She Returns from War

SIXTEEN



The walls stood before her in the darkness, sudden and out of place in the desolation that surrounded them. They were not the castle walls she was accustomed to seeing, great grey barriers rising out of the green of the English countryside. These were smaller - no more than ten feet high in most places - and didn't look as though they had been built to keep armies out. The crumbling structure nearest her appeared to have once been a small house. Further down, a larger ruin stood against the stars, perhaps a temple or some sort of market.

Victoria wondered what sort of world this land had been, where ancient cities didn't build walls to keep invaders at bay. Guiding her mare up to the nearest ruin, she reached out and ran her hand along it. The stone was slightly warm to the touch. She thought it strange that the wall would retain its heat so many hours after the sundown, but the New Mexico sun had a lot of heat to give. Maybe it wasn't so unnatural after all.

Taking a deep breath, Victoria braced herself for another look into the spirit world. She had found her way to the ruin by stealing quick glimpses as she rode, feeling for all the world like a spiritual rodent poking its head out of some burrow. It was anybody's guess whether such a tactic had kept the skin-walker from noticing her as she approached. Whenever she slipped out for a look, she could sense the evil presence, but she didn't feel any indication of awareness on the other's part. She took that to be a good sign, but she knew her assumption was really nothing more than an educated guess.

Victoria closed her eyes once more and slipped out of her body. Her mare didn't seem to notice or care about the change; the animal simply lowered its head and began grazing on the long, dry grasses growing at the base of the wall. Victoria resisted the temptation to stare at her own form slumped in the saddle. She reached out with her awareness instead, searching for the dark presence. It was very close now, hiding somewhere in the ruins ahead.

Satisfied, Victoria ducked back into herself and sat up. Looking up and down the crumbling wall in front of her, she spied a shadow not too far away. Possibly an entrance. She gave her mare a single pat on the neck, then slipped out of the saddle as quietly as she could.

A faint chiming broke the stillness of the night.

Dropping into a crouch, she held her breath and waited for it to come again. After a few moments, she risked a look over her shoulder. Nothing. She took a tentative step, then nearly fell over from relief. The sound had been her own spurs jingling as she dismounted. Fighting an urge to burst out laughing, she bent over and pulled them free of her boot heels. Her horse regarded her with one large black eye as she tucked the spurs into a saddlebag.

"Stay here," she whispered.

The animal blinked in reply. Taking that for an affirmative, Victoria turned and cautiously approached the shadow in the stone wall. Her fingers itched to draw her revolver. She curled them into a fist instead. As much comfort as the weight of the gun in her hand would bring her, she didn't trust her own nerves. She might shoot at a bird, a rat, or even nothing at all, throwing out whatever small chance she had of catching her enemies off-guard. No, it was best to approach empty-handed until she had a clear shot.

The opening loomed ahead of her. Victoria crouched next to it and tried to calm her pounding heart. She'd lost count of how many times she'd thought herself mad for coming out here alone. Even now, in the shadow of that ancient wall, she had to fight to keep from climbing back onto her mare and galloping back to town. After all, Cora had insisted on doing that very thing, and the old hunter's sense had kept her alive for a long time.

The thought of Cora's dry voice and condescending glances hardened Victoria's resolve. She was out here to kill a skin-walker and a vampire, and she would do exactly that. If that old bat didn't want to help, she could drown herself with that horrid drink of hers. Victoria raised her blue eyes to the stars, nodded to herself, and turned toward the opening.

Red eyes gleamed at her.

Victoria screamed and jumped backward. Her boot caught on a rock, and her hands flew out to either side as she fought to keep her balance. In an instant, strong fingers wrapped around her wrists and yanked her arms around her back.

"You just don't learn, do you, darlin?" came a familiar, loathsome voice.

Victoria twisted against his grip, trying to free herself. He laughed in her ear and bent her arms until she cried out in pain. Straightening up as best she could, Victoria looked into the woman's face.

"You did not listen," the woman said, her tone almost remorseful.

Despite the pain, a gleam came into Victoria's eyes. "I do not need to run from you," she said. "I know who and what you are. You are a skin-walker, and your name is Anaba."

Victoria watched Anaba's face, waiting for the flash of realization and fear to flicker through those inhuman eyes. Once the witch woman's powers were gone, she would lose control over her pet vampire. Victoria couldn't know for sure what would happen when he broke free of the spell, but she didn't think it would bode well for the skin-walker.

Anaba nodded slowly. "You have spoken with my father."

"Yes," Victoria said, her confidence wavering. "He taught me much of your kind."

