Black Widow Demon (Demon Outlaws)

by Altenburg, Paula

  The town had no saloon, something that did not surprise him. After the goddesses had been driven from the world by the demons, the Godseekers had taken to immortal worship in the hopes of bringing them back. After a demon cut short his career as an assassin, it had amused Blade to take ownership of a saloon in Freetown, the most lawless town he could find. His dead Godseeker uncle would have rolled in his grave. Some sects were more pious than others, even denying themselves pleasures that the goddesses had once enjoyed because the goddesses could no longer experience them.

  That was what was missing here, Blade suddenly realized. He had seen no temple, and yet he would have expected a man like Justice, who had once been the favorite of a goddess if the amulet he wore was genuine, to erect one in his patroness’s honor. Perhaps he’d had no time since the settlement was so obviously new, but Blade did not think that was the reason. Considerable effort had been expended on the Godseeker’s own house that could as easily have been spent elsewhere. Intuition told Blade something was wrong with this town, and he had learned never to disregard his instincts.

  As he walked down the street he exaggerated the limp that once had come naturally to him. A big man was more noticeable but less threatening if he had an obvious handicap, and likely to be dismissed. He entered the general store, a narrow frame building with a false front, low-slung veranda, and a backyard enclosed with picket fencing. Someone had taken the time to transplant two young blue spruce trees to either corner of the veranda. Inside, a single small window near the ceiling joists lit the murky room.

  A thin, colorless woman with gray skin and hair was the store’s only occupant. She eyed him over her bony shoulder from behind the wooden countertop, suspicion darkening her expression at the sight of a stranger. She had been in the midst of wiping the interminable desert dust off some of the store’s merchandise and she paused when he entered, the cloth in her hand hovering above several boxes of tobacco on a high shelf.

  Blade nodded a greeting as he limped past the counter toward a long rack of preserves lining the back wall. Some of the suspicion in her expression lessened as she followed his awkward progress.

  “You were at the town gathering last night,” she called out to him after several moments of silent observation.

  Blade glanced up from inspecting the preserves. So, the residents were calling it a town gathering, as if that somehow absolved them of any responsibility for its outcome. The euphemism irritated him. His first impression of the town had been accurate, that it was dirty beneath the cleanly exterior, and he could not wait to put it behind him. He wondered how Raven, who did not appear to lack either courage or vitality, had fit into the fiber of this place.

  “Yes,” he said.

  He made his response neither friendly nor hostile, yet managed to convey in the single-syllabled word his indifference for small talk because she looked as if she had more to say but kept silent. He wondered how many people had seen him the night before and if any of them would notice that he didn’t normally walk with a limp. Most had been too preoccupied with the Godseeker’s performance to pay attention to such details.

  Blade grabbed several jars of preserves without reading their labels, three boxes of matches, and moved on to the packaged goods. The woman said no more to him and went back to wiping down the counter and shelves, her movements methodical and weary. Once he had all he needed, Blade carried everything to the cash register.

  She took her time ringing him up. Every few minutes she would glance at him, then look away as if afraid. Finally, she gathered her courage. “You come from away. Have you heard the rumors? Do you know if it’s true what people are saying?”

  “Saying about what?” he asked. His mind was on Raven and the passing of time as he packed the purchases in a sack after she rang each item through.

  Her fingers trembled on a bag of dried beans, and her eyes went to the door. She lowered her voice and spoke faster, as if to get the words out before anyone else might overhear them. “That spawn are here in the mountains, burning down villages and killing people. That they’ve got demon abilities now that the demons are gone. And that we’re less safe now, without the demons, than we ever were before.”

  Blade continued to fill the bag. “I don’t pay much attention to rumors,” he said. “And I don’t borrow trouble. You shouldn’t, either. If it’s true, let the Godseekers take care of it.”

  Purchases in hand, he left the store far more troubled than he’d been when he entered.

