Guns of Perdition Read online

  All Hell unleashed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Go after her!” he screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Crack job, Kaga,” she whispered.

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

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

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

  CHAPTER THREE

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

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

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

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

  “What you doing out here, boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Ina. The saloon girl. What was she?”

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

  Jessie crossed himself. “Evil.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Ma’am?” Jessie called.

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

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