"He did not tell you enough."

Victoria swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"You have named me, but it is not enough. Not here. The spirits in this place are powerful, and they protect me from such trickery."

Victoria wilted a little in the man's cold grip. Her fingers were tingling. She tried to flex them as her mind raced. The skin-walker could not be weakened by the calling out of her name. Would the sacred ash also fail to stop her? The silver bullets might still kill the vampire, but what good would that be while the witch lived?

"I hope you were kind to my people," Anaba said.

"I tried to be," Victoria said. "They were very kind to me."

The skin-walker smiled. "They are a kind people. They did not deserve what your people did to them."

"My people?"

"Yes," Anaba said. Her brow drew downward. "They killed many, and made the rest of us walk many miles and sleep inside their strange walls. For no crime but that we live."

"Anaba," Victoria said, "my people did not harm you. I am not from America."

"You come from the east," Anaba said. "So did the men that took my family and made my mother walk until she died. The men who shot my husband laughed in your tongue. Your speech is their speech, your skin is their skin, and your eyes their eyes. It is enough."

"No." Fear burrowed deeper into Victoria's mind, robbing her of words. "No, it isn't."

"Enough talk. You were given a chance, and you did not take it. Now-"

The skin-walker paused. Her eyes gleamed in the waning moonlight as she cocked her head to one side as if listening. Victoria wanted nothing more than to lunge at her, taking advantage of her sudden distraction, but the vampire still held her fast. Pulling against his grip would only hurt her wrists more, so she remained still and silent.

Anaba's gaze fixed on her again. "Your idea was clever."

"What idea?"

"To arrive ahead of the hunter," Anaba said. "To make me believe you came alone."

"Cora?" Victoria's look of confusion twisted into disdain. "Cora left me alone out here and went back to her absurd little pub."

"Your lie is wasted. I feel her approach on the wind."

A swell of hope surged in Victoria's stomach, but it quickly faded. Cora may have been planning to catch them off-guard, but it wouldn't do any good. Now that Victoria had gotten herself captured, Cora would face both the skin-walker and vampire alone.

The red eyes glanced at the creature behind her. "Demon, I will leave this one to you. Do with her as you see fit, but she must be dead when you are finished."

"Sure thing." Victoria didn't need to see the man's face to hear his leer. "I ain't got to play nice no more, do I?"

The skin-walker shook her head. Victoria felt as though she might vomit. Anguish twisted her insides as she berated herself for her own foolishness. Why had she ever thought she could overcome two powerful, supernatural creatures by herself? The sacred ash and silver bullets might as well have been back in England for all the good they had done her. Even with the holy weapons, she was still just a human, an ordinary girl playing at being something that she would never be.

And now she was going to die for it.

The vampire twisted her arms ruthlessly. Pain exploded through her body as she writhed against him, trying to ease the agony, but it only grew worse. He laughed at her efforts. "That's right, ain't it? Don't matter how uppity you women think you is. Sooner or later, you can't control yourselves no more, and you're plumb crawling all over me."

Victoria's stomach heaved at his words, but the pain in her arms left her without the breath for a retort. She had never in her life imagined that such agony could exist, and it was only a taste of what the man would surely do before the end. Tears burned in her eyes. The world faded away, leaving her alone with the pain and the monster.

"Be fast with her." Anaba's voice came from a great distance, echoing down a long, dark tunnel of despair. "I may need your help with the hunter."

"Ain't no fun if it's quick," the man said. The pain in Victoria's arms lessened, and she sagged against his grip. "You got to give me at least ten minutes or it just ain't worth it."

"No more," the skin-walker said. Before the vampire could respond, Anaba lowered herself into a crouch, her hands coming to rest on the desert floor. Victoria forgot the pain in her arms for a moment as she watched the witch's dark skin melt into a silvery grey. It was over in the space of a single breath, and the fox-that-was-not-afox stood before them. The creature looked at Victoria, intelligence burning in its black eyes, then loped off into the underbrush.

"There now," came the man's voice. "Nice and quiet for us to do our business."

He laughed and shoved her forward. Her arms, asleep from their imprisonment, could not break the fall in time. Pebbles bloodied her cheeks as she slammed into the ground face first. She gasped from the pain and inhaled a lungful of dirt. Her knees came up to her chest as violent coughs shook her frame.

Something hard and pointed drove into her back, sending her skidding across the ground. More shocks of pain ripped through her as she rolled over the rough terrain. Coming to rest on her stomach, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees. The coughing fit began to subside, and she raised her head. The man stood before her, fingers hooked through his belt loops and a smirk spread beneath his flashing blue eyes.