  The three-storied rooming house where he had been staying was the tallest building in town and not far from the store. Attached to it, as part of a small, gated complex, were the local bathhouse and laundry. A painted white sign announcing vacancies hung from hooks over the steps and creaked in the dry wind. It would not take him long to reclaim his belongings and settle his bill.

  He shuffled along as if time was unimportant to him, when in reality, worry for Raven gnawed it him. He had assumed responsibility for her and had not done so lightly. He’d left her alone long enough already.

  He had almost reached the rooming house when a lone man came out the front door and descended its steps.

  …

  When Raven finally pried open one throbbing eye, it was to the fading light of the day. Her head ached like crazy, and agony ripped through her arms and legs. Thousands of fire ants stripped her flesh from her bones, and she was helpless to stop them. She tried to move, but the heavy weight of a blanket or some similar cover pinned her in place.

  No, not a blanket, but a long, wool-lined leather coat—Blade’s.

  She tried to push it off and discovered her inability to move was not part of any hallucination. Her hands and feet were bound. The pain, too, was real. Pins and needles of fire ignited nerve endings in muscles gone to sleep. Her mouth was unbearably dry, partly because of the gag between her teeth. She bit it, enraged. The bastard.

  She had trusted him based on her instincts, and that betrayal stung far worse than his. She did not expect much from others. She did, however, expect a lot of herself, and could not quite believe how her demon reacted to him. She had never, in her life, felt such desire for a man. She drew them to her—they did not draw her to them. It left her feeling even more vulnerable, as if her demon were somehow bound to him, and it made her uneasy.

  She fought the bindings at first, too weak to tear them but desperate for freedom before the hallucinations started again. Then, exhausted, common sense whispered in her ear that Blade would not have tied her and left his coat behind if he’d intended to abandon her. He could simply have walked away. Instead, he had restrained her.

  Why?

  Her demon whispered the answer to her. Because he made you a promise, and he does not make them lightly. And because I claim him.

  He’s mine.

  Certainty edged out desperation. He would come back for her. She clung to her trust in her demon instincts as if it were a bobbing log on a flood-ravaged river. As for claiming him…

  She ruled her demon. It did not rule her. She belonged to no man and had no need for one to belong to her.

  Panting heavily, she struggled to regulate her breathing and remain clearheaded. She could not—would not—lose her sanity completely. It was all she had left. She didn’t want to think about the next round of terrors and what the night might bring.

  She turned her head to the side and concentrated on identifying her surroundings. She was no longer on the narrow ledge of the mesa. Rough desert terrain bounded her now, and she was grateful Blade had at least taken the time to hide her in a dense thicket of brush. Wind rattled sand through the dry yucca leaves while the smell of sage and the faint, bitter aroma of creosote filled her nose and lungs. The fabric swatch in her mouth tasted faintly of dust, juniper, and a hint of rose oil. She knew immediately that he had bound her with strips from her dress.

  A sharp rock dug into the flat plane of her back, and she shifted position by pushing at the ground with her bound feet. Her small pack of
food, and her bow and quiver of arrows, lay nearby.

  Assuming she could rely on her senses, the world around her was reassuringly real.

  Although it would not be for much longer.

  The sun dangled dangerously close to the red-and-indigo-hued horizon, and at the sight of it, Raven’s heart started to pound. Fine tremors seeped through her body, gaining momentum like water trickling down a steep hill. Already, her world was shimmering and shifting.

  She shuddered. She did not want to open her eyes next time to darkness.

  “Here.”

  The sound of a voice, unexpectedly close to her, made her turn her head too sharply, and the ache behind her eyes threatened to crack open her skull.

  The gag in her mouth was removed, and a cool, firm hand cupped the back of her head, lifting it, pressing a canteen of warm water to her dry lips.

  “Drink this. Just a little.”

