Ice and Blood

by Oliver Altair

  The golem crouched. It caressed her face and kept its palm on her cheek. She held it there.

  The golem wrapped her into an icy embrace. She placed her face on its frosted shoulder and cried. It embraced her tighter, arms clasped behind her back. Her whimpers softened. They slowly faded like a murmur in the wind until silence reclaimed the abandoned ballroom.

  The golem moved no more. By the time Tiberius reached her, Miss Gray didn’t either. She had died in the creature’s arms. Their bodies were entangled in an embrace of skin and ice so tight Tiberius and Doc Tucker couldn’t separate them. Her skin paled against the translucent body of her creation. Her eyes were closed, her tears twinkled like diamond dust. A slight smile curved her blue lips.

  Doc Tucker placed his bowler hat over his chest. “Sometimes all we need is a mirror. No matter how ugly the reflection.”

  Tiberius rested his hand on his back. For a long time, they watched that coupled statue of flesh and ice, unable to tell where each one ended or the other started.

  33

  Winter passed in a haze. Blizzards came and went. The dead were buried and mourned. The families of Souls Well were so accustomed to death they reacted with a sufficient amount of stoic sadness and moved on. Tiberius watched the empty streets from his porch. His neighbors treated him and each other with mistrust. Silence became the common language. No one ever talked about the old lady with silver hair that came from the cold, even less of what she unleashed. To the eyes of Souls Well, Miss Leona Gray never existed. Even if her corpse lay inside the ballroom of a withering manor, wrapped in an embrace that would eventually melt.

  Doc Tucker dedicated all of his time to the prompt recovery of Bennett Rowland. After they rescued the boy, he melted the thick layers of ice around his lower body with hot water, careful not to injure his skin, and cleaned and bandaged the frostbite covering his legs. Besides those wounds and a bad cold, Bennett was fine. Tiberius visited him every day at the doctor’s practice, even if the kid hardly ever felt compelled to speak. Truth was, he didn’t either.

  People spent their time building and gathering wagons and carts as they waited anxiously for the roads to open. By the time the snow melted at the end of April, every remaining family was packed and ready to leave. When the stagecoaches from Silverton and Lake City started to pass through the town again, they almost didn’t fit through the rows of wagons parked left and right of Main Street. This time, unlike at the end of the fall, no one thought of staying. Souls Well, as so many predicted, died with the coming of spring.

  Tiberius helped Jesse Valentine pull the last of the girls’ trunks onto their wagon. He shook his hand. “Best of luck, Jesse.”

  “And to you, Sheriff.”

  Someone clapped his back, and he jerked forward. He turned around, frowning. Wild Card Will gave him a goofy smile. Turner Spade stood by his side. “It’s been a pleasure, Sheriff Tibbetts.”

  Tiberius tipped his hat. “Be good, you two.”

  “Always,” Turner replied with a wink. “I think we might give show business another chance.”

  “Where’s Diamond?”

  Will and Turner exchanged a quick glance and a smirk. “She made a new friend.”

  “Wait for me!” Father Darley ran to the wagon, carrying a black leather suitcase. Jesse helped him up the wagon.

  “You’re leaving too, Father?” Tiberius asked.

  “They offered me a parish in a camp close to Silverton. I can’t say no, considering my church is nothing but a pile of ashes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, my son.”

  The sheriff looked away as they shook hands.

  “Hey! Hop on already, Valentine!” Ray Wilson yelled from the driver’s seat. “Your ma’s getting antsy about reaching Silverton before dusk.”

  Tiberius walked to the front of the cart. “See you around, Wilson.”

  “Not around here you won’t. This is the last time I travel this road.”

  “You and everybody else,” Tiberius said to himself as the Silver Moon, neatly packed in crates, trunks, and boxes, disappeared into the distance, followed by a caravan of smaller carts. Tiberius crossed the double doors of the empty saloon. He sat by himself on the counter, staring at the empty shelves, until someone tapped his back.

  “Tiberius?”

  “Hey, Doc.”

  Doc Tucker cleared his throat. “Stage’s waiting.”

  “Oh damn. Is it today?”

  He nodded. Tiberius peeked through the window. Bennett waited, leaning on the railing of the porch. “Boston, is it?”