"Ain't never had me a British lady before."

Victoria's hand darted toward her belt. The smooth, firm grip of Cora's revolver filled her palm. She leaned backward and brought the weapon up in a single motion. The man's smirk vanished. Victoria allowed herself one of her own as she squeezed the trigger, eager for the thunderclap that would end this wretched creature's existence once and for all.

It didn't come.

The vampire's boot came up, knocking the Colt from Victoria's grip. She fell backward as a second kick swept toward her. It missed her nose by mere inches. Turning away from him, she pulled her feet under her and broke into a dead run. Her boots crashed through the scrub, raw terror giving them speed. She knew she could never hope to escape the monster, but her instincts had taken over. On she ran into the night, expecting to feel those cold, crushing fingers around her neck with every step.

Cora's mare plodded along, head bobbing up and down to the rhythm of her hooves. Around them, the desert slept beneath the waning moon. Cora could hear the echoes of its nightmares on the wind, given voice by the animals that lived and died beneath the stars. The old hunter had spent so many years riding on such nights that she scarcely heard their cries at all. She slouched in the saddle, hips swaying with the motion of the horse beneath her, lost in thoughts and memories of better days.

Her lips moved beneath the brim of her hat, cracked voice drifting into the darkness as she spoke to someone who wasn't there. Laughs would occasionally burst forth from her like quiet gunshots. A metal flask gleamed in one hand; the other held the reins in relaxed fingers. Moonlight winked on the tips of silver spurs.

Something small skittered across the ground under the mare's nose. The animal whinnied and reared, taking Cora by surprise. She kept her seat as the animal bucked beneath her. Curses joined the chorus of the night's voices as she fought with the reins. After a few moments, the mare calmed down. Cora leaned forward, speaking quiet words into the mare's twitching ears as she rubbed her neck. The animal snorted in reply.

Cora straightened up in the saddle. A long, low shadow spread out on the horizon in front of her. It rose in sharp angles and staggered arches, blotting out the starlight in rigid shapes. She'd heard of the ancient ruins in the desert, but she'd never had occasion to explore one in all her long years of hunting. Had she been a younger woman when she moved to Albuquerque, she might have ventured into one in search of excitement, her husband tagging along in the hope of discovering long-forgotten myths. The thought made her heart sink. She pushed it aside, her fingers toying with the lid of her flask.

"Why did you follow us here?"

The voice was quiet but clear. Cora's new revolver appeared in her hand as she turned toward the sound. Dry branches and jagged rocks covered the ground with shadows, but the voice's owner was nowhere to be seen.

"Funny you should ask," Cora said. "I was just thinking how I'd always wanted to see one of these ruins up close. Figured I might as well get to it while I ain't dead."

Nothing rose up out of the underbrush to answer. Cora turned in a slow circle, the revolver's barrel sweeping along the horizon. She had recognized the voice that asked the question, and her entire body was on alert.

"I gave you the gift of mercy. Why did you not accept it?"

Cora spun around. She thought she caught a faint red shine in the shadows and fired. Her mare flinched at the sudden fire and thunder. Cora tightened her grip on the reins with her other hand. She could feel the kill approaching like a thunderstorm; the last thing she needed was for the livery's horse to spook and take off into the night.

A shadow darted through the brush, a glimmer of silver in the shadows. Cora spurred her mare into a gallop and gave chase. The night filled with the rumbling of the horse's hooves as she rode after the animal. Ahead of her, the ruins grew larger, their dark shadows consuming more stars with each stride.

Soon, the ancient walls echoed the sound of the mare's pounding feet. Cora saw the flitting shadow of her mark slip through a small gap in the wall. She pulled back on the reins, easing her mount to a standstill. Bullets winked in the blue-white light of the rising moon as the hunter replaced the spent shells in her revolver. Giving the horse a quick pat on the neck, she slipped out of the saddle and approached the wall. The hole where the animal had disappeared was too small for her to follow. Grumbling at the inconvenience, she began making her way along the structure, looking for an opening large enough to accommodate her. Behind her, she could hear the heavy, lathered breathing of her mare.

Rounding a corner, Cora took a dozen more steps and found an opening. She kept her gun in hand as she peered into it. The moonlight painted soft shadows in the narrow alley, outlining the round stones in the walls. Cora adjusted the strap of her satchel, listening to the soft clinking of vials and spare shells. Taking one last look at the desert behind her, she entered the alleyway.

