Tesla's Revenge

by Renee Sebastian

  Blondie was grinning like an evil jack-o-lantern as his face emerged from the darkened car. Much to my chagrin, certain unsavory characteristics that an individual had while alive could be amplified when turned into Deader. Tendencies like violence or deviant behaviors became prominent and all consuming. He was swinging his rosary from side to side. Bitterness washed across my tongue, as I regretted not taking it when I had the chance.

  I aimed my dart, since that was my weapon of choice, but he saw what I was doing and darted into an animal stall. I heard chickens screech and consequently saw a shower of feathers follow in his wake. Then I heard a wet, sluicing sound and a steer moaned from the stall, which was then followed by a loud thunking noise of heavy meat hitting the floor. He was trying to wait me out and have a tasty snack in the meantime.

  In such close quarters, the blowgun wasn't going to help much. I loathed the idea of abandoning him, but detested even more that he might be drawing this out and be stalling for time, waiting its maker to make an appearance. I readied the Westinghouse. If I could shock him with it, it might give me an opening to use the Widow.

  I slowly walked into the darkened car. No use trying to be quiet, he could hear me just fine. Then I rounded the stall he went into, careful to avoid all forms of liquids on the floor. It would be of no use to electrocute myself, while I shot him with the Westinghouse, because I was standing in some cow's blood.

  He loped out of the stall rushing toward me. I fired off the shot and the room lit up in a crazy blue luminescence. I darted off to the side and then he crashed into a heap against the opposite stall door. I readied the dart and took aim. He twisted into positions I had only seen contortionists do in sideshows, and then he straightened himself out on the floor as if nothing had just happened. It would have to be a face shot. Tricky one that. I blew and he somehow averted it. Buggers.

  Time for the bait and hook trick. I put the Westinghouse into my pocket, since it was useless for at least another thirty seconds... that I didn't have. I pulled out my pistol instead. Then I jumped into another stall, trapping myself. I found a pile of hay bedding, threw off my jacket, and dug myself into it as best as I could. I peeked through some of the straw and aimed at the entryway. A few seconds passed and then I saw him enter with his beads in hand. He paused and knelt just a moment at my jacket on the floor. It was going to have to be enough.

  He looked up at the haystack as I aimed and shot him in the head. He fell backwards for a moment, dropping the rosary beads. I dashed out and grabbed the beads. Since he was no longer holding them, they didn't injure me. I took aim and fired at his head again, then at his heart, navel, shoulders, and man parts. After I spent six bullets in all, he did not get up again.

  I grabbed my coat and stared out into the darkened hall of the livestock. His master was out there, and he would be an entirely different matter altogether. I pocketed the beads. I would dispose of them in the woods later. I kept the gun in my hand to cool, before I could reload and pocket it. It was past time to get off this train. I would have to settle for dealing with the Necromancer at another time and place.

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  Tesla and Dorian were waiting in a copse of trees and bushes when I caught up with them. They were arguing about what to do next, and I received the great pleasure of startling them out of their heated discussion. Tesla's eyes widened when he saw Dorian and I frown at nearly the same instant.

  “I took care of the priest. For a second time, I might add,” I informed them.

  If it was possible, Dorian frowned a little deeper.

  I threw the rosary beads at him. He caught them in mid-air and deposited them into his satchel. I wondered about that. Why even keep them at all?

  Tesla bemoaned, “Great! Now the Church is after us! Whatever will be coming next? Do we need another reason to not to dawdle here? We must make our way to the Falls, post haste. Fortunately, I know of someone nearby that may be able to help us.” As if to accentuate his point, he stormed off in the general direction of the Falls.

  Dorian leaned in close and asked, “Is there a dart for obedience?”

  I sighed, “Alas, I fear not, but I will put it on the top of my list of things to develop, if I survive this assignment. I think you will be my guinea pig.”

