Vigilante Sin: Steamy western with a paranormal twist. (GloryLand Book 1)

by Lana Gotham

  “If Jon is the innocent, and we harmed him, I wonder what would happen?” Tom looked somber. “Not that I would ever want to hurt Jon. Not ever, Sheriff. But I am just saying what do you think those witches would do? And what do you think they meant they were leaving this place? They just...faded away.” Tom’s eyes grew large and the tiny glass cylinder he was holding fumbled in his fingers. He steadied it and lowered it to the ground, then wiped his sweating hands down the front of his pants.

  I stopped moving jars. “Tom, stop. You can’t understand magic. Or witches. Or any of it. All you can do is keep moving forward. And try not to let it drive you crazy. Right now that means finding this soul and getting it back to its owner. Getting it back to Jon.”

  I pulled a wooden crate from the corner and started digging through. The jars inside were filled with brown sludge that seemed to bubble and stir with its own accord. I hated to think what Abiya had trapped and who it belonged to. I knew it was crazy, but the sludge inside seemed aware that I was holding it in my hands, that I was contemplating what to do with it. I shook my head and continued to dig.

  Suddenly, a warmth seemed to radiate up my arm, to my heart. I dug through the crate faster until I reached the bottom. The last jar—the very last one—was glowing bright gold. While the other sludge filled jars seemed to bubble and pop, this one seemed to hum and sing. And it called to me. My hands and fingers tingled with warmth, and when I picked up the jar, the heat exploded through my body. It was Jon. I knew it. I don’t know how I knew it—it certainly made no sense. But then, when witches were concerned, what did? My heartbeat sped and the tiny prickle of hope that had taken hold of my stomach began to swell and grow. Maybe...just maybe things were going to work out. Maybe I hadn’t been lying to myself after all.

  “I found it!” I cried. “I found it!”

  Tom and Cheryl dropped the jars they were holding. They crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. My friends hurried to my side.

  “Wow,” Cheryl said. Her face softened. “That belongs to Jon huh? We all have one?” She tapped the side of the jar. Tom smiled.

  I looked around at the sludge filled jars. Who were they? Were they still alive? Or were they the slaves of a bad witch? Suddenly I felt a sadness for each of them. Without knowing what I’d be loosing on the world, I couldn’t free them from their glass cages. I couldn’t help them—and now they’d spend eternity trapped.

  But I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to save Jon.

  “Come on,” I said. Maybe it’s not too late.”

  We turned to run from the shack, and made it to the door when a soft mewling sound stopped us in our tracks.

  “What is that? You hear it?” Tom’s brow furrowed. “It sounds like a kitten.”

  The mewling continued and Cheryl’s face fell. She ran to the barrel and lifted away a blanket. “Ahh,” she said, her mouth dropping open. She reached into the barrel, and pulled out a baby.

  It had the bright red hair and golden eyes of a red soot witch.

  Cheryl cradled the naked infant girl close to her chest and squeezed. The baby gurgled and cooed. “She is all alone now. No one is here for her.”

  “If you ask me, it’s a good thing. That Abiya witch, she was a nasty monster,” Tom said. He crooked a finger and stroked the little girl’s chin. “This baby will be better without those nasty witches.”

  “It’s not a person, Cheryl,” I said gently. “It’s a red soot witch. You saw them. You saw what they can do—they can leave this world. They don’t rot when they die—they flake away. They capture souls and cause pain...”

  Cheryl’s eyes narrowed into two slits. “If you are my friend and you truly care about me, you will never say those words again. This is a baby, Alyssa. I don’t care who her mother was. I was motherless and come to age in a whore house. Far be it from me to abandon a needy infant.” She cradled the girl close.

  “How will you explain her to the people of GloryLand?” I asked.

  “I pour their whiskey. That is the only explanation they need from me. And if you think I should leave her here, then you aren’t who I thought you were.”

  Even Tom’s eyes narrowed at me.

  “No. That isn’t what I meant. Of course I don’t think you should abandon her—I just don’t think you should keep her. Maybe we could summon Shoshonna again and—”

  “No, Alyssa. I am taking her.” And with those words, Cheryl left the room and started toward the path with Tom on her heels.