The ruins closed in behind her as she ventured into their maze, footsteps echoing off the dilapidated walls. Above her, the moon was rising toward its zenith. Cora took note of its position with a quick prayer of gratitude. Navigating by starlight might have been possible in the open desert, but it would have been impossible in the ruins. The creatures she hunted already held the advantage over her. Without the moon, it would have been all but impossible to hunt them down.

Somewhere nearby, a cry broke the stillness of the night. The hunter instinctively dropped into a crouch. The scream had sounded human, but Cora couldn't tell if it was the voice of a man or a woman. Whichever it was, she knew it meant that Victoria was in danger. Ignoring the protests in her joints and muscles, she raised her revolver and crept farther into the ruins.

The walls soon opened up on either side, ushering her into a wide, circular space. She swept the area with her Colt before venturing past the opening. Directly in front of her was a large, shallow pit. A crude wooden ladder rested on the far edge, poking above the stone lip like the last rotten tooth in some dead giant's maw. Stepping up to the nearest edge, Cora peered down.

"You are not welcome here."

Every muscle in Cora's body snapped to attention. The voice rolled around the open area, making it difficult to pinpoint its source. She backed away from the pit until she felt warm stone at her back, her eyes watching for the slightest hint of movement.

"You and the girl should not have come."

Cora looked around for the speaker. "We never would have if you and that feller you're riding with wasn't so keen on ending us."

"Why did you not listen to my warning and go east?"

"And leave you two out here to do God knows what to these poor folk?" Cora asked. "Ain't fitting, no matter how you cut it."

"Liars and thieves and killers," the voice of the skinwalker replied. "Their deaths would be justice."

"Maybe so, but you ain't the one to say who lives and dies." Cora's fingers dug into her satchel as she spoke. "Best leave that up to the Almighty and get on with your life as best you can."

"You do not live by your own words. A demon killed your husband, and for that crime, you killed him. Can I not have the same justice? Why should I not kill the demons that killed my husband?"

A soft click as the Colt's cylinder swung open. "Well, I ain't perfect neither. Besides, the feller that killed my Ben had no other aim in life but to go about killing people. Somebody had to put him down before he killed every last man, woman, and child there is."

"And so must your soldiers be stopped, before they kill the last of my people."

"They ain't so bad as all that," Cora said, letting the bullets fall into her cupped palm. Puffs of grey swirled around her fingers. "Sure, they ain't all angels, but they ain't no different from regular men."

"They are different from our men," came the reply.

Cora slipped the rounds back into the chambers and swung the cylinder closed. "Maybe so. Your folk seem nice enough when they come through, which is more than I can say for a lot of white folk in these parts. Never took much to Yankee soldiers my own self, truth be told. Bastards done burned my family out of our farm during the war, but I ain't hell bent on killing every last one of them for what they did. Maybe I should be, but I never was too keen on picking fights I can't win."

"You are here."

"So I am," Cora said, "and I got a question for you before we get to dusting up."

A pause. "Ask."

"Where'd you come by that blue-eyed bastard that follows you about?"

"The demon came to me from the north with knowledge of you."

"I figured that much," Cora said. "Got him a name, does he?"

"He bears the name of your great paper chief, the one you call Washington."

The name washed over Cora like a bucket of icy water. Washington. She'd met several men by that name during her travels, but only one would have had any intimate knowledge of her past. That smug grin, his self-assured swagger, and his keen blue eyes jumped into her memory like a thunderclap. Her hands trembled as blind fury filled her.

"That bastard," she muttered. Lifting her head, she unleashed the full power of her voice at the stars. "Washington Jones!" The walls echoed her shout back at her, filling the ruins with her rage. "You low-down yellow bastard!"

So great was the sound of her wrath that she did not hear the rushing of bare feet behind her until it was too late. When it reached her ears, Cora turned on her heel, the revolver's barrel sweeping across the crumbling heart of the ancient city.

Something hit her in the chest with a sound like a punch. The animal eyes of the skin-walker filled Cora's vision as a wetness began seeping into her shirt. Looking down, she saw the witch's fingers wrapped around a bone hilt. The hunter's brow furrowed. Why could she only see the hilt? Where had the rest of the knife gone?

Another scream rose from somewhere beyond the ruins. Cora tried to take a breath. Her lungs filled with excruciating fire. Brown eyes, now rimmed with white, found her enemy's gaze once again.

"What...?"