  “Yes. I still have some family there. And I think it’ll be good for Bennett.”

  “I’m happy he’s staying with you, Doc.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “He is. I’m glad you found each other.”

  The doctor enveloped Tiberius in a sudden bear hug. Tiberius laughed. “I’ll miss you too.”

  Doc Tucker stepped away, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “What are you going to do?”

  “Make sure everyone’s ready to travel safely.”

  “I mean after that.”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Let me walk you out.”

  “Remember, if you change your mind…” Doc Tucker said as they exited onto the porch.

  “I know. I have a room waiting for me all the way east. Go on, don’t keep the stage waiting.” Tiberius tipped his hat to Bennett. The kid replied with a timid wave.

  “Doc, before you leave. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “What you said that day. About almost shooting Whitlock. Was it true?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not.”

  Doc Tucker squeezed his shoulder. “Goodbye, Tiberius.”

  The sheriff waited until the doctor and his adoptive son boarded the stagecoach. He watched it rattle down the road until it became a blurry dot that vanished into the valley. He walked around Main Street for the rest of the day, helping if needed, just wandering if not. When dusk came, he felt a piercing urge to be alone. He returned to his office with a bottle of whiskey under his armpit. The door was open. A man was sitting in front of his desk.

  Tiberius hung his duster and hat on the rack by the door. “Evenin’, Chief.” The Chief wore a blue suit, white shirt, and matching vest and cravat. His hair was neatly combed back, tied with a ribbon. He sat with his back erect on the back of the chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Lookin’ sharp. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I needed some time to think.”

  “By yourself?” the sheriff asked, pouring some whiskey into a pair of tin mugs. He offered one to his guest and leaned on the edge of his desk holding the other.

  “Not quite.”

  Tiberius raised his mug. “As long as you keep her from burgling more houses. So, what brings you here?”

  “First things first. I owe you a proper introduction.” The Chief handed him a small black card from the pocket of his vest. A child’s face occupied one side, drawn with silver ink. The child had a finger pressed to his lips.

  Tiberius flipped the card and read aloud. “John St. Cloud.” He glanced at his friend. “Not the name I was expecting.”

  “I was adopted. We can talk about my family background later. Keep reading. I think you might’ve heard of my employer.”

  Tiberius glanced over the name at the bottom of the card. His eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  John cocked his chin. “I’ve been with the agency for almost five years now.”

  “The goddamned Pinkertons.”

  “Yes, but also not exactly. I belong to what we call the Harpocrates Society. An independent branch of the agency that studies those cases that are, well… Let’s say less mundane than most.”

  Tiberius finished his drink in one gulp. “Jesus… What’s the world coming to?”

  “I didn’t intend to deceive you, Sheriff.
But I have to keep a low profile for my own sake. What better way to remain unnoticed than play the lonesome native? You wouldn’t imagine how freely people talk when they think you cannot fully understand them.”

  “May I ask why you came to Souls Well and took us all for a bunch of fools?”

  John stood up and paced. “By now, you’re well acquainted with alchemists and what they’re capable of.”

  “Am I ever. I’m also done with them for good.”

  “I’m afraid that’s more difficult than you’d think, Sheriff. Alchemists have been part of the American population for years. They tended to live in the shadows, minding their own business. But something has changed. They’re gaining power by the day. They want it all.” John pointed to a small unfamiliar bottle on Tiberius’ desk. “I brought you something. Take a look.”

  Tiberius picked up the vial with a frown. A thick, sparkling, gray liquid floated inside the glass. He read the tag glued to the front of the concoction: Alma Mater. “I’ve heard this name before. Miss Gray said it when I pretended to have a bottle of the Silver Death.”

  “Alma Mater is what the alchemists call it. It’s a universal catalyst and the foundation of most potions that circle the black market. One of my contacts sent me this vial, but I didn’t get it until a few days ago because of the state of the roads. As troubling as that is, there’s something worse.” John joined him by the desk and tapped the bottom of the bottle’s tag.

  “De Rais Industries,” Tiberius read. “Industries?”

  “I’m afraid so. Someone’s manufacturing Alma Mater and who knows what else.”

  “Who? Where?”