  He stepped away and eyed me speculatively up and down, “What would you force my obedience into doing, Miss Darling?”

  I blushed.

  He let it go and said, “We were a bit concerned when you didn't follow behind us directly.”

  I merely snorted in response and said, “It'll take more than a deader to stop me.”

  Tesla called out to us, “Are you joining or abandoning me?”

  I whispered conspiratorially to Dorian, “We need to talk about the Necromancer who made him though.”

  He grimaced, “Later. I think we have some babysitting to do.”

  We took off following Tesla's lead and I mumbled to myself, “Well, if nothing else, this ought to be interesting.”

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  We caught up to Tesla and then together we went through the woods. After walking over two large, rolling hills in a little under five hours, we finally reached the edge of a steep ravine and looked down below. We saw that there was a river and hugging its banks was a caravan.

  How did he know this was here? We followed blindly after Tesla down into the gorge. We were greeted by brightly painted wagons, quiet children peeking around trees, and numerous mongrels barking and jumping at our feet. The sun was no longer at its zenith, and the hills were making the wagons cast purple shadows in the form of long pointed spires that reached across the grass. Evening would come sooner in this tiny valley than across the rest of the land.

  A few swarthy men approached us with rifles and as long as they were pointed into the air, I made no quarrel with them. Tesla and an older man exchanged words in a language I could only suspect was Serbian or some other Slavic dialect that I did not speak. I was putting that chore on my list as well.

  The older man clasped Tesla's forearms and shook arms, so to speak. Then Tesla introduced us to his friend, Stefan. He spoke to us in heavily accented English, “Anyone who is friend of Nikola’s, is friend to me. Welcome. Let us get you fed and settled. Mam', you go with da' women. They show you where to... spruce yourself up.”

  I assumed he meant to bathe myself. Blood splatters do tend to draw attention. Then he turned to Dorian and said, “Sir, you, Tesla, me, we go and smoke da' cigar and drink da' brandy, I tink. I have fine cigar and brandy, dat' I save for the next time I meets with little Nikky.”

  Dorian asked, “Tesla shouldn't our trip to the falls take precedence over a little socializing.”

  Tesla said, “He will supply us with horses in the morning, but nighttime is a time of rest for these people, please don't dishonor their traditions. With horses, we will be quicker than if we walked all night, and I will need my wits about me to pull off my plans in Niagara.” Again, he alluded to his vague plans regarding Niagara, which left me feeling unsettled.

  Dorian deserted me and I found myself surrounded by a storm of buntings. The crowd of women who gathered around me were all of short stature, swarthy skin, and colorful skirts. Not to mention that they chatted constantly at me in a language that I didn't understand, but eventually even I picked up that they were attempting to practice their English with me.

  More than one inquired about Dorian's marital status. I told them that he was very much available. I took a moment to smile to myself as I thought about the impending dinner and all the women that would be flitting about him while he enjoyed his cigars and brandy.

  After I bathed in a small stream that was fed from the Falls, I discovered to my chagrin, that the women had washed my clothes. So I was forced to wear their plumage for dinner. I was reminded, second by painful second, that I had no social life whatsoever compared to the women who chatted and sang back and forth with each other.,

  One girl handed me so
me soap and an armload of dirty clothes. I quietly started to scrub the tiny shirt that I had picked up first from my pile. The women started singing a sad, slow song that somehow I knew was about lost loves. Eventually, they began singing faster songs that made us all laugh as we finished the laundry.

  An old crone of a woman saddled up next to me and said, “What? You no sing songs. Hum if you know no words, child.” She grabbed a skirt from the dirty stack and started to clean it next to me. Her voice cracked while she gargled the words of the song. Helplessly, I smiled and I found myself scrubbing to the tempo of the song. After a few more songs, all the clothes that were in the original pile were clean, and then we hung up the garments to dry on some lines between the trees.