The word burned in her throat. A cough burst from her lips, sending the world into a white haze of agony. Her body suddenly felt very heavy. She needed to sit down for a moment. The jolt as she fell to her knees unleashed another crippling wave of pain through her chest. Cora coughed again, dimly aware of the blood that now dotted the skinwalker's legs.

"You should have stayed away."

The voice rang in her ears, offering the hunter an anchor in the vortex of pain and confusion. Her brown eyes cleared, focusing on her enemy's face. Words formed on blood-spattered lips, but she couldn't find the breath to say them. More coughing, more drops of red on the witch's skin.

Cora swayed for a moment, struggling to stay upright. The world around her descended into a murky haze of dust and starlight. She was swept away by the maelstrom, pitching backward onto the packed earth. The impact made her draw in an uneven gasp only to expel it in another thick, wet fit of coughing. Rolling into her side, she doubled up against the pain, covering her mouth with her hand as the spasms ran their course.

When they finally subsided, Cora forced herself up onto her elbow. Her gun had fallen nearby. She could still finish the job if she could just find it. There was still time. Her eye caught on a faint glimmer of silver in the moonlight, and she reached for it.

A hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her backward. Cora fought against it, but the agony in her chest stole her strength. Forced onto her back, she watched in a daze as the hand curled around the hilt of the knife and pulled. Fresh waves of agony flooded the world as her wail returned to her ears again and again, magnified by the unfeeling stone. Her hands covered the wound as if it were an indecency, blood seeping between her fingers.

Mustering the last of her strength, Cora looked up at the skin-walker. "Damn....bitch...."

Those animal eyes regarded her. "You would have done the same." Kneeling down, the witch wiped the knife on the hem of Cora's pants. Cora tried to kick her, but she could only manage a feeble stirring of her boot. It was just too heavy for her to move.

When the weapon was clean, the skin-walker rose and turned her back on the fallen hunter. "You fought well," she said. Cora tried to answer, but the words drowned in the fluid welling up from her lungs.

The witch walked away in silence. Eyes fixed on the back of her enemy, Cora tried once more to rise, to recover her gun and take the life of the woman who had taken hers, but her body refused to respond. Another coughing fit took hold of her, and all awareness disappeared beneath a fresh blossom of pain. Cora could feel her life leaving her with every agonizing spasm as blood from her wound and her lips mingled with the ancient dust.

When the coughs faded away once more, Cora looked up at the stars. They seemed dimmer now, as though they were dying with her. A surge of anger swept through her. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was Cora Oglesby. No squaw could lay her out, especially with nothing more than a stone knife. Her fingers curled into a weak fist. She held it for a moment, intending to raise it and pound the ground in anger, but it was such an effort, and she was getting so tired. The anger flowed out with her blood, soaking into the dry earth beneath her.

Relaxing her hand, Cora forced the skin-walker from her mind. She would not let her last thoughts be of that woman. Instead, she called up memories of younger days, riding along dusty back trails that wound through endless deserts with Ben at her side. They had camped beneath the same stars that hung above her now. She could still see the firelight dancing in his eyes as he laughed at some jest of hers, the sound seeming to carry to the very end of the world. His hand, calloused and forever stained black with ink, covered hers as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She laughed then, scrunching her face up against his mustache as it tickled her ear.

Opening her eyes, Cora found she could still see his face. Her lips parted in a bloody smile. He smiled back, a sight she hadn't seen in far too long.

"About time you showed up."

The monster crouched in front of Victoria, still looking far too human for the savage hunger burning in its eyes. They watched her now with murderous intent.

"That's what you got to look forward to, darlin."

Tearing her gaze away from the feral businessman lurking in the scrub, Victoria forced a look of disdain through her fear. "Compared to hearing your endless prattle, such a fate is a blessing."

The vampire laughed. "You got spunk enough to fill a wagon, all right. I reckon your blood will be a sight sweeter for it. Strong souls always got the most flavor, I've found. Wish I could have had me a taste of that Oglesby bitch before the squaw puts her down for good, but yours'll do just fine."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Only one way to find out." He stepped toward her, blue eyes aflame with lust.

The fire vanished an instant later as the vampire recoiled from his victim, shielding his eyes. Victoria took a small step forward, Cora's wooden crucifix held high.

"Nearly forgot about this little treasure," she said. "A gift from Cora, and a useful one at that. Who knew such a little thing could have so much power over filthy vermin like you?"

