by Tonia Brown
With his left arm he held her away, trying his damnedest to get enough of her weight off of him so he could free his right arm and his weapon. Unable to land a bite, she resorted to punching and clawing at him, tearing through his shirt to reach the tender flesh beneath. Dodger let go long enough to get a few hits in himself, before returning to the struggle of keeping her from biting his face off.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Struggle for me. I like my meal to fight back. That’s it!”
And that was it, too. Dodger was fairly sure she would turn him into ground meat right there on the rocky floor of her prison. His strength fled him, as did his blood, her blows gutting him deeper and deeper with each stroke. Eventually he lost his grip on her, at which she grabbed his arm and pinned it above them, lowering her face to his, the cold rank of her charnel house breath in his face.
“You put up a good fight,” she said. “It will bring me much pleasure to have a meal of you. Or perhaps I should make you one of mine. Infect you. Rule you. Would you like that?”
Before all of this, Dodger used to think he was something special. He used to roll with the punches and shoot from the hip and dodge the bullet and a variety of other euphemisms for avoiding getting his ass handed to him by his enemy. Hell, even when he wanted to die—throwing himself in front of cannon after cannon, gun after gun, onto knives and swords and bayonets so many years ago—he couldn’t seem to manage it. Yet here he was, writhing in the dirt and blood and, for the first time in years, genuinely fighting for his life. The trouble with it was, and this was the most unbelievable part, he had never felt more alive.
He actually wanted to live.
“Any last words before I consume you whole?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, Boon shouted, “Gladys!”
“Wash?” the Jackal asked, and lifted herself off of Dodger.
In fact, she lifted herself just enough for Dodger to free his right hand, and the weapon it bore. He slid his arm out from under them, raised the gun to her bulk and opened fire. Bursts of light leap from the barrels as they blasted triple shots into the shrieking beast. In moments it was done; Dodger was out of ammunition, and the Jackal went silent. She slumped over him, motionless, and weighing what Dodger would guess came to about a million tons. With maximum effort he rolled her corpse off of him.
“Is she dead?” Boon asked, his voice labored.
“She was dead before,” Dodger said, his voice equally labored.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think she’s given up the ghost now.” Dodger got to his knees with a wince, and began routing around the darkness, searching for his missing weapon. “Speaking of ghosts, where did you go? I could have used some help sooner.”
“I thought I could help more if I touched her mind. Perhaps I could talk her down, or something like that.”
“And?”
“And it was a bad idea. A very bad idea. It put both of us at peril, and I can’t apologize enough. Are you well?”
“Well enough. I think I might need some of the doc’s medicine though. And soon.” A familiar outline passed under his searching fingers as he swiped his hands over the cavern floor. “There you are.” Ignoring the burning pain in his sides, Dodger snapped up the stray gun and holstered her. “How about you? You sound almost as bad as I feel.”
“Good. Just weak.”
“I didn’t know ghosts could get weak.”
“As I said, tapping into a normal mind drains my constitution, but her mind … Dodger … it was unspeakable. The darkness. I’ve never seen such thoughts before.”
Dodger wanted to sympathize, but reckoned they could commiserate all they wanted once they got back to the line. “Can you find the exit?”
“I’m at the ladder now. Follow my voice.”
He did as asked, carefully picking his way across the floor, to the ladder as Boon guided him along. Once he reached the exit, Dodger looked up the shaft, to the pinpoints of light just piercing the hatch, wondering how in the hell he would make it all the way up there in his current shape. But somehow he did, painfully pulling himself up rung for rung, until he pushed back the hatch and thrust his face into the moonlight once more. Spilling out of the shaft’s mouth like some retched up meal, Dodger rolled onto his back and sucked the clean night air into his aching lungs.
“Damn son,” Boon said as he stooped over Dodger. “You look a mess. I didn’t realize how much damage she’d done.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dodger said. “Most of it’s superficial.” He pulled back the tatters of his jacket, hissing at the dark gouges underneath. Laying on his back again he tried to lighten the spirit’s mood. “I think I’ll need a new shirt though. Shame too. I liked this one.”
“As did I,” Rebecca said. Her silhouette eclipsed Dodger’s view of the swollen moon as she moved in to look down at him. “But I’m certain we can outfit you with something comparable.” The vampire stooped over him and pushed Dodger’s hands aside to inspect his wounds. Dodger was far too weak to resist. She removed his shirt, hissing and clucking her tongue at the damage underneath.
“It’s not that bad,” Dodger said, though as he did he could feel a trickle of warm life stream from the corner of his mouth.
“I must admit, it’s better than what I expected. But, of course, I didn’t expect you to survive at all. You’ve surprised and impressed me. You’ve impressed my sisters as well.”
“I aim to please,” he whispered.
“Your aim is extraordinary, Mr. Dodger.” She clapped, and other figures moved in along either side of him. “Take him to the Rose. We shall tend to his wounds there.” Looking back down to him she added, “Tis the least my sisters and I can do for such exceptional service.”