  John took the vial from his hand and placed it in his jacket pocket. “We don’t know. But it’s our duty to find out and stop the whole thing before it’s too late.”

  “Well, best of luck to you all. What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “You’ve fought not one but two alchemists. And survived. We need men like you in our organization, Sheriff Tibbetts. Or should I say, Mister Tibbetts. It seems to me your days as sheriff are done. There’s no Souls Well anymore, after all.”

  Tiberius scoffed. “You want to recruit me.”

  “We both know you need a new job.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I would encourage you to think it through.”

  Tiberius poured himself another shot of whiskey. He sipped it unhurriedly. “You haven’t told me why you ended up here. In Souls Well.”

  “You already know.”

  “Silver.”

  “Correct. We heard rumors of a mine that produced a special kind of silver every alchemist desired. And that they would do anything to get their hands on it. They sent me to investigate and assess the veracity and gravity of the rumors.”

  Tiberius chuckled and shook his head. “Get out.”

  “Sheriff, if you just—”

  “Your people knew that mine was a ticking bomb with a whole town sitting on it. Did you warn us? No. We all became victims of your secret war. Nothing more.”

  “I had no control over what happened. The avalanche. Drake, Donahue, Miss Gray. I could only—”

  “Get. Out.” Tiberius didn’t move. He only raised his head enough to throw a slight glower toward the man standing beside him. That was enough to get his guest on his way to the door.

  “I leave tomorrow. In case you change your mind,” John said before exiting. “I left something else on your desk. The report my colleague sent me with the Alma Mater potion. I think you’ll find the last paragraph interesting.”

  John St. Cloud left, closing the door behind him. Tiberius threw himself into his chair and stretched. He placed his legs on his desk, kicking the bottle of whiskey. Alcohol spilled all over the table. It soaked his yellowed papers and a manila envelope he’d never seen before. He put the papers away before the whiskey ruined them more then threw the wet pile on the floor. He crumpled the manila envelope into a ball and threw it to the opposite side of the room.

  Minutes later, he was crawling on the floorboards to get it back. He opened the envelope and read the letter inside, skipping most of it until something caught his attention:

  …people speak of a woman, a lady doctor, who has been healing entire towns from epidemics. She’s said to have saved whole families from consumption, smallpox, and measles, without asking for anything in return. Travelers have seen her on the road, driving a cart full of potions and remedies she claims to make herself. I believe she would be an invaluable find for our organization and finding her should become one of Harpocrates’ priorities. That said…

  Tiberius put the letter away. He sat on the floor of his dark, lonely office for minutes, hours, watching the thin sunbeams sneaking through the cracks of his boarded-up window fade and vanish as the silence of nightfall took over the street.

  He went outside and walked the silent streets and alleyways of Souls Well, not minding the darkness. The emptiness. He visited the deserted Silver Moon, the vacant boarding house, the doctor’s practice, so stark and desolate without any of Doc Tucker’s possessions crammed in the corners.

  He watched the starry sky from the gazebo of the town square then left the town behind and made his way to the graveyard and the remains of the burned church. He sat under a barren tree on top of the cemetery hill. The full moon loomed over the graves. The hue of the horizon changed from black to blue to gray. A strip of watercolor orange with a fiery pink halo brightened as the sun peeked behind the mountains.

  Tiberius returned to his office. He packed some clothes and a few valuables in a leather satchel, reloaded and holstered his guns, and attached a rifle to his back with a strap. He pulled up the boards covering the window to let the sunlight in for one last time. He left without locking the door, or even closing it behind him.

  Hopefully, someone still in town would have a horse to spare.

  Thanks for reading!

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  Oliver.

  The Mystery of the cursed silver mine

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  Oliver, who?

  Oliver Altair is a storyteller that dives into the beauty of the bizarre. Highly influenced by classic horror and the stories in the golden era of Pulp magazines, Oliver loves exploring all sorts of uncanny possibilities.

  Oliver is a member of the Horror Writer Association since 2018. He lives between the United States and Europe with his husband and loves to travel.

  Ice and Blood, by Oliver Altair. Published by Striking Books, LLC

  oliveraltair.com

  @2019 Oliver Altair

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  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-944099-14-5

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  Oliver Altair, Ice and Blood