  Then the old woman took my hand and peered at the small mark on it. She clucked her tongue and then said, “Tsk, tsk, such a little mark, make big, terrible tings for ya', huh?”

  I nodded my head. She touched my hair and I tried to draw away. “Pretty,” she said. Then she studied my palm. She brought her face closely to it, as if her eyesight was going, and turned it this way and that. She ran her finger over the lines, so I assumed that she must have been a Chiromancer, or palm reader.

  Finally, she cooed, “Oh, a fire hand.” She massaged my knuckles and I had to admit to myself that it felt good. Then she looked me in the eye and I nearly pulled my hand out of hers, because her brown, doe-eyed gaze had gone milky. But her other hand gripped my wrist with surprising strength. Then she smiled a toothless smile at me and resumed her scrutiny of my palm. A few of the younger girls looked at us for a moment, but then resumed their chores, oblivious of my plight. Most seemed to be discussing tonight's menu, a goulash of sorts from what I could gather from their stilted English and Serbian mash up.

  Finally, the old woman finished looking at my hand and smiled up at me again. She ran her finger along one of the lateral lines across my hand. “No fret, little one,” she said, even though I towered over her stooped form. “He found you; he not let you go, not now.”

  Then she ran her finger up my hand and scowled. Then she said, “You live too long, no more hurry here, there. Slow better. Patience. All will be well.” Then she eyed me again and warned, “But da' utter one. He pure danger. Mean. You stay 'way from him. He only use you up.” Then she patted my hand and left to join the other women preparing food under a shade tree. Along the way, I saw her pilfer some bread, when no one was looking.

  I didn't know what to make of her portents, so I did what I always did, tried to ignore and forget about it. I walked over and started peeling some potatoes with the other young women.

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  We had to serve the men before we were allowed to eat. Since I was single and had no family to claim me, I was allowed to eat with the men and other eligible women. I purposely chose to sit across the fire from Dorian, Tesla, and Stefan. I didn't even think they noticed me in my gypsy camouflage, which included a headscarf to cover my head.

  I chose my spot carefully, because I wanted a front and center seat to the show I had set up earlier. I was not disappointed. No less than five women sat near Dorian and took turns fawning over him during the fifteen minutes I sat there eating my stew. Even Tesla had a woman interested in him, but he paid no heed to the mousy woman trying to catch his eye. He was much too involved in having a debate with Stefan over the ethics involving the use of mechanical organs for human transplantation versus augmentation.

  Dorian caught my attention across the fire and he mouthed the word help. I pretended as if I didn't know what he said. One girl finally tripped while getting up and accidentally landed his lap. I had to suppress a chuckle. He obviously had had enough and stood up, resulting in her flopping onto the ground. He apologized, but didn't bother to help her. Then he stormed over to where I was. He stared down at the man sitting next to me, who had saddled up closer than I had noticed. That man, consequently, got up and left. Dorian sat down beside me.

  I stared ahead of me into the flames, while I said, “Looking for some protection? I've been told that I could be quite good at being a bodyguard.” Then, I just couldn’t keep it together and snorted before I finally asked, “Is your virtue at stake?”

  He chuckled, “Something like that.”

  I replied, “While the food was cooking, one of the girls showed me their horses. A man was training one, and I have to say that they have some amazing specimens. Among the usual Gypsy Cobs, I think I even saw several Clydesdales and even a Lipizzaner or two.”

  “Totally unsuitable for terrain riding.”

  “A girl can dream, Grey.”

  He leaned back onto the grass, folded his hands under his head and asked, “Is that what this girl dreams of? Horses?”

  I thought about that and realized that what I wished for a long time ago never came true. My prince charming was never going to rescue me from Peter. The fairy godmother was named Lady Tinkerbell and she was the royal battle-ax for the Summer Court. The pumpkin would never turn into a coach, mechanical or otherwise. I stopped wishing a long time ago. Instead, I lived… day, after day, after day.

