She Returns from War

FIVE



Victoria chose a more demure dress to call on Cora Oglesby the next day: cream-colored with brown trim about the neck and cuffs. She woke just before noon and took her time preparing herself, rehearsing what she might say to the old hunter to change her mind. Nothing sounded right. It didn't help that she had used her strongest pleas the day before, and Cora probably wouldn't be swayed by tales of desert-dwelling demons. Whatever else the old woman was, she wasn't tractable.

Her anxiety mounted as she stepped out of the hotel's front door and began walking toward the saloon. If she couldn't convince Cora to come with her, what would the red-eyed woman do in retaliation? Her control over the other man, while not absolute, was certainly frightening. If he had other enslaved creatures like the bearded nightmare, he should be easily able to overwhelm the Indian woman, yet he bowed to her will. If she could command him, a man she openly acknowledged as a demon, what could she do to a mere human? Victoria tried not to think about it, but the thought nagged at her as she walked through the dusty street.

All too quickly, she found herself standing in front of Ben's Print Shop once more. Around her, the unwashed denizens of Albuquerque went about their daily business. Horses pounded up clouds of dust beneath their hooves as they plodded along, heads bowed beneath the sun's glare. She squinted up at it from beneath her parasol. The woman had spoken of the man-demon needing to avoid sunlight. Hot as it was, at least she should be safe during the day. Feeling a bit better at the thought, Victoria returned her gaze to the saloon's batwing doors. Her fist clenched in determination, and she marched onto the wooden sidewalk and into the Print Shop.

The same sickly smells waited for her inside, along with the same haze of smoke. Cora had fewer patrons at this hour, it seemed. Only two of the tables were occupied, and both groups were far less energetic about their games than they had been the day before. Cora herself stood behind the bar, caught up in an argument with one of her patrons. Victoria stepped up to the bar a short distance from them and waited.

"Ain't possible," Cora said.

"I'm telling you, it's true," the man replied. He was somewhat better dressed than the other patrons, and his squawking accent - similar to the ones she'd heard in New York City - set him apart from the drawling locals. "Some fellow in Germany has done it, or so I hear."

"What's it look like?"

"It has three wheels, and a bench on top for two people. The thing that makes it all work is behind the bench."

"Where he can stuff himself a midget or some such to make his foolery look real," Cora said. "Ain't nothing but a big old trick of the eye, and you're a damn fool for letting it take you in, Booker." She caught sight of Victoria then. Her eyes lit up, and she motioned for her to join them. "This here's a right fancy lady from England. She'll know if you're telling true or not."

"Victoria Dawes," Victoria said, offering her hand.

"Robert Booker," the man replied. "I take it you've met our lovely Cora?" Victoria nodded. "Well, I'm her business partner here at the saloon. She pours the drinks and tames the drunks, and I make sure her finances are in order."

"I also provide the color," Cora said. "Folks keep coming in because they like my jawing. Only interesting things you can ever say is outlandish yarns like the one you was just telling."

"It isn't a yarn," Robert insisted.

"We'll ask Miss Fancy here." Cora grabbed Victoria's hand. "Is there any such thing as a horseless carriage?"

"A what?"

"A carriage what moves with no horses or nothing pulling it."

Victoria blinked. "Not to my knowledge, no."

"Ha!" Cora shoved Robert with her other hand. "See there? If Vicky here ain't seen one, they doesn't exist."

"My name," Victoria replied, "is Victoria."

"Whatever. You proved my point."

"I don't think the opinion of one young woman, however refined, proves your point," Robert said. "No offense, ma'am," he quickly added.

"None taken."

"Enough of your manners and your yarns," Cora said. "I ain't going to stand here and watch you make moony eyes at pretty ladies. I got a business to run."

Robert blushed. "Yes, well, see that you do. I don't want to lose out on this venture, not with new devices rolling out every day. Think of all the opportunities!"

"I got your opportunity right here," Cora said, lifting up a bottle without a label. She pulled out the stopper and took a drink.

"That's a day's profit right there."

Cora laughed. "I only drink the stuff the rest of the boys ain't man enough to stomach." She offered the bottle to Victoria, who shook her head earnestly. "More for me, then."

"Well," Robert said with a sigh, "no use correcting an old dog. I'll leave you two ladies to your whiskey. Don't forget our meeting on Friday, Cora. We still need to decide how best to invest this month's surplus."

"Long as it ain't magic carriages," Cora said. Robert rolled his eyes, nodded to Victoria, and left. Cora took another swig from the bottle, eyeing the young woman. "So, Miss Fancy, what brings you back here? I thought I was nice and plain in our talk yesterday."

