She Returns From War (14 page)

There was a thump at her feet. Kneeling down, Victoria reached toward the sound. Her fingers touched on cold metal. Picking it up, she could immediately tell that something was wrong with the revolver. It felt different in her hand, as if the weight had shifted. She ran it along the back of her other hand, and her heart sank.

The barrel was bent back on itself.

"We gave you a chance, darlin," the man said. "We let you go easy and free, but you just had to stick in our boots like a devil's thorn." His eyes blazed as he approached her. "Ain't pretty what happens to them as stick in the devil's own boot, neither."

Victoria raised the crucifix, and the blue eyes halted. "I do not fear you," she lied.

"Then you ain't got the sense of a toad. Waving that matchstick around ain't going to get you nowhere. I ain't afraid of no kindling."

Holding her useless gun, Victoria backed away from the man. Her mind raced. Even if she had the bowie knife with her, she knew it wouldn't work against him. It was just ordinary steel, and Cora had explained to her how only blessed steel or silver weapons could harm vampires. Without a weapon, she couldn't hope to fight.

The man called Fodor Glava seemed to read her thoughts. "You ain't got a prayer, darlin. Best you just come quietlike. Makes it easier on one of us, at least."

His laughter turned Victoria's stomach. "Then kill me," she said. Her words might be her doom, but she wouldn't die kneeling to this man. "If it really is just a piece of kindling, what's stopping you?"

"I like them alive," he said. "Ain't no fun if you just lays there like a dead fish."

"I do not fear you," she said again, trying to muster her resolve.

"Pudding-headed whore. You got every reason to be scared of me, and here you is being all uppity. Digging your own grave, or so they say." He laughed. "You ain't exactly going to need a grave when I get through with you. No, I reckon I'll keep you on as my own personal pokey-poke for all time. A fine gentleman such as myself deserves himself a fancy girl, ain't that right?"

The man's eyes vanished without warning. Startled, she looked around. Lightning lit the interior of the house, but he was nowhere to be seen. The crucifix trembled in her hand as thunder shook the air. In that instant, her nerve broke. The fear of death consumed her, overwhelming what little courage she had rallied. It took control of her body, turning her toward the door and forcing her legs into a mad dash. Dropping the ruined gun on the floor, she nearly tore the doorknob apart as she twisted it and yanked the door open.

Victoria kept just enough sense to point the crucifix behind her as she ran out into the storm. Rain splattered in cold droplets on her face. Blinking it away, she charged through the yard in the direction of the barn. Mud splashed beneath her heels, and she fought to keep her footing amid the hidden rocks and twisted scrub. She could feel the man giving chase, the hunger and lust burning brightly in his eyes, but she could not spare the time to glance backward.

Lightning flooded the yard with brilliance, allowing her a brief moment of sight. The barn loomed just ahead, its hunched shape offering her the one chance of salvation she had. Victoria brought her arms in close for a final, desperate sprint. An arm of the crucifix jabbed into her side with every stride, but she barely felt it. Her only thought was to reach the safety of the barn and the vampire hunter within.

Somehow, Victoria reached the building and ran through the open door. Not two steps inside, her legs suddenly gave out. She stumbled for a moment before falling hard. The panic that had fueled her mad dash across the yard screamed at her to get up, but her body refused to respond. Lungs burning, she fought to regain her breath as she lay in the straw. Her shirt stuck to her like a second skin, cold and itchy.

Streams of white light cut through the shadows, followed seconds later by a teeth-rattling thunderclap. As it rolled into the distance, Victoria heard a rustling at the other end of the barn. She tried to quiet her breathing, but her racing heart made it impossible.

Drawing on the last of her strength, Victoria struggled to her feet. Her fingers squeezed the crucifix as she started walking toward the sound. The creature making it seemed restless; the rustling continued without pause. Step by step, she worked her way toward it, checking over her shoulder for any sign of the vampire. The darkness around her was absolute save for the flashes of lightning, but Victoria didn't see the telltale light from his eyes.

The rustling was very close now, hidden in the next stall. Crouching down, she ran her fingers over the savior's wooden body for reassurance. Now that she'd reached the sound, she wasn't sure what she should do next. If it was the red-eyed woman or another of the feral vampires, she couldn't very well fight them with nothing but her crucifix.

Pressing up against the post, Victoria leaned around it just enough to see into the stall. At that moment, a bolt of lightning split the shadows. It gleamed on a black eye rimmed with white. Fear shot through her limbs, but it quickly dissolved. The tension drained from her body like water through a sluice gate, leaving her legs feeling wobbly. She fell to her knees as darkness again closed in around her. Thunder shook the walls, and although she could no longer see them, she knew her horse's terrified eyes were still watching her. Her sigh of relief came out as a laugh.

"What's so funny, darlin?"

Victoria spun around so quickly she toppled over. Framed by the barn door, the man's silhouette was like a slender black candle with blue flame smoldering at its crown. She could see hunger and amusement flickering in those eyes.

Pulling herself together, Victoria rose to her feet and raised the crucifix. The man continued to watch her, apparently relishing her helplessness. Victoria knew her luck had run out. Without a real weapon, it was just a matter of time before he overwhelmed and consumed her. Cora must have run out into the storm in pursuit of her quarry, or maybe she was lying dead somewhere nearby. Either way, the hunter wouldn't be coming to her rescue. Still, Victoria wouldn't allow him to make her his mistress, no matter what happened. If need be, she would kill herself before he could take her. If only she hadn't left her knife behind.

The barn had plenty of sharp tools handy, though. Keeping the crucifix raised, she began edging over to where she remembered Cora had left the pitchfork. The tines were rusted, but they would do the job well enough if she could just get to it.