Victoria took another step toward him, enjoying the sight of his agony. Her attention was so thoroughly fixed on him that at first she didn't feel the hand grab her ankle. Realization set in just as it yanked her leg out from under her. She fell to the desert floor, branches snapping beneath her. The monster's fingers were like steel rods. She drove the heel of her other boot into the creature's head with a crunch, but it scarcely seemed to feel the blow. Somewhere nearby, she could hear boots scraping on the ground. The man was recovering. She didn't have much time.

In a single, swift motion, Victoria swept the crucifix toward the cold hands gripping her leg. The wood brushed against the grey skin with a sound like sizzling meat. Smoke filled the air between them as the monster shrieked and pulled away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red eyes gleamed back at her.

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

"Where is Cora?"

"The hunter has rejoined the cycle."

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

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

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

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

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

The witch nodded.

"Then this is her vengeance."

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

Click.

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

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

"Now I understand."

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

"You have the hunter's gun."

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

Victoria squeezed the trigger.

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

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

"I don't know," Victoria replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And she was right," Cora said.

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

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

"That still doesn't explain-"

"How I'm standing here?" Cora grinned. "Don't add up, do it?" She paused, her eyelids fluttering for a moment. "Well, my Ben could see I was getting ready to die and came through to walk me over. Always was a gentleman like that. I ain't much of a lady, though, so I told him I wasn't going until I'd settled business on this side. He argued some but soon got it through his head that I was serious. Figuring it would speed things up, he gave me what strength he could, and here I am."

"So you've cheated death," Victoria said, a smile spreading across her lips.

"Not exactly," Cora said. She chuckled as Victoria's smile faltered. "Ain't like I just get to waltz on out of here and get back to living. No, this here squaw did her job all right. Ben just stepped in and put it off for a tick."

Victoria swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. "How long do you have?"

The hunter sighed. "Seeing as how we sorted the squaw out, I reckon I should get a move on. Things are getting all foggy, anyhow, and it won't do to keep the good Lord waiting."

With that, Cora sank to her knees and leaned back on her heels. Victoria reached out a hand to steady her. The hunter gripped it with her own, her eyes suddenly intense.

"I ain't going to live up to my end of the bargain," Cora said, her words beginning to slur. "Here you helped me out all this way, and I can't return the favor."

"Don't be silly-"

"Hush up, now. I ain't got but a few more breaths in me." As if to prove it, Cora turned her face away and coughed. The ruins echoed with the ragged sound. Drawing a deep breath, the hunter looked back at her young apprentice. "I can't go with you in body, but don't you think I won't be watching you. Take my gun on back with you and show them black things a thing or two about the fear of God. Do me proud."

"I will," Victoria said, the words threatening to unleash a flood of tears. She wouldn't start blubbing now, not in the last minutes of this battle-hardened warrior's life. Taking a breath to steady herself, she gave Cora's hand a squeeze. "I promise."

"That's a good girl," Cora said, easing herself down onto her back. "You'll be just fine out there. Give old King George my regards while you're at it."

"What about you?" Victoria asked. "What should I do when...?"

"Take me on back to Father Baez," Cora replied. "He can put me next to my Ben like we ought to be. Tell him what happened out here and what you're fixing to do over in England. He'll set you up with some right fine help, see if he don't."

The hunter's breathing grew shallower as the power warding off her death ebbed away. Her eyes were halfclosed. No longer looking at Victoria, they seemed to be gazing at something distant, something beautiful. A faint smile softened her face. Even though the smile wasn't directed at her, Victoria smiled back.

Cora's smile vanished, and her eyes opened wide. "Wash," she whispered.

Something slammed into Victoria's side, sending her flying. She smashed into a bush a number of yards away, the branches snapping like bones. Dazed, she picked her head up. Starlight and shadows spun in a nauseating vortex around her. She closed her eyes and willed the world to stop swirling.

"Looks like you whipped that squaw right proper," came the taunting voice of Washington Jones. "Reckon I owe you for that, but I ain't never been good at paying back favors. Hope becoming immortal seems a fair reward."

Victoria pulled her boots under her and rose to her feet. "I will not serve you, filth."

"Ain't talking to you, darlin," Wash said, blue eyes flashing in his burned face. "You is in for a world of pain for that nasty bit of work back there. See, I ain't no good at paying back favors, but I happen to be an expert when it comes to paying back an eye for an eye."

Moonlight flashed on the Colt's barrel as Victoria raised it. "Is that right?"

Wash laughed. "Go on, keep waving that gun of yours. Maybe one of them bullets will drop out and you can throw it at me."

