Devlin's Curse

by Brenda, Lady

  She took a long drag, rose from the settee and started to pace across the room. She turned away from him and looked out the window. “It is that cursed Devlin Winter of the house of Dracul, he is here in Virginia City. He is a restless spirit and wherever he goes devastation follows.”

  Virgil went to her and took her hand again and squeezed her fingers lightly. “I will confront him and demand that he leave Virginia City.”

  Ligea laughed softly and turned to him. “No, you must not. Devlin is a force unto himself. He does not mix well with our kind and I would not have anything happen to you.”

  “ Madame, do you impugn my honor?” he asked. “Do you doubt that I could protect you from him?”

  Ligea blew smoke from her cigarette. “No, no, never that. It is just these undercurrents, a sense of foreboding that I feel.”

  “Hush, darling,” Virgil said. “We must encourage this rogue, this Devlin Winter, to come into the fold and join with us.”

  Ligea did not answer. She had her own reservations about Devlin and his business but at the same time this town continued to be a ripe fruit for their picking. She did not want to move on.

  Virgil led her to the settee then sat down and pulled her into his lap. He took her cigarette from her lips and set it aside. They kissed passionately, hungrily. Ligea rolled over on top of Virgil. She raised her skirts and straddled him. He unbuttoned his trousers and his ready cock entered her fiercely. It was a fiery sword that she rode like a wild stallion from the steppes of her homeland. His lips and teeth grazed her breasts and neck until finally she screamed her release into the night.

  Ligea was right to feel the dark and murderous undercurrents; ones that led right to Lance Peabody and his crew.

  Peabody had encountered Devlin once before in the town of Red Bluff and the gambler had nearly slayed him. Devlin used one of Peabody’s own hickory wood stakes, which he carried under his dirty coat at all times. Devlin had been his first run in with a bloodsucker and ever since then Lance had become a self-appointed hunter of Vampires. He had found them in almost every town in the west. He hated bloodsuckers but found their flesh had an extraordinary flavor - one that he craved. Like a bloodhound he could smell them and when he’d entered Virginia City his stomach growled with anticipation of a feast.

  He now sat at a back table, in a Barbary Coast dive, with his coat pulled up to his ears. He drank alone, his favorite poison, a concoction called Cactus Wine made from tequila and peyote tea. His beady eyes scanned the saloon watching for signs, frequently checking out the mirror behind the bar for the telltale sign of his prey. After a little while the door opened and a tall blond man entered dressed in a fine gray suit just like a friggin’ southern gentleman. Dandified he was for sure and much more. He peeked at the mirror then back. Peabody’s nostrils flared.

  Virgil had walked the boardwalk for some time in the hope he’d come across Devlin Winter. Even though Ligea had forbid it, he still he still thought a civilized conversation with Winter was possible. It was clear in his mind that they must join forces and he could not understand the reluctance of his Queen. He did not want to dwell on the nature of her ties to Devlin. Over the years the acid of jealousy had consumed him more than once in with regards to him.

  He poked his head into the Sazanac Saloon. His cursory glance revealed only the usual congregation of drunken miners, gamblers and loafers. Devlin, however, was nowhere to be found. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shadowy heap of a man sitting in a darkened corner of the saloon. His vampire senses, clicked into place and he was fully alerted to the man’s presence. The foul stench that emanated from him made Virgil’s skin crawl. The room felt devoid of oxygen, and without entering any further he backed out the way he came. As he did so he grasped the head of his silver handled cane and twisted it. He eased the razor sharp blade out an inch.

  Better to keep it ready, he thought.

  Too late, Peabody had scented him and jumped from his chair, plunged through the doorway and ran out onto the boardwalk. He looked up and down the street but Virgil had melted into the shadows and was gone.

  Virgil stayed hidden until he saw the man give up his quest. He watched while he cursed and stomped around then slammed back into the saloon.

  Dahlia walked down from C Street her pockets full of gold. She stopped under a streetlight and observed the comings and goings of the house on D Street. She given things a lot of thought over the last couple of days, and now she’d decided to go forward with a plan of her own. A little after the midnight hour when the clients had slowed to a trickle then ceased altogether, she knocked on the door. The same solemn black doorman opened it. He looked down at her.

