She Returns From War

by Lee Collins

  "What's your name, girl?" Cora's voice was quiet.

  "Victoria Dawes."

  "Well, Victoria Dawes," she said, eyes glinting, "consider yourself lucky. Ain't nobody in this town gets to call me a coward to my face without getting themselves a right fine licking. What I gave you was a tender little kiss compared to what I've given some." Cora shifted her weight, leaning toward the young woman to drive her point home. "You try it again, it ain't going to matter none that you is a woman, fancy or otherwise. You ain't the first woman I've whipped, and you ain't going to be the last.

  "Now, you're as green as any grease-licked city sprout could be, so that's why I'm letting you off so easy like. Not so easy as some would have, maybe, but a lot more easier than most others. This here is rough country, and the sooner you skedaddle on back to England, the better. You came out here looking for heroes. Well, there ain't no heroes. Not here, not anywhere. I reckon I'm the nicest old coot you're like to meet out here. Half the men in the other room would have taken your womanly charms without a second thought had they come across you in some back alley. The other half maybe ain't that bad, but they sure ain't above taking a fine lady's finery, neither. I'm plumb amazed you ain't had yourself a run-in with such folk yet."

  "Father always said I was lucky," Victoria said with a small smile.

  Cora nodded. "Your daddy sounds like he left the second part out, the part where he says you ain't all that bright. Ain't you fancy people got bodyguards and such to keep you from doing fool things? What got it into your head that you could just march on out here with nothing but your own self?"

  Victoria raised her chin. "I am not a coward. My parents are dead, and I am the only one who cares to see them avenged."

  "Revenge's a right fine thing," Cora said, "but all you're like to find out here is your own death. You got anyone cares enough back home to come hunt down the bastard that does you in?" Victoria shook her head. "Well, then, all the more reason to call off before that happens."

  "Where am I to go?" Victoria asked. "Where can I turn now?"

  "Turn back home," Cora said. "Surely there's somebody in that big fancy country of yours as could help you out."

  "No," Victoria replied, her hands curling into fists. "Your friend's colleagues refuse to associate with women in such matters, and I don't know of anyone else who might help. Most wouldn't even believe the story if I told it to them."

  Cora brushed her hands on her trousers. "Sounds to me like you is out of luck, then. Best get on with your life and make your parents happy that way."

  "I can't. I refuse. I swore to them over their graves that I would avenge them. I can't very well return emptyhanded."

  "Well, you ain't returning no other way unless you find yourself a hero someplace else."

  Tears sprang again to Victoria's eyes, and she hated herself for them. "It would seem to be an empty hope, wouldn't it? If all American heroes are like you, I might have simply checked the corner pub in Oxford and spared myself the trouble."

  "I reckon," Cora said, nodding. "Like I said, ain't no heroes nowhere. Just folk like you and folk like me."

  "Why would James send me to you, then?" Victoria asked. "He certainly believes you to be a hero of sorts."

  "George ain't too keen on certain things," Cora said. "Knows a fair bit about some such, but couldn't find his sense if somebody nailed it to his boot. Spent too much time with his nose in a book, like another sorry lump I could name." Her eyes softened for a moment, seeming to stare through the wall. Before Victoria could speak, Cora stirred herself, her eyes refocusing on her visitor. "You want heroes, young missie, you'd best stop by the local boneyard. The only heroes is the ones who don't make it back."

  "What does that make you, then?"

  "Just an old drunk," Cora said.

  "And your combat prowess?"

  "Luck and a quick draw."

  Desperate, Victoria reached for her last option. "Surely even an old lucky drunk understands and respects the value of money."

  Cora barked a laugh. "I reckon I do. Why else would I gotten myself such a fine establishment?"

  "You're the proprietor?"

  "You bet your pretty little parasol," Cora said. "The Print Shop keeps me well enough to drink away half her profits. The boys out there couldn't bluff to save their own mommas, so they give me some extra whether they plan to or not."