Victoria's heart sank. Anaba must have told him about the curse she put on Cora's gun, or maybe he simply remembered how it had misfired when she tried to shoot him earlier. Either way, intimidating him into submission was not an option. She still had her crucifix, but there was no way she could reach him before he killed Cora. Nothing could save the huntress now, but she deserved to die in peace instead of being twisted into an undead slave of this monster.

The vampire suddenly reeled backward as if someone had punched him in the jaw. Confused, Victoria watched him stumble for a moment before shifting her gaze toward the hunter. Cora's arm was raised slightly, fist closed around something. Victoria couldn't make out what she was holding, but she didn't need to. Whatever it was, it was buying her the few precious seconds she needed. Her boots crashed through the dry branches, sending stones flying to either side as she sprinted forward. If she could just get to Cora's side and take her gun, she could make an end of Washington Jones.

Without warning, Washington's pet vampire leapt at her from the scrub, powerful arms wrapping around her like constrictors. They squeezed a cry from her lungs as the two of them crashed onto the ground. Jagged rocks punched into Victoria's ribs, sending spikes of pain through her body.

When the two of them came to rest, the vampire was on top of her. Victoria fought to breathe, to free her arms, to throw it off. The demon bared its teeth at her, and she snarled back. Her fingers pulled at her belt, searching for the crucifix but not finding it. Despair flooded her mind. It must have fallen out when the creature slammed into her.

Dead fingers wrapped around her golden braid and gave it a savage tug. Victoria cried out as the creature pulled at her scalp, forcing her chin up. White teeth clamped onto her neck. She punched at its head with her free hand, but she might as well have been beating on a rock. Its jaws were pure agony as they crushed her throat. Soon, she could feel the creature tearing the blood from her veins, slurping it down like a mongrel drinking from a dirty puddle. The pain was unlike anything she could have imagined, at once filling her body with fire and sending tendrils of frostbite through her soul. Her lungs heaved, trying to suck in a breath, but the vampire's jaws clamped her windpipe shut.

Victoria felt herself dying, her essence flowing down the throat of the monster on top of her. Her thoughts grew thin and light, wisps of lace floating through her mind. She felt a twinge of sorrow that their victory had been snatched from them when it had seemed so certain. They had bested the skin-walker only to fall to her servant. There was an irony there, she knew, but she couldn't quite remember what it was.

Air rushed into Victoria's lungs like a flash flood, propelling her back up into the realm of life. She felt as though she would continue to sail upward until she reached the stars. The icy knife that had been digging its way into her soul was gone. She took another breath. Trickles of blood tickled her neck, and she almost giggled.

The laughter died on her lips as the memory of where she was crashed back into her mind. Clapping a hand to her bleeding neck, she raised her head and looked around. A few yards away, the vampire crouched low to the ground, hissing through its bloody teeth. Victoria stared at it in confusion for a moment, wondering why it had suddenly released her. Cora's voice reached her then, thin and scraping like chalk on a blackboard.

"Get up."

Victoria forced her arms and legs into action. As they pulled her into a sitting position, she felt something slide down her shirt. Cora's rosary. Wrapping her fingers around the beads, she groaned. Her whole body ached.

"No time for that," Cora said in response to her moan. "Hump it or we're through."

Nodding in agreement, Victoria stood to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, threatening to collapse. One look at the creature crouching nearby was enough to steady them. Keeping the rosary in plain sight, she made her way to Cora's side. Blue eyes glared at her from the shadows, but the vampire kept his distance.

Victoria half-knelt, half-fell next to the hunter. "Where is your gun?"

"He took it," Cora said, lifting a finger in the direction of Wash Jones.

"What?" The hunter's words sapped Victoria's strength, and she struggled to stay on her feet. "How am I supposed to kill him without it?"

"My gun," the hunter whispered, tapping the holster on Victoria's belt. "Shoot him."

"It doesn't work," Victoria said. "How can I-"

"Do it!" Cora's eyes opened wide, blazing in the moonlight. Victoria thought she saw a flash of white light from deep inside them, but she didn't stop to look twice. The force of the hunter's command propelled her to her feet, her hand reaching for the revolver of its own will.

Washington Jones watched her, his blue eyes alight with amusement. He held the other revolver in his hand, the barrel pointed at Victoria's chest. "Well, now, ain't this a pretty picture?"

"Indeed," Victoria said.