  She sipped greedily, wanting more, but the canteen was withdrawn too soon. A boy, perhaps eighteen, crouched at her side with distress in his kind, coffee-colored eyes. His blond hair, dirtied to a ditchwater brown, touched his shoulders, and the plain laborer’s clothing covering his thin frame was badly in need of laundering. He looked half-starved.

  Raven, however, was in no position to criticize the physical appearance of another. Almost as much as she wanted more water to drink, she longed to bathe and change her clothes.

  “Are you real?” she whispered to him, the words causing her throat to ache even worse than her head. She remembered the flesh-eating fire ants and suspected her sore throat came from screaming.

  The thought unnerved her.

  He hesitated. “I didn’t want you to think you were alone.”

  Her gaze sharpened. He had not answered her question. She could find out whether or not he was real. “Untie me.”

  He shook his head in refusal, embarrassment staining his cheeks. His eyes slid from hers. “You were bitten by a goldthief. Until the hallucinations pass, or your friend returns, it’s perhaps best if you remain bound. I’m no safer from you than any other male would be. If it became necessary, I could never restrain you.” His voice, while gentle, held rueful humor as he scrubbed his brow with the rough of his thumb. “Your friend seems better able than most at protecting himself from you.”

  By “friend,” she assumed he was referring to Blade. She did not bother to correct him. That man was not a friend. But he was not an enemy either.

  The colors haloing the air around the boy signaled that the hallucinations were not far off. Dissecting his words gave her something to concentrate on in an effort to keep them at bay.

  “How did you know I was bitten by a snake?” she managed to rasp.

  “I’ve been following you. I felt your distress a few days ago and knew right away what you were, but it took me a few days to find you. By the time I did, your big friend had already decided to help you.” He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and balanced his torso more securely over his heels. “He can do more for you than I can right now, at least until I find the others.”

  She did not understand. She had been so careful. How could this boy have followed her without being seen?

  And who were the others he spoke of?

  The swirls of color around the boy deepened, sharpened. Then long, orange maggots crawled out of the setting sun, and Raven drew in a harsh breath as they came for her.

  She was not ready. She could not do this alone again. It was Blade and his dark, steady strength she wanted beside her now, when the colors and demon darkness threatened, and not this boy who readily acknowledged he had less to offer her by way of protection.

  Although in truth, no one could save her. She knew what her demon father’s deepest desire had become, and not even her mother’s amulet could stop him from pursuing it. When darkness descended, demons would come for her.

  Little demon, he had called her.

  It was what Justice called her, too, but for very different reasons.

  The boy’s lips moved, but Raven, caught in the beginnings of another hallucination, had trouble understanding him. She thought he said, “I have a message for you.” Then he half rose, turning his head as he did so. His next words were clear and unmistakable. “Someone’s coming.”

  Hope flared, then as quickly died. If it was Blade, he was too late to help. The orange maggots had already reached her, swarming over her lower body, crawling under the coat that covered her and up her bare legs.

  She writhed in pain, shrieking as the oily acid residue from their bodies burned into her skin. “Get them off me! Get them off me! Get them off me!”

  The boy froze in mid-crouch, alarm and confusion as to what he should do transparent on his face. He stared stupidly at the gag grasped in one of his hands. His battle with indecision ended abruptly, and he vanished, the strip of cloth fluttering to the ground in his wake.

  …

  Blade would bet money that the man waiting for him in front of the rooming house was the Godseeker, Justice.

  He estimated the remaining fingers of time until sunset, debated changing his course, then discarded the thought. He had no wish to speak with the Godseeker but could hardly avoid him without raising suspicion, and the fact that Justice was waiting for him meant he was suspicious of something already.

  The older man was heavier set than Blade, although not as tall, but the bulk of his weight appeared to be muscle. The potential for cruelty creased his eyes and the corners of his mouth, unpleasantly reminiscent of Blade’s dead uncle. As a young boy he had not been able to defend himself. He remembered well the impotence of his situation.