"You were," Victoria said. "I understood you quite clearly."

"So? You get a sudden hankering for my rotgut?"

Victoria shook her head again. "Not at all."

"Well, I'm out of notions."

"Yes," Victoria said. She took a moment to steady herself. "I had a rather interesting encounter last night."

"Is that right?" Cora asked. "Was it your idea or his?"

A furious flush bloomed on Victoria's cheeks. "Nothing of the sort, I assure you. No, my encounter was much more unusual. Unusual in a way someone of your talents might understand." Leaning in close, she lowered her voice. "I was abducted by a pair of supernatural beings."

Cora nodded. "Ain't surprising."

"What do you mean?"

"This town ain't exactly free of critters, if you take my meaning." Cora leaned against the back wall behind the bar. "No surprise, really, seeing how close we are to all them old Indian things. Burial grounds and dead cities what have you. Them things is bound to stir up nasty critters now and again. Why, we got ourselves a mess of old ruins just outside of town somewhere. Local Indians say the whole place is plumb silly with spooks."

"And you just let them be?"

The old hunter shrugged. "They don't bother me, so I don't bother them. Ain't going to get yourself nowhere if you go poking your nose into every little thing."

"You did once," Victoria said. "You survived then."

"Maybe so. Then again, I was paid to survive. Gives a body a bit of incentive."

"I offered you that same incentive."

Cora nodded again. "So you did. Had you run me down ten years ago, might have been I'd have gone with you, but not no more."

"And nothing I can say will change your mind?"

"You British folk do catch on," Cora said, "even if it is a tad slow. Now then, unless you're aiming to buy yourself a drink, I suggest you make yourself scarce. The boys here ain't changed since yesterday, and you're still far too fancy a girl to be running about by your lonesome."

"My captors seemed to take an interest in you," Victoria said, hoping to pique her interest.

"Most folk do," Cora said with a smirk. "After all, I ain't exactly a run-of-the-mill lady. Not many women seen what I seen and live to tell about it. Plus, I can drink any of these fellers under the table, and I play a mean game of cards. Find me another gal like that, and I'll eat my own boot and thank you after every bite."

"They wanted you to come with me back to England."

Cora laughed, a dry, rolling sound that turned a few heads at the tables. Victoria's impatience grew as the sound went on. The old woman was really enjoying herself, and Victoria did not appreciate being the source of her amusement.

Finally, Cora's laughter faded away, returning in a few chuckles as she spoke. "That's a fresh one, I'll grant you that. Ain't never heard no story quite that hare-brained."

"It's the truth."

"I reckon it ain't," Cora said. "Too convenient by half."

"Precisely," Victoria replied, seizing on a new tactic. "Do you really think I think you're stupid enough to fall for it? Why would I say it unless it were true?"

A frown deepened Cora's wrinkles. "That is odd, now that you say it like that. Then again, maybe you think I'm stupid enough to fall for what you just said. Ain't the first time somebody tried to pull the saddle over my eyes."

"I promise you, I'm not."

"Say what you like," Cora said. "I ain't coming." She set the bottle down behind the bar and walked away. Victoria watched her go, the Indian woman's eyes burning like blood moons in her mind. The worn-out old gunfighter would be the death of her. Without Cora beside her on the train, the strange woman would find her and kill her. She might even send the blue-eyed demon to do the work once night fell. Maybe if she could get far enough away, catch a fast-moving train to San Francisco or back to Santa Fe, they wouldn't be able to follow her.

"There was one more thing," Victoria said.

Down at the end of the bar, Cora turned. "Make it quick."

"One of my captors wanted me to give you a message."

"If it's 'get on the train', you can save your breath," Cora said.

Victoria shook her head. "No, nothing of the sort. It was a threat."

"Well, that's a bit better," Cora said. "Go on."

"He told me to tell you that he was gunning for you."

"That it?" Cora asked. She let out a short laugh. "Don't sound like nothing to me. Hell, I got me a few boys here who spout that at me whenever I take a hand." Shaking her head, she turned her back to Victoria.

"He said his name was Fodor Glava."

Cora went rigid. Victoria held her breath.

"What?"

It was just one word, quiet and short, but Victoria heard it. She also heard the ocean of ice beneath it.

"Yes," Victoria replied. "He said that he was Fodor Glava, and that he was aiming to finish what he started."

The old hunter's braid slid across her back as her head turned. One brown eye fixed Victoria in a gaze of steel. "You're sure you heard that right?"