  No wonder there weren't more female immortals. Why hadn't I just offed myself years ago? What exactly did I have to live for? Did I really think that I would go to Hell, if I killed myself? I was probably going there anyway, with all the kills I've racked up over the years. I think I was personally looking forward to spending some time with Socrates in one of its outer rings, if I were being honest with myself.

  Dorian was looking for redemption. Is that what I needed?

  I looked down at Dorian. Long dark lashes swept over his closed eyes as he relaxed. Deep down, inside of me, there was still a kernel of something that I wanted, that I refused to acknowledge, since I knew I would only be disappointed. Things like that weren't for girls like me, so I pushed it down deeper.

  I finally said, “Horses are about as good a thing to wish on, I suppose.”

  But it was too late, I heard his breathing had leveled out, and I knew he was asleep beside me. I laid down beside him and pretended to have the impossible dream that could never come true.

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  As it turned out, most of the clan had fallen asleep around the fire as they exchanged ghost stories late into the night, so when I woke up, I was surrounded by sleeping people. The sky was still black with stars and judging by the look of them, it was about three o'clock in the morning. Dorian had rolled onto his side in his sleep and had his arm draped across me. I delicately removed it and stood up.

  Normally, I didn't wake during the night, but then again, my targets were usually city dwellers, so I rarely slept outside in the wilderness. I pondered what could have awoken me. It was probably an owl or whip-o-will. I decided to walk the perimeter around the camp and saw several sets of red glowing eyes out in the night, but I deemed that none were a threat. I finally stopped and looked up on the ridges surrounding us and that was when I saw him.

  At first, he looked somewhat like a tree stump upon the crest on the western ridge, surrounded by some boulders. But then he moved and his boulders moved with him. I heard a few moans and then, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared with his entourage behind the ridge. It would be a matter of time before he made his move. But he had made it apparent that it would not be tonight, while we were surrounded by the living, who just so happened to believe in the magic of gunpowder and bullets.

  I made my way back to Dorian's side. I went back down and laid on my side, using my hands as my pillow. I became more determined to hear out Tesla's master plan tomorrow, to see if I could tie in a plan of my own to take care of the Necromancer. Obviously, the Necromancer was trained, but was he a government-trained assassin? It mattered for naught. I would take care of the situation regardless of his training. They all died... eventually... except for me. I felt myself relax. Now that my mind was settled, I went back to sleep.

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  I was surprised when I awoke,
because I had overslept, concerning which, I never do. The sun had already made its way over the ridge and was streaming down on me, making it feel quite warm for a fall morning. Not too many of these sorts of mornings left in the year.

  I sat up and looked around. It looked like most of the caravan was just finishing their breakfast and was packing up the wagons. I saw Tesla was talking to the horse master and they were arguing, judging by the waving arms and hands. I looked around and saw the old crone had cornered Dorian, but he was listening adamantly, nodding his head now and then while smiling the whole time. I wondered what she was telling him. It seemed very different from the ominous warning she gave me yesterday.

  I stood, brushed myself off, and grabbed what was left of sliced apples and roasted rabbit giblets. While I ate, I searched for and found my dried clothing. After finishing my breakfast and changing back into my clean, if stained, clothes, I found Tesla next to the horse ring holding the harnesses of three Gypsy Cobs. Well, we wouldn't be breaking any time records with the bulky horses, but then again, at least I knew we would make it in one piece traversing across the uneven land with them. It was also hard to spook these animals, so this would be good if we ran into the Necromancer and his pets.

  I approached him and he greeted me with a smile. “I do say, Miss Darling, we have three geldings here at our disposal. The Roma have been most generous with their gifts. I told Stefan my plans and he was sympathetic to our plight, naturally.”

  “Excuse me for being so bold, Tesla, but what exactly are your plans?”

  “Err, well about that... I will tell you in due time. You will have plenty of time to back out, if that is your wish of course. Pity that would be, however.”