posse reached the same conclusion and pointed their guns skyward. Others fired their weapons empty and paused to reload.

By the time they took aim again, Wilson had stopped screaming.

Victoria could see gun barrels shaking in unsteady hands as the men watched the creature feed. In the absence of thundering gunshots, the air filled with a slurping sound. Blood seeped onto the street, mixing with the dust to create a thick red mud. Stealing a glance at Cora, Victoria wasn't surprised to see a look of smug satisfaction on the hunter's face. She felt a little of it herself, watching this brute and would-be rapist become food for a true creature of nightmare.

The monster raised its head. Red streaks ran down its chin and stained the collar of the suit it still wore. Its eyes darted between the onlookers, already searching for its next meal. Before it could settle on one of them, Cora shouted and raised her rosary. "Get out of here!" she yelled at the men. "Get before this thing settles on you for its next drink."

Wilson's posse needed no further urging. They fled in all directions, horses pounding up clouds of dust. The few onlookers not among their number also heeded her advice and took to their heels.

Soon, the area around Wilson's body was empty but for the creature and the two hunters. It eyed them with hatred and desire, but the rosary in Cora's outstretched fist held it at bay. Snarls bubbled through the blood on its lips. Staring into its feral face, Victoria almost found it more frightening than the monsters they had fought at the ranch. Those, at least, had lost their humanity enough to look like monsters. This one still clung to vestiges of his human appearance, making the inhuman fury in his eyes all the more unnatural.

"Back, you damned thing!" Cora's voice rang out dry and tough in the hot evening air. "Run your scrawny ass out of my town, or I'll do it for you!"

The creature hissed in reply, bearing bloodstained teeth that still looked too human. It backed away from the hunter like a wildcat, spine arched and limbs trembling. Cora urged her frightened mare forward. The horse tossed its head and whinnied. Turning her spurs inward, the hunter punched her heels into the animal's ribs. It sprang forward, bearing down on the creature and its victim. Victoria heard Wilson's bones snap like dry branches beneath the mare's hooves. The vampire darted to one side and fled down the street.

"Wake up, girl!" Cora yelled at her. "We got us a spook on the run!"

Without thinking, Victoria spurred her own mare forward. The two women thundered down the street - now quite empty - in pursuit of their quarry. Even at a gallop, they had trouble keeping up with the vampire; its arms and legs were dark blurs beneath its body as it fled from them.

They quickly reached the outskirts of Albuquerque. Victoria knew the train station was somewhere off to their left, but the vampire was leading them eastward. Once again, the New Mexico desert opened up before her eyes, its thirsty plants nothing but silhouettes in the dwindling light. The vampire charged headlong into the wilderness, gravel flying from its heels. Even after the creature itself disappeared into the scrub, the cloud of dust it kicked up was all the trail they needed.

Cora took the lead, guiding her galloping mare around hidden obstacles with practiced ease. Riding just far enough behind her to avoid the hunter's dust cloud, Victoria bent low over her mare's neck. Around them, the desert had become a smear of dark blues and greens and browns. She did not have any idea what lay in this direction, but somewhere out there, far beyond the horizon, was the Atlantic Ocean. Each drumming stride of her mare's hooves brought her a little closer to home. The thought gave her a small measure of comfort. If Cora's plan worked, they would be heading this way again in the next day or two, relaxing in a rail carriage as they discussed a strategy for bringing justice to the black shucks.

Lost in thoughts of home, she nearly rode into Cora. Only the hunter's panicked hollering brought her back to the present. Victoria pulled on the reins as hard as she dared, her mare voicing its objections loudly. The animal stopped less than a foot from Cora's mount and champed on its bit in protest.

"Got us a problem," Cora said.

Looking beyond the hunter, Victoria's heart sank. The two of them stood at the edge of a small cliff. Below them, the desert stretched out like a great dark ocean. From the look on Cora's face, Victoria could guess what the problem was.

"It went down there?" she asked.

The hunter nodded. "All lickety-split. Ain't rightly sure if it climbed down, jumped off, or sprouted a damn pair of wings, but this is where the trail ends."

"Vampires can fly?"

"Some say so," Cora said. "Turn into bats or some such. Ain't never seen it myself."

"So what do we do now?"

"Ain't much we can do, way I see it. This here cliff don't taper off for a spell in either direction. By the time we got to the bottom, all we'd find is a bunch of scrub and a cold trail."

"What of the dust cloud?" Victoria asked. "Surely we could follow that."

The hunter shook her head. "We'd still take too long getting down there. Dust will have settled by then."

"You aren't suggesting we abandon the chase?"

"Afraid so," Cora said. "Can't say I like it myself. That blue-eyed bastard still owes me answers, and that squaw's got to answer for killing Our Lady. I don't want nothing more in the world than to settle them both, but we can't do that if we get ourselves lost in the desert. Best thing we can do now is head on back to town, settle in for some drinks, and lay plans for when that skin-walker of yours to make a move."

"Have you learned nothing of tracking bounties in all your years of hunting them?"

Cora's eyes gleamed with the last of the daylight. "I know more about it than your fancy fox hunters could shake a stick at, but ain't no good in the dark, see? Sun's gone down, and moon won't show herself for another few hours. Maybe you got some fancy cat eyes that let you track a body at night, but I don't."

"I refuse to accept that waiting for our enemies to come after us is the wisest course of action," Victoria said.

"Worked just fine back in town when them outlaws was fixing for trouble."

The incident hadn't left Victoria's memory. "A splendid plan, certainly. I can't believe you so easily bargained with them - using my honesty as your currency, no less - to spare yourself some unpleasantness. Will that be the order of the day when the skin-walker comes calling? Trade me to her so you can have yourself a comfortable time playing cards?"