"Absolutely." Cora's reaction surprised her, but Victoria kept her composure. "I made sure to remember his name. It wasn't that difficult, really; it's quite remarkable."

"Yes, I suppose it is." The hunter's words were soft. Her voice trembled slightly. She turned toward the young woman, but her eyes no longer looked her way. They wandered over the bar, taking in every inch of it like she was seeing it for the first time. Her fingers glided over the top, lingered on the edge. She didn't blink.

Then, without a word, Cora turned away. Her boots thumped across the saloon's floor, carrying her toward the stairs in the back. Victoria watched her go, her mind locked up in confusion. Nobody else in the room even noticed Cora's departure. They continued to bicker and banter, tossing chips and cards on the tables. The old piano stood forlorn behind them. A shout from out in the street drifted through the saloon's door. Minutes passed, marked only by the shuffling of cards and muttering of curses, yet still she stood rooted to the floor, one elbow resting on the bar.

Her mind finally shook free, and the questions began rolling through it. Should she go up after her? The message had clearly shaken the old hunter, shaken worse than Victoria would have thought possible. Seeing Cora's entire demeanor change, her devil-may-care attitude vanish in an instant, had confused and frightened her. Whoever this Fodor Glava was, he clearly held a great power over her. If the red-eyed woman could control him, she might be more than a match even for the great Cora Oglesby. The thought chilled Victoria's blood. She couldn't begin to guess what Cora would do with the message she had delivered, but the Indian woman's threat now loomed large and menacing.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder. A few men sauntered through the door, each looking her up and down before heading over to one of the occupied tables. Chairs grated against the floor as the others raised their fingers in greeting.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of the newcomers called, "ain't you working a bit early?"

Victoria ignored the comment and the laughter that followed.

"You ought to come over and sit on my lap," another said. She shot him a cool look. He grinned back as the other men at the table whistled and jeered.

"Looks like you got yourself a bed bunny for tonight, Wilson."

"She keep you real warm, I bet."

"Hardly," Victoria said.

Hoots echoed around the table. "Well, if you ain't going to look after my pecker, you might at least see about wetting my whistle," the man named Wilson said.

"I am not your barmaid."

"You ain't a barmaid and you ain't a whore," Wilson said. "What good are you, then?"

Victoria stared at him. "Too good for you."

The front legs of Wilson's chair thudded to the floor. "What'd you say?"

"You heard me," she replied, looking away.

"I don't let no bitch mouth off to me like that," Wilson said, "especially not one so high and mighty as you. Now, I'm a gentlemen, so I's let you say you're sorry and let it go at that."

"An apology?" Victoria tossed her hair back over her shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes lest she lose her nerve. "I don't believe one's in order."

"Too bad for you." The floor creaked as Wilson stood to his feet. "I done my best to be civil, but now I got to teach you your proper place. Won't do to have the whores getting all uppity in this town." The planks beneath her feet trembled as he walked toward her, but she continued to feign disinterest. Her pulse quickened with each step.

"Now then, missie." His breath, sour and wet, poured into her ear, "you going to bend over nicely, or do I got to get mean?"

Victoria turned toward the door, but he grabbed her arm before she could take a step. Instinct took over, and she brought her other hand around, smacking him across the face. Laughter filled the room. Wilson's eyes blazed as he whirled back on her. Victoria's spine popped as he leaned into her, pushing her down onto the bar.

Twisting against him, Victoria tried to get enough leverage to kick him in the shins, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. The smell of sweat clung to him like a second skin, smothering her. She screamed, but the men at the tables just sat and watched. Wilson's face loomed only inches above her, yellow teeth bared in a grin. All of Cora's warnings exploded in her mind. If only she had listened. She could feel his crotch pressing into the folds of her dress.

"Enough!" The hunter's voice cracked like thunder across the saloon. Wilson turned his face toward the sound, and his grip loosened. Victoria cried out as she shoved him away. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a chair. Pulling herself upright, Victoria blinked back her tears and looked up at her savior.

Cora stood on the staircase. Silver metal gleamed in her right hand, the long barrel pointed at the man named Wilson. The hunter's eyes glinted as she descended, planting each boot deliberately. When she reached the bottom, she continued her advance, the gun's barrel never wavering. The room rang with her footsteps. They came to rest in front of Wilson, silver pressed firmly into his chest.

Nobody breathed.

"Leave her be," Cora said. "I need her." Wilson's mouth opened to reply. Cora twisted the gun. "No lip from you. Now get."