Without warning, the man's eyes vanished from the entrance. Victoria searched the shadows, hoping to see that wicked blue glow, but the barn was dark. The constant drumming of rain on the roof made it impossible to hear something sneaking up on her. She began panning the crucifix around the room as she worked her way across the barn.

Something struck her head from behind. Dazed, she fell to one knee, fighting to stay conscious. The world was spinning. She felt like she might vomit. Had she dropped the crucifix?

A cold hand clamped onto the back of her neck. Crippling pain lanced through her body. Her fingers tried to pull it off, but it was like trying to pry open a wolf's jaws. The hand lifted her mercilessly until her feet kicked at the air just above the floor.

"Now, then," came the man's voice, "what was you saying about not being scared of me?"

Victoria couldn't answer. It took all of her effort just to draw in a breath.

"What's that? Ain't got no more fancy words for me?" The hand shook her like a rag doll. Lights flashed across her vision. "Well, my pecker's got a thing or two to say to you, so you just sit still and let him have his say."

He threw her to the ground. Her head slammed into the floorboards. Stunned, she lay in the middle of a spinning vortex, struggling to remain conscious. Footsteps rustled in the straw nearby, but she couldn't remember who they belonged to.

Lucidity broke through the haze like a sunbeam. She pushed herself into a sitting position even though it felt as though someone had piled a load of bricks onto her back. The nearby shuffling continued. It had to be Fodor Glava. He was going to rape her and kill her. She needed her crucifix, but where was it? Frantic, she crawled away from the sound, hoping to find the figurine or some sort of weapon. Her time was almost up; at any moment, she would feel the grip of cold fingers somewhere on her body, and then it would be too late.

"Damn fool."

Why was he speaking to her again? Why did his voice sound strange? She turned her head.

Cora stood in the doorway, her rifle trained on Fodor Glava. A storm lantern hung from her belt, bathing her in an orange halo.

"Cora!" In that moment, Victoria could have hugged her.

"Hush up," Cora said, keeping her gaze to the man standing in the shadows. "You there. Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Cora Oglesby," he replied. "About time you showed up. Your girl here ain't much sport."

"She ain't my girl. She's just a lost lamb showed up on my doorstep."

"Awful keen on protecting her, ain't you?"

Cora stepped toward him. "Ain't nothing special. I just happen to like shooting wolves is all. You're the feller calls himself Fodor Glava, I presume?"

"Naturally," he replied with a bow. "Sure is nice to see you again."

"You can stick the act where the sun don't shine," Cora said. "I know you ain't him because I done him in four years past."

The man laughed. "You can't never kill what's dead."

"Seems to me I been doing just that for more years than I've got fingers and toes. So either I've earned my keep shamming folk all this time, or you ain't got a clue what you is." Cora closed one eye and sighted down the rifle's barrel. "Care to call my bluff?"

For once, the man didn't reply.

"That's what I thought," Cora said, "but now that we know who you ain't, I want to know who you are and why you go about calling yourself Glava."

"His blood is in me, so why shouldn't I?" he said. "I've just as much a claim to it as he did now."

Cora cocked her head to one side. "Ain't that odd? He never so much as gave you a mention when I was running him through. Could be he had other things on his mind. Still, I reckon he might have said something about making a dimwit of a disciple."

"I was his ace in the hole, see? His backup gun if you managed to whip him. He had it all figured out."

"Except for the part where I've got you on the business end of my gun," Cora said. "How are you supposed to get your revenge now or whatever you was planning to do?"

"I got my ways," he replied.

"Ain't going to do you much good if they ain't coming by in the next few minutes." Cora glanced down at Victoria. "Get up, girl."

Victoria scrambled to her feet and hurried over to her, keeping an eye on the man. "Yes?"

"Here." Cora shoved the rifle into her hands. "Keep this on him."

The weight of the gun was almost too much for her. Hoisting it with difficulty, she pointed the barrel at the blue eyes. "What will you do?"

"Get my answer," Cora said. She untied the lantern from her belt and lifted it. "Now, let's see who you really are."

"He is a demon," said a new voice. "That is all you need to know."

Cora's head turned so quickly Victoria heard her neck bones pop. "Who in tarnation are you?" the hunter asked.

"You only need to know what I am," the woman replied.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder at the speaker, and a chill ran down her spine. The silhouette of a woman stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming red in the night.

"She's my ace," said the man.

"Don't look like much of one," Cora said.

"I am more than what I seem," the woman said, "much as you are, Cora Oglesby."

Cora laughed. "All I am is an old drunk. If that's more than I seem to be, maybe I ought to gussy myself up from time to time."

"Don't go flattering her, now," said the man. He took a step forward.

Victoria tightened her grip on the rifle. "Don't move."

"You, Victoria Dawes," said the woman. "You did not obey me."

"I tried," Victoria said, "but she insisted on coming out here before she would leave with me."

"Well, I'll be damned," Cora said, glancing at Victoria. "You wasn't joshing me after all. This squaw really did send you after me."

"Mind your words," the woman said, "or they will be your death."

"Them's some big words," Cora said. "I'd lay fifty on them being a bluff."

"You would be wise to reconsider," the woman replied. She stepped forward into the lantern's halo of light.

Victoria could not help but stare. Aside from a hide mantle around her shoulders, the woman was naked. Droplets of rain clung to her, creeping down skin the color of rust to pool at her feet. Gooseflesh covered her exposed arms and legs, but she didn't seem to feel the chill. Sodden ropes of black hair were plastered to her face, neck, and chest.

"This is my lucky day," the man said.

The woman ignored the comment. Peeling the hide mantle from her shoulders, she threw it at Cora's feet. "This is a warning."

"I seen me plenty of hides," Cora said. "Yours ain't all that special, though it could do with a good tanner. Ain't you Indians got folks that can do that?"