"You really are thick sometimes, you know that?"

"What do you mean by that?"

The hunter's silhouette shook its head. "Ain't no point in explaining it if you ain't figured it out by now. Just like there ain't no point in riding around after a monster we can't find without some hounds."

Cora turned her mare back the way they had come and nudged her into a walk. Victoria remained where she was, staring helplessly at the endless desert below her. Somewhere in that gathering darkness, their only hope of finding the skin-walker and the blue-eyed vampire was fading into the distance. With it went their best chance of catching their enemies by surprise and ending the fight before the sun rose. Frustration boiled in her chest, threatening to overflow from her eyes.

Victoria slammed the heel of her hand into the saddle horn. "No."

Behind her, the sound of hooves stopped. "What's that, now?"

"I refuse to accept it," Victoria said. "We aren't going to give up now."

"Maybe you ain't," Cora replied, "but I am. Ain't too keen on wandering around in the desert again so quick after our last outing. Maybe in a week or so, but no way I'm doing it tonight."

"What if we weren't roaming aimlessly?"

The hunter's cackle rolled down the cliff. "Only way we'd manage that is if we was headed back to town, which is the way I'm pointing."

Victoria's heart raced. She didn't know if what she was thinking was even possible, much less if she should tell Cora about it. The Navajo singer's voice echoed in her memory, telling her that her dream was not a dream, that she had the power to separate her body and her spirit. It had seemed preposterous to her. It still did. Even now, her rational mind belittled her for even considering it as a possibility. With everything else that had happened to her, though, why should this come as a surprise? Skinwalkers were real; she had seen one with her own eyes. If such creatures existed, it wasn't so much of a stretch to believe other Navajo folk tales could have truth behind them.

"I can track them."

"Sure, and I'm the Queen of England," Cora said.

Victoria turned her mare to face the hunter. "I mean it."

"So you followed along after your daddy on his fox hunts, then?" Cora asked. "Or maybe you just got the eyes of a cougar and ain't never told nobody about it."

"Neither." Victoria's ire at the hunter's ridicule set her resolve. "I can walk in the spirit world."

A silence fell between them. Victoria watched Cora's silhouette with a strange mixture of anxiety and anger. Her mare snorted and lowered her head to graze. In the distance, an unseen animal raised its voice in a yipping cry.

"You can do what now?" Cora finally asked.

"Walk in the spirit world," Victoria said. When the words passed through her lips a second time, their absurdity nearly drove her to laughter. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "You recall what I told you of my conversation with the Indian singer?"

"About them skin-walkers and the ashes and all that, sure," Cora said. "Don't recollect you saying nothing about walking in no spirit world."

Victoria lifted her chin. "Because I didn't see any reason to mention it, and I did not wish to endure your mockery." The hunter made no reply, so she continued. "While I was keeping watch in the desert during our expedition, I dreamt I could fly over the desert like a bird. I flew to a nearby hill and saw both the skin-walker and your Fodor Glava impostor. They spoke of us."

"Ain't a week goes by but I get a dream of running down one monster or another, even after all this time. Don't mean I'm actually doing it in my sleep."

"That was my conclusion at first, too," Victoria said, "but the singer believed that my spirit left my body and traveled across the desert freely. I have given it a good deal of thought, and I'm not entirely sure I disbelieve him anymore."

"Why's that?"

"Because everything else he told me appears to be accurate."

Cora's hat moved up and down as she nodded. "Wise men is wise men, and I reckon they're the same anywhere you go. Don't matter if he calls himself a professor or a singer or a shaman. Thing is, all them wise folk got a funny way of mixing in what really is with what they think is, and the two don't always match up. Could be this singer of yours is spot-on about the skin-walker woman, but that don't mean every word he says is true."

"Yes, I realize that," Victoria said, "but what choice do we have?"

"We can ride on back to town and play a few hands, maybe win us some drinking money."

"You truly care only for gambling and tippling." Victoria shook her head and sighed. "Go on, then, if you wish. I shall track down this menace myself and kill it if I can. Should I come across your blue-eyed vampire, I will kill him as well, and you will be forever left to wonder who he really was."

"Suit yourself," Cora said.

With that, the hunter resumed her course back the way they had come. Victoria watched her form melt into the evening's shadows, her insides a knot of conflicting emotions. Anger at Cora's belittlement, fear at being left alone in the desert, determination to prove the hunter wrong, to see her boast through and come back alive. Each rose to the surface and slipped beneath it again like onions in a simmering stew. Part of her wanted nothing more than to prod the old mare beneath her into a canter and follow Cora back to town. An evening spent indoors, warm and comfortable, safe from the horrors roaming through the desert, was the loveliest thing she could imagine at that moment.

A breeze hissed through the scrub around her horse's hooves, carrying the promise of a chilly night. Victoria shivered. She could no longer see the hunter's retreating form or hear the steady crunching of her mare's steps on the hard-packed earth. The hunt was hers and hers alone now. She ran a finger along the grip of the revolver on her hip. Cora's revolver. It brought her comfort. The gun had shot and killed more monsters than she could imagine. It would do so once more, even if her hand was not as skilled or practiced at its previous owner.

Straightening up in the saddle, Victoria let her gaze sweep over the landscape sprawled out beneath her. She drew a deep breath. Now was the moment of truth. If she couldn't free her spirit as she had before, she would have to return to town, defeated and humiliated. Worse, their quarry would escape, making a living return to Oxford that much more unlikely.

Victoria bowed her head, closed her eyes, and pictured the world as it would appear through a falcon's eyes.