  “You needs ta go little miss, ain’t no use fer ya around here.”

  Dahlia stood her ground. “I need to see the Madame, tell her I’m here.” She crossed her arms. “I ain’t going nowheres til I see her. “

  They stared at each other for a moment then he closed the door. A few minutes later it was opened again.

  “She will see you, but only for a minute.”

  Dahlia followed him through the house to Ligea’s private parlor where previously as a donor she was forbidden to enter. When she walked into the room the Madame sat languidly on the settee sipping from a crystal glass. She frowned when she saw Dahlia. “What do you want Dahlia?”

  Dahlia bowed her head and looked up through her lashes. “Madame, I wants you ta help Devlin Winter, there’s evil what’s come to town. A Devil who’s fixin’ ta kill him fer sure.”

  Ligea lifted one brow. “Evil? Who or what are you referring to? We are Vampire’s, immortals. We do not fear men.”

  “He ain’t a man, he’s some kinda monster what hunts our kind, his name is Lance Peabody a butt ugly pig that wears a buffalo coat so dirty that I swears it could stand up on its own.”

  Ligea took another sip from her glass of brandy. “You say this Peabody hunts our kind? And he is not mortal?”

  Dahlia nodded. “I hear tell he’s got a taste for flesh, like a Zombie but worse.”

  “Zombie? Are you sure Dahlia?”

  “I knows a Zombie or the likes of one, yes I do.”

  “Yes I suppose you do after all New Orleans has had an infestation of its own for years. But how do I know you are telling the truth? You were ever the sneaky little liar,” Ligea replied.

  Dahlia sniffed. “And here I was come ta warn ya, I’m afeared that Devlin ain’t gonna be able to take this on alone.”

  “Dahlia, you have been nothing but trouble since I pulled you out of that brothel in New Orleans. What Devlin is involved in is no business of mine and that’s how I would like to keep it.”

  Dahlia wrung her hands. “Oh please, Madame, ya gots ta help him.”

  Ligea shook her head. “No Dahlia, I will not involve myself or the Hive. Devlin has put these events into motion so he must deal with it himself.”

  She knew she was being dismissed and Dahlia stamped her foot in frustration. She did not want to accept those words. The uppity bitch! Odds were Devlin had put her bloomers in twist at sometime in the past. She bowed her head again. “I hope them’s not yer final words and if they are that ya don’t come ta regret um.”

  Ligea’s eyes darkened. Dahlia sensed the interview was over.

  “Good luck Dahlia but if you are smart you will stay away from Devlin and his cursed business.”

  When Dahlia left Ligea felt a sharp pain pierce her where her human heart had been. She wanted to help Devlin but she could not endanger the rest of the Vampires. Dahlia had seen through her. In fact the little peasant was as besotted with him as she had been a hundred years ago. Since then she had survived on her own. She’d created a brood of vampires that thrived in the shadows of Virginia City. She had taught them to feed discretely, on donors or the unfortunate and the forgotten that roamed the streets at night. She had personally turned many of the prominent citizens of the town, from mine owners, to the mayor.

  The Vampire Ball next week
was an important event that would secure her power as Queen in the Nevada Territory. Ligea would not let Devlin divert her plans. Besides, had she not heard that he had become fascinated with another mortal? A Monte dealer named Esmeralda Jones? All the more reason for her to refuse to help him because he was Hell bound. Vampires and mortals didn’t mix.

  However she was quite sure that if he had personally asked her for help, she would have folded like a house of cards and followed him down to the fiery depths of Hell and beyond. She poured herself another brandy lit a cigarette and looked out of the window into the night. A quote from another dark prince, Nostradamus, from her native land, whispered in her head.

  “Will the future bring your wisdom to me?

  Or will darkness rule the kingdom for all eternity?

  You will live in my heart…

  I will still remember even though we are apart.

  I will feel you there for me,

  As I walk the road of life,

  You help me fight for what is right,

  I will honor thy name.”

  The next evening the object of Ligea’s thoughts sat just one street away at the Bucket of Blood Saloon.