The presence of so many blood suckers around his very bloody body made Dodger all sorts of nervous. “I appreciate the offer, but I reckon the doc can take care of me when we get back to the line. I’d like to settle up and get on our way.” He tried to sit up, to get to his feet on his own, but the moment he raised his body the world spun and nausea swallowed him whole.
“Nonsense,” Rebecca said. “Our medicine is stronger, and our methods are much more pleasant. Relax, let us ease your pain.”
Before he could argue, Rebecca passed her hand over his eyes, and with the motion Dodger fell into the loving arms of his dark mistress once more.
****
back to top
****
Chapter Eleven
Home Again
In which Dodger awakes in his own bed.
The darkness was different this time.
Oh, she was just as cozy and loving and compassionate as she had always been. She still wrapped her inky arms about him, pulling him into the comfort of her dark bosom, inviting him to stay, to rest, to dream. Only this time she said as much. This time she had a voice.
And her voice sounded an awful lot like Rebecca of the Forsaken.
“Drink,” she whispered. “Drink the darkness and be healed. Drink and rest.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“You must.”
“I’m afraid.”
The darkness laughed, though Dodger felt it was not meant for him. It was a warm laughter, like a mother chuckling at the antics of her child. “Good. Recognizing your fear gives you control of it. Courage springs from fear. Drink and live.”
“I’m tired. I don’t want to go on anymore.”
“I know. You have seen much, too much for one man, but today is not your day to die. The world still needs a champion, Rodger Dodger. And our cursed half sister needs you more than she will ever admit. Now, drink.”
At her encouragement he drank. Not deep enough to slake his thirst, but enough to take the edge off. Heck, he didn’t even know he was thirsty until he got down that first wet throat full of … whatever it was. After he drank, the voice spoke again.
“We are kindred spirits. We are unique, yet alike. And we take care of our own.”
We t
ake care of our own. The words swirled and spun in his mind, doubling in volume and intensity until all was darkness once more.
When Dodger awoke, he was not where he expected to be.
He expected to be in the brothel, in a bed, and perhaps in the arms of some lithe lovely. Maybe even two lithe lovelies. Or a few full bodied beauties. He never considered himself to be a picky man, especially when it came to the wonderful world of women.
But he wasn’t in the brothel. No.
He was in his bunk, in his quarters, on the Sleipnir. A quick peek out the slatted shades confirmed his suspicion that the train was indeed traveling. Sunlight pouring into the small cabin embarked a tale of an unexpected passage of time. How long he couldn’t be sure. Yet none of this was as startling as a single, stark fact.
Whoever put him to bed in his bunk had stripped him completely naked.
This didn’t bother him on a modesty level; it just left him wondering who got a gander at his goods while he was down for the count. More specifically, did some little lady have herself a look see while Dodger was at his most vulnerable? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Hell, he sure would’ve had the roles reversed. Or would he? No, he supposed he wouldn’t after all. Again it wasn’t modesty that would’ve kept his eyes other places, but common decency. Sneaking a peak at her nudity would kind of take the thrill out of it when time came to face her nakedness head on.
And that time would definitely come, if he had anything to say on the matter.
Dodger pulled away his thin sheet expecting (aside from his usual scars) a horror show of lacerations and cuts, only to find himself well on the way to healed. Where the Jackal had laid into him were but thin, pink lines tracing the sides of his abdomen; a crowd of parenthesis fighting for the chance to frame the paragraph of his stomach and punctuation of his navel. The doc’s medicine again? He wasn’t sure. Just before he passed out Rebecca said something about tending to his wounds, which once again brought him back round to the fact that he was naked. Now, why was it that he associated those two things?
Snatched of memories drifted to him; light caresses, soft lips, the command to drink, chilled flesh under his hot hands, a cascade of blonde hair sweeping across his chest as deft fingers fondled his-
Welcome back to the land of the living, Boon whispered as his presence filled Dodger’s room.
Clutching the sheet over his bare groin, Dodger croaked, “Odd choice of words for a ghost.”
How are you fairing?
“Better than I expected. Tell me, did every job you go on for that man involve you blacking out? Because I’d like to think I will see at least one task through without falling unconscious.”
Boon answered with a soft laugh.
Dodger ran a hand over the tender pink scars. “Doc did a good job patching me up. I can barely feel any of it. Or for that case, remember any of it. What happened after I blacked out?”
The presence of the spirit roiled as he struggled to answer the question. Well … umm … I wasn’t there the whole time you see … and … well …
Without warning the door swung open wide, and the professor stormed inside carrying a silver tray. “Mr. Dodger! I am so pleased to see you up and about.” The professor dropped the tray onto the desk. “Feng was on his way here with this, so I assumed either you learned to eat in your sleep or you must be awake again. Good thing too, for we’ve almost arrived at our destination.”
Dodger narrowed his eyes at the man. “How long have I been out?”
“Fourteen hours, from my measure. And for a while there it was a bit touch and go. We weren’t sure you would wake at all. But no worries, you’re right as rain now.”
“Thank you, sir. Again.”