  A boy, however, eventually grew into a man. For a woman, there would be no hope of escape.

  “Good afternoon,” the Godseeker said to him as Blade limped closer to the steps.

  Blade saw the man’s glance flicker to his leg, then away, but not before he had registered the Godseeker’s contempt. He did not take offense from it. When Blade had first been crippled, he’d wished for death. He had resented the similar looks he’d received from men who dismissed him as having no real value because of his handicap. In truth, he had valued himself even less than they did. Long before his leg was healed, however, he had learned that the measure of a man was not based on the length of his stride.

  He nodded to the Godseeker but did not stop as he passed him. He placed one foot on the bottom step and reached for the railing to help drag him upward.

  “A moment, friend.”

  Blade froze, turned, and met the man’s eyes. I am not your friend.

  The unspoken correction hung in the air between them. Surprise punctured the Godseeker’s arrogance, and he reassessed his approach. A new look entered his eyes, as if he thought he should know Blade but could not quite place his face.

  Blade’s infamy in this part of the world had once been legendary, but more than ten years had passed. He had changed.

  He waited for the older man to speak again.

  “What brings you to Goldrush?” the Godseeker asked.

  Blade shrugged. “It was in my path.”

  Justice folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a post as if settling in for a lengthy conversation, the movement placing his back to the sun. The wide brim of his hat cast his face into shadow.

  “There are lots of things in people’s paths these days,” he said. Somewhere inside the rooming house, a door slammed. “Spawn, for example. Maybe you’ve seen some in your travels.”

  “Not that I know of, but I’m told they favor their fathers.” Blade patted his leg. “And I’ve seen a demon up close. They’re exceptionally ugly, so their spawn shouldn’t be too difficult to identify.”

  Justice was watching him the way a snake watched a crippled rat. “You were at the town meeting last night and saw the female spawn escape.”

  Blade did not deny it. The woman at the store had remarked on his presence already, and he did not want to raise more suspicion. He was losing time.


  He hitched the bag of goods he had purchased higher on his shoulder. “I walked across the entire desert and saw no signs of either demon or spawn.” He kept his tone flat, unemotional. “The last time I got too close to a demon it tried to eat me alive. I learned to stay as far away from them as possible. Whatever this woman is, she’s your problem, not mine.”

  He climbed the last few steps, indicating the conversation was finished, at least from his perspective.

  “You’re an assassin,” Justice said to his retreating back.

  Blade stiffened. At first, he thought he had been recognized. Then he realized, from the angle of the other man’s head, that one of his knives was poking out of his clothing. He could not believe his carelessness. His weapons were not as well hidden in his new clothing as they would have been in the coat he left with Raven. In the past, such a mistake would have cost him his life. The thought left him uneasy.

  “A long time ago. Not anymore,” he replied.

  Justice was regarding him in a different light now. A well-trained assassin would not need two good legs to be deadly. Blade could almost see his brain calculating the possibilities.

  “Once an assassin, always an assassin. Each of you has a duty to defend the territory of the goddesses from demons. That includes demon spawn.”

  “Goddesses don’t have territory here anymore, and neither do demons. My only duty is to myself, and as I’ve already told you, I’ve seen no sign of spawn. Your stepdaughter is your problem.”

  Recognition finally dawned on Justice’s face. “I know who you are,” he said, arrogance returning to his manner. “I’ll pay you to bring her back to me, but I want her alive. I know your reputation.”

  I know your reputation.

  In those early days, when Blade had been an untested boy unable to be selective about the work he accepted, he had been forced to hunt down two desperate women who’d run from slavery. He had not returned them to their owners alive—not because he’d wanted to kill them but because death had been preferable to them. Neither would have survived for long on her own. They faced starvation at the very least. At the worst, the demons would have gotten them. Killing the women had been a kindness on his part. They had begged him for it. That did not mean he had enjoyed it or was proud of the reputation he’d earned because of it.