  "I'm not talking about poker winnings," Victoria said. "My parents left me a great estate. All you need do is name your price, and it's yours."

  Cora shook her head. "You just ain't getting me. I ain't interested in your money or your vengeance. My hunting days is done, and I aim to keep my bones sitting in this saloon until the good Lord sees fit to take me on up to kingdom come. My price is peace and quiet."

  With that, Cora opened the door and walked back into the saloon. Victoria heard her chair scrape against the floor as she reclaimed her seat at the table. The young woman leaned against a crate, her legs suddenly unable to hold her up. What was she going to do now? Her last hope was gone, crushed beneath Cora Oglesby's boot like a withered rose. She could gather the remains and continue on, but what good would it do? She had failed her parents again, a final debacle so spectacular it had dragged her halfway around the world. If her relatives ever discovered the true purpose of her trip to America, her humiliation would never end. She might at least continue on to San Francisco so she could say she simply wished to see the great American cities.

  Victoria swallowed against the lump in her throat, but it continued to float there, threatening to choke her with her own despair. She fought for composure. Showing any weakness to the ruffians in the next room would be an open invitation for them to attack her. They may not do it here in the open, but they would mark her as an easy target. Cora Oglesby wouldn't protect her. The police, if there were any here, might not be able to save her. England and the Oxford constables were a very long way away.

  She had to get out of Albuquerque. Coming here had been a mistake, but hopefully it wouldn't be her last. Trains ran regularly from the station, so she might be able to catch one in the morning. To San Francisco, or perhaps back to Santa Fe. Maybe she could stop by Denver to speak with Father Baez again. If he knew of Cora Oglesby, he might know of other hunters as well. Cora couldn't have been the only one the Catholic churches of America relied on to hunt down demons and monsters when they had need. If that failed, she could return to Oxford and demand that James Townsend's fraternity of scholars hear her plea. They might refuse to help her, but surely there was a decent man or two among them that might point her in the direction of another mercenary.

  Her despair subdued for the moment, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Extinguishing the lamp, she crept out of the storeroom. The men largely ignored her, any memory of the earlier scene erased by the endless flow of cards and whiskey. A few saw her emerge and tossed a wink or a lech her way as they shuffled plastic chips around their tables. Victoria managed to catch Cora Oglesby's eye. The old hunter lifted her fingers to her brow as if tipping a hat that was no longer there. Victoria responded with a single, silent nod before slipping out through the batwing doors.

  Standing on the sidewalk, Victoria took a moment to fill her lungs. The air was hot, dry, and dusty, but at least it didn't smell of whiskey and smoke. Behind her, she heard Cora's rasping shout as she called somebody out for cheating. It was almost sad, Victoria mused as she began walking back to her hotel. Here was a woman who could still do some good in the world, a veteran of wars few even knew existed, letting herself waste away in a small desert town. That both James Townsend and Father Baez thought so highly of her spoke of her skill and tenacity in the work she did for them. Why, then, would she suddenly decide to stop? Not age, surely. Cora Oglesby's days as a young woman were long past, but she still had some power in her; the dull ache in Victoria's cheek was proof enough of that.

  A hot wind kicked up, sending dust flying in swirling clouds through the streets. Victoria winced again
st the grit blowing into her face. Peering through one half-open eye, she watched the other people on the street pulling down hats and pulling up bandanas. Unrefined though they were, the citizens of Albuquerque were well-suited to life here, much more so than she was. All she could do was flinch and duck, her eyes watering as bits of sand slid through her defenses. Grains nuzzled into her bodice and whipped around her ankles, itching more fiercely with every step she took. She picked up her pace, thinking only of a hot bath and a warm bed.

  Victoria stared out the window, seeing more of her reflection than the town below. A few lights lay at anchor in the sea of darkness outside, lamps and lanterns lit by the townsfolk against the night. Moonlight filled the street with its bluish light. She marveled at the power of it. Even a town as rough and rustic as this could be beautiful at night, bathed in soft luminescence and blanketed by an endless field of stars.