The professor started at the gratitude. “Thank me? No, no, no, no my dear boy. You should thank-” His words cut short as he lifted the cover from the tray and eyed the breakfast piled high. “Bacon! I do love bacon. Lelanea never lets me near the stuff. Raises my blood pressure through the roof, you see. Maybe the tray was meant for me. Feng always knows best.” He settled in beside the tray, swinging his feet from the side of the desk as he nibbled on a slice of bacon. “Where was I? Oh yes, not me. You should thank the ladies of Waxford.”
“Waxford,” Dodger echoed.
The beast wounded you deeper than you professed, Boon whispered. She left you in a hell of a state. You would have never made it back to the line alive. Rebecca and her sisters saved your life.
“How?” Dodger asked.
“I’m not exactly sure,” the professor said. “But I suspect it has something to do with their chosen profession. They seem to posses a healing touch, as it were.” He leaned closer to Dodger and lowered his voice as he added, “Quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind a little healing like that every now and again.” The man giggled a bit before returning his attention to the breakfast tray. “Then again, the danger one must face to receive such affections gives a man pause.”
“I’ll bet. Speaking of which, I have half a mind to quit on you after that stunt.”
“What stunt?” the professor asked around a mouthful of bacon.
“It wasn’t like I didn’t ask.”
“Ask? Ask what?”
“You knew Waxford was populated by vampires and you just let me wander in there like nothing was amiss.”
The professor blew a meaty raspberry at Dodger. “Pshaw! Vampires! I’ve never heard such nonsense. Oh, there’s coffee too. You should really eat, lad. It’s nice and warm.”
Dodger waved away the offer of food. “If they aren’t vampires then what in the hell are they?”
“What are they? Interesting question. Yes. Very interesting.” The professor shoved another strip of bacon in his mouth and chewed as he considered his theory. “I’ve given this much though, and near as I can surmise they suffer from a blood disease that slows their metabolism to an almost standstill, with a corpse like effect. They appear, for lack of a better word, dead. No pulse, little blood pressure, and cold as stone. This infection keeps them in a sort of metabolic stasis for a number of years. Hundreds, if Miss Becky is to be believed.”
Down went another strip of crispy pork, followed by a sip of coffee.
“As a side effect they seem to have a heightened sensitivity to direct sunlight—scorches the poor things to a crisp I’m afraid. I theorize it’s a lowered level of melatonin in direct relation to their slowed blood flow that causes this. The infection also goes to great lengths to keep the host alive, mending the most astounding levels of damaged tissue.” He paused to chew on another handful of bacon. “Another interesting side effect to note is that they must consume extraordinarily high levels of protein in order to survive. The young ladies feel human blood is the best source for this. They might be right, but it’s a heck of a way to survive.”
“They weave an impressive tale that makes them out to be vampires.”
“Hogwash. They overlay this vampire fairy-tale atop a complex disease as a coping mechanism. Simple as that.”
“But why?”
“What can I say? They’re as imaginative as they are beautiful. And I also think that the disease eventually drives them madder than they already are. Hence the beast you fought off.”
“How did you know …” Dodger thought twice about that question before he decided to back up and start at the source. “How did I get back here?”
“Ched went into town to fetch you after you stayed gone half the night. He practically busted down my door he was so convinced something was wrong, and wouldn’t shut up about it until I let him go in after you. I thought he was just after a fling with that floozy of his. Are you sure you don’t want some of this. I’m afraid I’ve eaten most of it.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” The professor dove into the rest of the plate, the eggs and toast stood little chance against his hungry attack. Between mouthfuls he finished his tale. “As I was saying, only Ched would be willing to walk fifty miles to meet his lady friend. But as it
turned out, he wasn’t just after a quick romp in the sack. He came back a few hours later with you piled up in the Rhino, all patched up by Rebecca and her ilk, with the fantastic tale of how you won me two vials of … well, what you went after. I suppose you owe him some level of thanks.”
“He’s not the only partner I should thank,” Dodger said, glancing about the room.
Anytime, partner, Boon whispered.
Misunderstanding the statement as directed to him, the professor said, “Yes, but we won’t return to Waxford for some time. I’m sure you’ll still be with us when we do, so you can thank them then. As for now, I need to get back to my work, which I’m pleased to say is almost complete. Thanks to your diligent effort I have enough of the compound to help a whole infantry of the poor fellows. In fact I should have plenty of it left over for my other research projects as well.”
“The research concerning Lelanea?”
Boon gasped.
The professor stared at Dodger, all of his humor lost. “What do you know about that?”
Dodger didn’t know much about it, but he remembered hearing tale of such research among the other bits and pieces and fragments of the last few hours. “Rebecca mentioned your niece. Several times. Said she was cursed. That like the Forsaken, death and damnation was her only cure.”
“Yes, well, the ladies of Waxford are a touch melodramatic. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Dodger would agree, but he wouldn’t be sidetracked. “Is Miss Lelanea ill?”
“Not exactly.” The professor furrowed his brow. “But she does have a right to her privacy. Just as you have right to yours. I hope you understand that. And can find it within yourself to respect it.”