  I sighed and followed suit.

  Chapter 33

  I galloped ahead of Cheryl and Tom, on account of Cheryl riding with the baby. I needed to get to Jon. There was no time for me slow down.

  I swapped horses in GloryLand, leaving Diana to rest, and borrowing a mare from someone drinking inside the Rusty Nail. Being Sheriff had its perks—but even if I wasn’t, if it meant saving Jon, I would have stolen a hundred horses.

  Every time I was forced to stop and rest the horse, it was torture. Every moment I couldn’t go full speed toward my love was painful. He was dying without his soul and I held the cure, but time and distance are cruel enemies that I hoped I could vanquish.

  When the lights of New Duluth finally shown in the distance, I dug my heels in hard, spurring my borrowed horse. Normally, I’d never ride a horse so hard—so haphazardly. But Jon was so close. He needed me.

  The jar was wrapped in cloth and nestled in my saddlebag. It glowed bright, its light shining through the material and peeking through leather cracks of the bag. It seemed the closer we got to the town, the brighter it shown.

  Faster. Faster, dammit! I kicked, knowing I was doing no good. The horse was doing its best. Running its fastest.

  I reached the city limits without slowing down. On main street, the mare slowed and refused my commands.

  Come on! I dug in my heels but it did no good. The horse grunted and wobbled, but refused to hurry.

  I pulled the reigns and the horse stopped completely and abruptly. “You’ve been good,” I whispered. “Go find water. Go rest.” I slid from its back and dug the jar from the saddlebag. I wasn’t imagining it—it glowed so brightly, I had to look away. I rewrapped it in the rag. Even through the cloth, it was warm in my hand, and seemed to pulse and ebb under my touch, reminding me of a heartbeat that grew stronger for a few beats, before weakening, then returning to full strength.

  I began to run in the direction of Lindsey Willing’s home. The tall, four story structure appeared and I fought my fatigue, using adrenaline to spur myself onward.

  I cut through the side alley and to the backyard of the boarding house, when they appeared from the shadows.

  “What do we have here, boys?” The tall, angular man snarled. He had familiar eyes—they resembled the ones that had stared lifelessly back at me from the end of a rope months before. The man spit. “Where do you think you’re going, Sheriff.” He said Sheriff as if it were the most reprehensible cuss there was.

  Two men flanked him—both shorter and rounder—but with the same eyes.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” I growled. I’d made it this far, and I wasn’t about to let these idiots keep me from Jon for even one minute longer. “If you value your life, get out of my way.” I didn’t stop moving forward.

  The man in the middle—I was guessing the three of them were members of the Rosemary Boys—drew his pistol and pointed it in my direction. “I’d slow down little lady. If anyone could call you a lady. You wear trousers like a man and run around shooting people. Hanging people. Maybe you ain’t a woman at all.”

  “I only shoot bad people. And the people that swing at the end of my rope have it coming. Now get out of my way. I won’t say it again.”

  The man threw his head back in a guffaw, but made a fatal mistake. He didn’t lower his weapon—and I’d warned him twice. I drew my pistol and fired. The tall man dropped to the ground, grasping his knee. “You bitch!” he howled. His minions both were slow on the draw, but now had their weapons p
ointed in my direction.

  “I warned you. I don’t know if you have heard about me—maybe you have. And if you have—then you will hopefully head any advice you may have heard. There is nothing you can do to harm me. Your bullets won’t pierce me. Neither will your blades. Your rope can’t hurt me neither, so get out of my way.”

  The minions still held their weapons while their brother howled at their feet, but now they looked less sure of themselves. They obviously weren’t the brains of the outfit. Though Lindsey had said there were no brains in that outfit...

  “What are you waiting on?” The downed Rosemary Boy screamed. “Shoot that bitch!”

  One of the men was dumb enough to listen. He fired. The bullet hit me in the shoulder. It knocked me backward, but glanced off of my skin.

  “Now you made me angry,” I yelled. I still clasped Jon’s soul in one hand, and my gun in the other. I took deliberate steps in their direction, unsure if I would aim for the knee or the heart, when the back door opened.