  A sudden impulse to immerse herself in such beauty took hold of her, and she picked up her overcoat from where it lay on the bed. Wrapping it around herself, she eased the door open and stepped out into the hall. Her bare feet padded down the hotel's rear steps. She stepped out into the night through a side door, the planks rough beneath her feet. Cool air kissed her face and ran its fingers through her hair, making her shiver. At night, the smells of the city faded, and the air beneath them was almost sweet. Her blue eyes glittered as she stared up at the stars. She never knew there could be so many.

  Victoria smiled to herself, half in wonder at the night and half in wonder at herself. How could she feel so peaceful and safe here, in the middle of a lawless frontier town? Why did she decide to leave the safety of her room in only her dressing gown and overcoat? Maybe some of the wildness of this place was creeping into her blood, making her do things that seemed outright mad.

  Somewhere in the distance, a dog began barking. Victoria turned her head toward the sound, peering down the empty street after it. Once or twice, she heard the cries of another animal, high-pitched and wild. They echoed in the night air like the cries of witches gleefully planning mischief. She shivered again and pulled her overcoat closed.

  A shadow darted across the road in front of her, and she started. It paused, turning its head to look at her. Pointed ears stood erect above dark, intelligent eyes. A bushy tail sloped downward from its back, hovering just above the street. It looked like the foxes her father loved to hunt on holidays, but its coat was the same greyish hue as the ground beneath it rather than the fiery red of her father's game. The animal regarded her for a moment before losing interest and padding around the hotel's side and out of sight.

  Rubbing her hands on her arms, she took a deep breath and blinked. Time to head back up to her room. She needed a good night's sleep if she was to begin her journey again in the morning. A twinge of sadness and anger twisted inside her. If only Cora had been willing to help her, she could be returning in triumph instead of defeat. Traveling with the woman would have been tiresome, though, so perhaps it wasn't entirely a shame. She smiled to herself and turned back toward the door.

  The dark figure of a man blocked her way.

  Victoria cried out and stumbled backward. The figure's hand shot out like a striking snake, grabbing her wrist. It jerked her back to her feet and pulled her against the man's chest. Blue eyes burned like molten sapphires in a face obscured by shadow. Victoria could see a feral hunger in their depths. Her mind dissolved, evaporating in an explosion of primal terror. She struck at those eyes with clawed fingers, raking cold flesh above and below them, but they never blinked. Their icy glow remained fixed on her as she beat against the figure's head and chest. She could feel the flesh and bone beneath the man's clothing, but her blows did not so much as knock him off-balance.

  The grip on her wrist tightened as cold fingers twisted. She cried out again, contorting in pain and falling to her knees. Her assailant's strength was incredible. Pinning her arm behind her, he forced her downward with a knee planted between her shoulder blades. Splinters scraped against her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears seeped around her eyelids. She could feel the man above her, his weight holding her to the ground, and she prepared herself for the filthy, probing touch of his fingers on her legs.

  It never came.

  She forced one eye open, rolling it this way and that, trying to see the figure. He loomed beyond her sight, the bogeyman from her childhood fears made flesh. Her eye looked up and down the street, hoping to see something, another person she might cry out to for help. Instead, her gaze fell on a small lupine shape in the street. The fox watched her with the same intelligent curiosity, its head cocked slightly to the side. Its grey coat seemed to swell and grow as she looked at it, filling her vision until she was drowning in a silvery sea. Then it faded to black.

  FOUR

  Victoria wrinkled her nose. The scent of animals, of hay and dung and leather, surrounded her. Opening her eyes, she searched for the source of the offensive odors. Wooden walls rose around her on three sides, vanishing into the darkness above. Where a fourth wall might have stood was only shadows. Something scratchy poked her in the cheek as she turned her head. Her hand explored the ground beneath her. Straw and, beneath it, wood.