  He was playing poker with a newcomer in town. A hollow eyed stranger in a battered black hat who wore his guns slung low. The stranger had singled out Devlin and asked for a game but Devlin sensed he was there for another reason. This one he could tell was hungry, salivating for the taste of blood money. Devlin was mildly curious as to why Peabody had not shown his ugly face and why he was playing this cat and mouse game. Whatever Peabody had in store for him, he was ready. He shuffled and dealt the cards although, needless to say, they did not fall the stranger’s way.

  After losing three hands in a row the stranger slammed down his cards and stood up. He rested his hand on his gun. “Mister, yer a godammned slick, I’m sayin it like it is! Only way youse kept winnin was to palm a couple a aces!”

  Devlin sat back in his chair. “I‘m guessing a card game is not all you were after.”

  The stranger moved his lips over a set of crooked teeth, in what could be mistaken for a smile. “You guessed right, Mister. You got a price on yer head and I aim ta kill ya for it.”

  He went for his gun but Devlin dove to the side as the bullets whizzed past his ear.

  As people scrambled out of the way Devlin jumped to his feet and his 44 roared. The bullet blew the stranger backwards. For a moment he lay there then lurched up, staggered and then crashed out the front door. Devlin followed him out to the street. The slug between the gunman’s eyes should have killed him but he was still on his feet. He watched him wobble off the boardwalk then plunge down an alley. He paused looking up and down the boardwalk, this was an obvious trap but he was curious as to where it led.

  Devlin approached a dark alley, one that ran between two saloons, and reached into his black duster and pulled out his sword. He could smell something lurking there in the shadows. He sensed the presence of diseased vermin who would benefit from extermination. He stepped down into the steep alley and moonlight flashed on a gleam of guns. He whirled and dodged. A bullet tore through him with a searing pain.

  Damn Peabody! He’d forgotten that Son of a Bitch’s calling card of garlic coated bullets!

  He swung his sword in a wide arc and felt it slice flesh. A severed head flew down the alley like a cannonball. More bullets whizzed by him as another man fired at him. Then Devlin was upon him. When the gunman tried to flee, Devlin’s blade sliced him from shoulder to stern and he crumpled to the ground. He nudged the bodies with the toe of his boot. Not a twitch.

  That was good because you could never tell with Peabody’s kind, he thought.

  The bullet hole in his shoulder burned like the very Devil. Those two bastards that lay in pieces in the alley were just flunkies, sacrificial lambs, crawfish sent to smoke out his weaknesses.

  This time around he would take his time with that Sasquatch, Peabody. He would make sure that the beast stayed dead.

  However, now, he had another problem.

  It was a singular feeling.

  He experienced pain as blood dripped steadily down his arm. He needed a styptic; a rare type of elixir that only a sorcerer, or sorceress, could administer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Hunt

  A knock on her back door woke Esmeralda from a deep sleep. After nights of tossing and turning she had finally surrendered and added a few drop of laudanum to her nightly tonic of Demotic Blood. Groggy, she pulled on a silk robe, and went to the door. She opened it no more than a crack. Devlin stood there and for a moment she had the urge to slam the door in his face. Then she saw what she thought was the shine of wet blood on his clothes.

  “Devlin? My God, what’s happened?”

  He raised his arm. “Peabody, and his damn garlic bullets! I can’t stop the bleeding. I need some of your healing ministrations, Angel”

  Although hesitant, Esmeralda opened the door. She led Devlin into her treatment room. “Sit down and let me take a look.”

  Devlin removed his long duster, his coat and shirt. The bullet had entered his left shoulder and blood seeped slowly and continuously. The flesh around it was trying to regenerate but unsuccessfully. Esmeralda felt from the front of the wound to the back of his shoulder.

  “There’s no exit wound. The bullet is still inside you. I am going to have to remove it.”

  Devlin did as she instructed and lay back on the narrow treatment table. She opened a drawer filled with surgical instruments, sorted through them then took out a long pair of forceps, and a wad of cotton.

  “Those are wicked looking things,” he said.

  Esmeralda smiled and set them aside.