  Lindsey stepped outside. She held a rifle in her hands, and she cleanly and without pause, shot one man, then the other. She looked down at the man I’d shot in the knee.

  “Lindsey, darlin’ don’t do it,” he pleaded.

  Lindsey snarled, cocked the rifle, pointed it at the man’s chest, and fired.

  I watched her. My mouth hung open. I was guilty of taking lives—but only when I had to. This woman had just killed three men. Granted—they would have died one way or the other because I’d have seen them come to justice. And if Jon didn’t make it because of my delay, I’d have shot them myself.

  But Lindsey didn’t seem bothered at all. “Trust me when I tell you they have had it coming a long while.” She spit on the bodies.

  “Is Jon—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. I wouldn’t jinx it.

  “He is hanging on for you. Just barely though. Now hurry on in. I will take care of this mess. I know someone who will get the bodies. They will pay me good money, actually.”

  I frowned. Of course she knew someone. The more I spoke with Lindsey Willing, the more I wondered about her. She killed without worry. She had no fear about riding off with a monster to his ranch. She knew how to get rid of bodies...who was this woman? And why did I feel like I could trust her?

  I couldn’t worry about that now, but one thing was for certain—Lindsey Willing was no ordinary prostitute. There was more to her story and oneday I’d have to do some digging.

  I left Lindsey on the steps and ran into the house. I bounded up the stairs to the little rented room on the third floor. The door was open and I barged in.

  The place where we’d left the dead shell of Malachi was now empty and scrubbed clean as if there had never been a body at all.

  Jon was no longer laying on the floor where I’d left him. Thank God, it really had killed me to leave him there.

  Jon was tucked into Lindsey Willing’s bed, the thick purple cover pulled up to his chin. His skin was waxy. His natural tawny gold complexion was ashen and washed out. And even though I knew it was completely silly—that it was idiotic—seeing him lying there in another woman’s bed unleashed a bought of jealousy I didn’t realize I possessed. I pushed it away. How stupid to feel that way? Of course he was in her bed. That was where he needed to be. She’d done me a service by not leaving him on the floor.

  I sat down next to him. The coils of the mattress squeaked under my weight.

  “Jon?” I whispered. “Jon, it’s me.”

  His eyes fluttered open into two tiny slits and his lips parted. “Little Wolf.” He began to move his hand under the cover, but paled and let his hand drop.

  “Shh. Don’t move, Jon. I’m here. I have your...well, I have your soul.”

  Suddenly sadness flooded me as I realized—Jon was dying. He was so far gone that I knew he’d tipped over the edge no return. He was going to die.

  My stomach twisted and tightness grew through me, filling me like liquid and pressing against every bone in my body. Jon—my Jon—the man I loved...the man I’d always loved but been too stupid and too hard headed to realize it—was going to leave me. What would I do without him? We’d only recently confessed our true feelings to one another. We should have forever to explore what that meant. And now we had his son...he had Jacoby. It wasn’t fair! He should get to be a father to the boy. He’d be a great Pa and they both deserved that experience—he and Jacoby.

  And me... Tears welled in my eyes. I never cried—not even when my own mother had passed to the clear blue yonder, but the hot wet tears in my eyes didn’t care. They were coming. They erupted over my eyelids and barreled down my cheeks like out-of-control rivers cutting a new and uncharted path.

  “Oh, Jon. You can’t leave me. You can’t.” I had his soul. At least I could do him this last kindness. He could die and travel onward toward whatever came next. But this offered me no comfort. I am a selfish woman and I wanted him. I needed him.

  Jacoby needed him. What would I do with the boy? I was no mother! Parenting alongside Jon—Jon who could teach me—that was one thing. Raising a child...what if I screwed him up?

  “Jon, please. Stay with me.” It was a selfish thing to say to a dying man. A man who had no choice on the outcome of his destiny. I was terrible for saying it but at that moment I couldn’t have held the words in if someone had a gun pointed on the people I loved most. I’d have still spoken.

  Jon’s eyes closed and then opened. His lips parted, and with a deep raspy voice, he said, “Little Wolf. Jacoby...promise me...Promise—“

  I squeezed his hand. “Yes. I promise. I promise with every fiber of my being.”