  Victoria pushed herself into a sitting position. Her wrist protested, sending sharp pains shooting up her arm. All at once, she remembered the dark figure and the events that must have led her here. Instinct pulled her legs up to her chest. Eyes probing every shadow for a sign of her attacker, she began trying to piece together where she might be. Three walls around her and straw beneath her. A stall. Yes, she had to be in a livestock stall in a barn. It would explain the overpowering smell of animals. The darkness suggested that it was still night outside. If she could just find the entrance to this barn, she might be able to figure out where she was.

  A rustling.

  She froze. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Every nerve, every muscle tense, ready for God alone knew what. Time passed, marked only by her shallow breaths. The darkness seemed to swim around her in streaks of blue and purple and brown. She tried to blink them away, but they remained, flitting in and out of sight like fey spirits.

  After what seemed like hours, Victoria let her muscles relax slightly. Whatever made that noise hadn't moved again. Perhaps it had only been a rabbit or mouse outside the barn. Slowly, she pulled her legs under her. The straw seemed to screech as she moved, and she paused every few inches to listen for any response. Silence. She stood. Her feet were cold and stiff, and she allowed herself a brief moment of self-reproach for leaving the hotel room without her shoes.

  Moonlight fell in long, blue shafts through gaps in the walls. It gave her enough light to take a tentative step toward the stall door. The straw crackled beneath her weight, and she winced at the sound. Two more steps, and she was close enough to reach the edge of the wall to her left. Her fingers clamped on to the wood, heedless of splinters. Wrapping her arms around the post, she nearly wept in relief. She was making it. Her kidnapper, confident in his speed and strength, must have left her alone. Perhaps he had gone to find another victim, or simply gone in search of rope to tie her up. Whatever the reason, she fully intended to be gone when he returned. Smiling at the thought, she poked her head out of the stall and looked around.

  Two pale points of red light hung in the darkness.

  Victoria sucked in a breath. The lights did not move or change. They weren't lanterns or any sort of electric light, yet they seemed familiar somehow. Wracking her memory for a moment, she realized she had seen the same red glow in the eyes of her father's hounds at night as she passed the kennels. Relief washed over her, and she nearly laughed out loud. Those lights were just the eyes of some animal, most likely a raccoon or mouse, watching her. It was probably more frightened of her than she was of it. The thought gave her courage. She may be alone in a strange country, but she still had her wits and the use of her limbs. Breathing a small sigh, she turned away from them and started searching for the barn's exit.

  A rustli
ng.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Turning toward the sound, she was again greeted by those two points of light floating like will-o'-the-wisps in the sea of shadows. Only now they were moving. Terror anchored her feet in place. She willed them to move, drawing on every bit of strength she had left, but they remained welded to the barn floor. Helpless, she watched the eyes advance. Straw rustled. Somewhere in the night, an animal screamed.

  A figure stepped into a shaft of moonlight. Shadows of a head and long hair appeared around the floating lights. She could make out shapes like arms and legs moving in slow strides, each step bringing the thing closer. It passed in and out of the moonlight as it came, making it seem to grow closer in sudden leaps. The haunting lights remained fixed on her. Her mind screamed at her body to run, to fight, to move, but it only responded with a racing heart and shallow, ragged breaths.

  Moonlight passed over the shadow's face, revealing a woman's features. It stopped as if to let her take in the sight. Skin creased in thin shadows around the glowing eyes, smoothing out over a broad nose and high cheekbones. The woman's lips pressed together, forming a line of darkness like a scar beneath her nose.

  "Who are you?"

  Victoria's own voice startled her. It quavered, thin and reedy.

  The woman's head cocked to one side. Red eyes glimmered.

  "Who."

  The word was clear, oddly accented, but the voice was human.

  "Where am I?"

  "Who," the woman repeated in the same calm voice.

  Victoria's tongue ran over her lips. "Can you understand me?"