  “No more than you deserve” Then got a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cabinet. She poured Devlin a shot. Then she held it up to his lips.

  “No,” he said.

  “Are you sure? I have to dig into your shoulder to get the bullet out. It will be painful.”

  “No, I welcome the pain. It’s a thread, a shadow sensation, of my lingering humanity.”

  Esmeralda smiled again at his dramatic words.

  “That’s a lot of hogwash. You seek out trouble I have no sympathy for you. Go ahead and lie in your bed of nails!”

  She downed the extra shot of whiskey herself.

  Devlin stared at her.

  Then reached forward and pulled her to him for a deep kiss of her whiskey flavored lips. She stiffened for a brief moment then returned his kiss with passion of her own. He wanted to continue but she pulled away. “Stop, I have to get this bullet out before it festers.”

  It was Devlin’s turn to smile. He lay back down and let Esmeralda poke and prod the bloody wound. Seconds later she cried out.

  “I have it!”

  She held up the forceps. Clenched between them was a large 45 slug. She dropped it into a basin then rinsed it clean.

  “Silver…”

  Devlin nodded. “And no doubt rolled in raw garlic. The bastard did his homework.”

  He looked down at the wound. It still seeped slowly. Esmeralda went back to the cabinet and took out a jar of yellow powder. She poured it into the wound. After a matter of seconds the wound began to close.

  “Annie?”

  She nodded. “Yes, one of her magic styptic’s designed for special wounds.” She turned away and could feel his gaze on her as she crossed the small room to gather up some cotton bandages.

  “Must you torture me further with the swish of your silk covered hips? I find I am hungry for what lies beneath them,” he said.

  “You’re my patient Devlin. Behave yourself.”

  “So what now, Angel?” he asked. “Am I out of favor? Will you banish me from your castle? Come here, I desire you.”

  Esmeralda paused. Then slowly turned around, she shook her head. “No Devlin, I am resolved in this. As soon as I bandage your wound, you must leave.”

  Devlin ignored her. As she returned to her task he rose from
the table and slid his arms around her. He kissed the back of her neck and Esmeralda sighed. She arched her back in pleasure as he slid his hands under her robe. His hands caressed her thighs before they slid towards her breasts. He pushed his hips into her silk covered derrière, his hard cock pressing through the layers of fabric. His fingers moved to her womanly petals. They were already drenched and moist. She wanted to protest to tell him that this must not happen but all that escaped her lips was a moan. Devlin lifted her robe and unbuttoned his trousers and in one smooth move he entered her from behind. For a moment he paused rocking her to him. His hands cupped her breasts kneading their sensitive tips.

  “Don’t stop, Devlin. Don’t stop.”

  His answer was to pull himself out to the very entrance of her then drive into her with force over and over again. Esmeralda could do nothing but grasp the edges of the medical cabinet as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over her. Devlin made love to her with a passion fierce and tender, dominant and submissive and when they reached their peak together neither wanted to admit that the clouds had parted to reveal the true nature of their association.

  Afterwards when they left the treatment room they lay down together in her carved Chippendale bed. For just that moment nothing existed but the two of them and they clung to that. Esmeralda felt she could no longer hold out against his will. Her resolve crumbled.

  He has wrapped himself around my soul. Will I have the courage to ride this dark horse into Hell? To see Devlin and his quest to the end, she thought.

  When he started to speak she put her finger to his lips to silence him. There would be words enough to come but for now they needed to just hold each other against the breaking dawn.

  Outside, on the streets that never slept, Jamie hunted for Dahlia. He went looking from saloon to saloon until he came to the Delta.

  An unlikely place, he thought.

  Nevertheless he went inside. He looked around the main room of the saloon, when he did not see Dahlia he opened a door and peeked into the elegantly appointed back room where a serious cockfight was taking place. The high rollers of the town rubbed shoulders with coarse, bearded miners, everyone pushing and shoving to place their bets. Bets that they hoped would be on the winner. Feathers flew as a red and white cock, hackles slashing, came together in midair. Through the haze of blue cigar smoke and jostling men he spied Dahlia all gussied up in a pink colored silk dress. She was picking the pocket of the mining superintendent of the Ophir Mine.