  I meant it. I didn’t care what I had to do. I decided that if I had to spend every dollar I earned—I would give the boy a life that Jon would approve of.

  I’d sat Jon’s soul on the floor near my feet. I’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of my love, lying in bed, struggling to breathe, that I’d dropped it to the ground without a thought. Now it glowed bright and hot. No longer the soft glowing yellow—now it was a white hot and glaring light.

  I leaned forward and kissed Jon on his dry lips. I kissed him long and I kissed him hard. His skin was deathly cold and clammy, but still I kissed him. I threw my arms around him and squeezed him.

  Then I sat up and picked up the jar. It was almost too hot to hold.

  “Goodbye Jon,” I whispered. I unscrewed the lid.

  Chapter 34

  I opened the lid.

  Nothing happened.

  “No.” The tears and wails tore from me. They scratched my throat like a caged creature fighting its way to freedom. A creature who’s life depended on that freedom.

  I heard my screams, but they felt like they came from another. I threw myself over Jon. I know I did, but it was like I was hovering at the ceiling, watching the events unfold.

  I could still feel the warmth of the jar in my palm but it was like it belonged to someone else—like this experience—this terrible, terrible experience—belonged to someone else. It was a comfort and a curse. I deserved this pain. I needed it. Jon was mine in life and death and if he was leaving me than I craved the hurt that accompanied it.

  Jon wheezed beneath me, still alive but barely. When my tears landed against his cheek, something amazing happened.

  The golden glow that was housed inside the jar—Jon’s soul—rose into the air. It swirled around the room, afloat on the sound of bells and laughter. I watched, still feeling as if I myself was outside of my body. As if the entire experience were a dream.

  The golden swirl smelled of cinnamon and sugar and lemons and a million other good things I couldn’t wrap my fatigued mind around. Then, as suddenly as it had risen, it poured toward Jon, entering his nose and mouth and warming his skin.

  My lover glowed brightly as he was filled with the goodness of his own missing soul. Light shot from his fingertips and, and if I’d checked I am sure it would have shown from his toes as well. His eyes opened and they too glowed
.

  His back ratcheted straight and arched against the bed but the look on his face was not one of pain.

  His skin grew tawny and iridescent and warmer until he again felt like a person instead of a corpse. Gone was the waxy pallor of a dying man in need of saving.

  When the magic had filled him and settled, Jon’s eyes opened.

  They no longer glowed golden and his skin no long shown bright.

  Jon—my Jon—was the picture of health.

  He sat up in the bed. “Hello, my Little Wolf.”

  “JON!” THE SHRIEK WAS so loud it alerted Lindsey. I heard the door slam open and her feet bound up the stairs.

  “Oh Jon!” It was all I could say—my mind and tongue failed me. I threw my arms around his neck and squeeze as if I were the only thing holding him to this life—as if I were to let go God would realize his mistake and pull him away.

  Jon coughed, then wrapped his long arms around me. “Little Wolf,” he gasped, “Alyssa...it won’t have done any good to save me if you are only going to choke me to death now.”

  For some reason—maybe the adrenaline, maybe the relief—this struck me as the funniest thing I’d ever heard. I released my choking embrace. My laugher was rough, erupting from my belly in loud tight spasms. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I fell forward, on top of Jon. Between my body shaking giggles, I planted kisses across his face. His high cheekbones. His chin. His nose. I covered him.

  And Jon did something he rarely did—he laughed. Not his reserved laughter. No, he joined me in the kind of gut splitting laughter that was obviously contagious.

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” I pressed my lips on one cheek and then the other.

  Jon’s palms caught each side of my face, gently squeezing my cheeks. His laughter had ebbed and he looked deep into my eyes. “You saved me, Little Wolf. Without you, I would be dead. Without you my son would still be lost. Without you...I don’t know what I would do.” With those words he pressed his lips to mine and kissed me so deeply it stirred my soul. He opened my mouth with his own and his tongue coaxed me even deeper into the toe curling kiss. My body relaxed against. I am not the kind of woman to swoon—but at that moment that is exactly what happened. A warmth crawled through me and the edges of my vision blurred with a love sick haziness.