"See, now, I'm trying to decide what's most fitting to do," Wash said. "Here I is pointing a gun at a lady who's pointing a gun at me. Trouble is, your gun don't work, and it ain't proper to shoot an unarmed body. I reckon I could shoot you anyhow on account of you being such a pain, but then you wouldn't get all what's coming to you for doing what you done back there. Now-"

The thundering crash of a pistol shot cut him off. Victoria lowered her smoking revolver, cold blue eyes glittering. Across from her, Washington Jones stared in disbelief. Words started to form on his lips, but they dissolved into a moaning wail that could have arisen from the depths of hell itself. The vampire fell to his knees. Thin, piercing notes shredded the stillness of the night as smoke belched from his nose and mouth. One cry became a multitude, rising in a horrid cacophony that made Victoria wince, but she did not look away. On the ground beside her, Cora lay with her eyes closed, the ghost of a smile on her worn face.

When the desert night had swallowed up the last of the hellish chorus, Victoria allowed herself to breathe. Turning around, she swept her gaze through the brush, searching for the fallen master's minion, but the feral creature had vanished. She took a step toward the ruins when Cora's voice stopped her.

"Take my sword," the hunter said, her voice rattling deep in her chest.

Kneeling down next to Cora, Victoria put a hand on the hilt of the hunter's saber. Starlight glimmered on the blade as she drew it from its sheath.

"Cut off his head."

Victoria stood and turned toward her fallen foe before the hunter's words hit home. "What?" she asked.

Cora merely looked at her and nodded.

Taking a breath, Victoria marched toward the vampire's corpse. Nausea swept through her at the thought of decapitating a man, even this one, but she forced it down. If it was the only way to make sure the monster stayed dead, then she would do it.

Victoria looked down at Washington's face, and her fingers involuntarily tightened around the saber's hilt. The dead man's face was frozen in the rictus of his dying scream, but the fire was gone from his eyes. He looked like an ordinary man, one who might have passed many a hot afternoon in Cora's saloon. A strange sense of pity passed through her. Once, this man had been no different from any other, trying to make his own way in a world as dangerous as it was mad. He had chosen a path of darkness and demons, perhaps beguiled by the man he pretended to be, the one called Fodor Glava. So damned, he had become a monster in soul as well as in body, ultimately leading him to his death by her hand. A tragic end to a tragic tale.

The memory of his hands around her throat, his promises of rape and murder, returned to her, and her pity vanished beneath a landslide of loathing. Her skin crawled at the thought of his icy touch. Gripping the hilt of the saber with both hands, she raised it above her head.

"Bastard."

Moonlight flashed on the polished blade as she brought it down on the vampire's neck. It sliced through the undead flesh as if it were jelly. The head of Washington Jones rolled a few feet before coming to rest, long strands of dirty yellow hair splayed out like the legs of an insect. Victoria shuddered at the thought and turned away.

Retracing her steps, Victoria returned to the hunter's side. "It's done."

Cora did not answer.

Kneeling down next to her, Victoria softly called out her name. The lean, weathered face did not stir. No breath rose and fell beneath her shirt. A smile still lingered on her lips, and the sight brought one to Victoria's own. Despite the blood on her shirt, the carnage that surrounded her, Cora Oglesby was a vision of peace. Her hat lay to one side of her head, the brim painted by threads of her hair. The moonlight softened the hard lines of her face, taking the years away from her. In its bluish hue, Victoria could still see the face of the girl she had been, the face her husband must have seen when they first met. They were together again at last, after all their long years of separation. The thought made Victoria's smile widen, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek.

"Rest well, my friend," she whispered, touching the hunter's hand. "You've earned it."

Victoria lingered there a moment longer, a captive of the powerful serenity that had settled over the ruins. She took a deep breath, drawing the cool desert air into her lungs. It smelled of dust and blood. She wanted to carry this place inside her forever, just as it was, stained with the blood of heroes and monsters. To forget would be a dishonor to the woman who lay beside her.

Finally, Victoria roused herself. Her cold muscles creaked in protest as she stood. Moving to wipe her eyes, she realized she still held Cora's saber in her hand. Bending down, she wiped the gore on a nearby bush, then carefully slid the blade back into its sheath. Metal rasped against metal, sending echoes bouncing off the nearby walls.

Reaching toward her own belt for the hunter's gun, she paused. Cora's words came back to her, telling her to take the gun with her back to England so she could enact her own vengeance. Victoria smiled again. "I will wear it with pride," she said, "and I hope to someday be worthy of it."

Tipping her hat to her friend, Victoria turned and started walking toward the ruins. Somewhere near their weathered walls, she knew her horse must be waiting. For the first time in her life, she found herself eager to climb into a saddle and ride beneath the stars, the night flowing around her in dark rivers of purple and blue and brown, forever searching for the break of dawn.