Wilson stared at her a moment, then nodded. Keeping his eyes on her, he slowly backed toward the saloon's door. The batwings creaked as he stepped through, disappearing into the glow of the daylight. Only when his shadow faded did Victoria dare to breathe again.

Cora cocked her head toward the young Englishwoman as she slid the revolver into a low-slung holster on her belt. Victoria's blue eyes were rimmed with white as she blinked back.

"Didn't I warn you about them, Miss Fancy?" Before Victoria could respond, she turned to the flabbergasted men at the tables. "What're you all gawking at? Ain't you never seen a gun before?" She spat on the floor. "Fine lot you are, watching a lady get roughed up and not lifting a finger. I ought to shoot the bunch of you for yellow cowards." A few of the men grumbled in protest, but they fell silent when Cora's hand returned to the butt of her gun. "Go on now, all of you. The Print Shop is closed for today."

They rose to their feet and shuffled past the two women, some with a glare at Victoria. When the batwings creaked shut behind the last man, Cora heaved a sigh. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the bar and looked at Victoria. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

Victoria's tongue darted across her lips. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

"You're welcome," Cora said, "but don't go thinking I did that because I like you. Fact is, I ain't all that fond of you. I reckon that little display with Wilson showed you that this ain't no place fit for prancing ponies and the like. You prance too much out here, you get yourself hurt. Hard places make hard men, and you got to be just as hard if you aim to keep all your parts and pieces."

"I'll remember that," Victoria said.

Cora nodded. "See that you do, because I ain't going to jump in next time." She fell silent, seeming to ponder that for a second. Victoria did not want to dwell on it any longer, but she could think of nothing else to say. Even now, she could still feel Wilson's fingers on her arms, dirty nails digging into her skin.

"But," Cora said, "that ain't the real reason we're still talking." Her face grew grave, a look of determination and cold fury that made Victoria slightly uneasy. "I reckon you figured that me and that Fodor Glava got us some history."

"Yes," Victoria said, unsure if she should explain further.

Cora didn't give her the option. "We've crossed paths a time or two, and it never was a happy time when we did. Thing is, I'm right sure our last meeting ended with my stabbing him and shooting him and cutting off his head."

Victoria covered her mouth with her hand. "What did you say?"

"That I killed the dirty son of a bitch like the dog he was," Cora said. "Don't go all fluttery on me. Ain't no man living or dead deserved it more, except maybe the feller who made him. What's the term King George used? Sired, I think. I reckon Glava's sire was a nasty bit of work himself. Maybe he's still off somewhere killing folk, maybe not. Ain't my concern. What is my concern is that I know I killed that Glava dead."

"So you think I'm lying to you again."

"Well, I'd be lying my own self if I said that thought ain't crossed my mind," Cora said. "More I thought it over, though, the more I figured that there ain't no way you could have known to say that name to me. We ain't never met before, you clearly ain't been out west before, and you ain't in the business your own self. Then I thought, well, maybe old King George or Father Baez gave you the tip-off." Victoria was about to deny it, but Cora held up her hand. "No need to say a word. Sure, both of them was there four years ago and saw enough to tell, but ain't neither one going to just up and spout out secrets like that. Father Baez ain't the sort, and I wouldn't bet a nickel on George being able to pull a single name out of that pudding bowl he calls a head."

Victoria smiled at that. "Yes, he is a singularly scattered man, isn't he?"

"Back in Leadville, I figured we'd ride up to that big house of his one day and find him outside in his bloomers and nothing else."

"We?" Victoria asked.

"I meant me."

The sudden edge in Cora's voice took Victoria by surprise. "I'm sorry," she said, although she wasn't sure why she was apologizing.

Cora waved her hand dismissively. "It ain't important. What been eating at me is how this feller of yours knew that name. Even more, I want to know why he knew to tell you to tell me." She looked at Victoria for a long moment. The younger woman shifted her weight. She laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the bar. She tried meeting Cora's gaze but soon began studying the bottles lining the wall. There was something about the old hunter's eyes that unsettled her. They sparked with intelligence, but there was something else lurking in them. Something darker, hidden in the shadow cast by that intelligence.

"Well, I guess it don't matter none, anyhow," Cora finally said. "Only a few people in the world as would know that name, and I just named all of them. Puts me in a right fine puzzlement, and I ain't going to sleep proper till I get an answer."

"What will you do, then?" Victoria asked.

"Hunt that bastard down and make him sing for me," Cora replied. "Can't be Glava himself, but whoever he is, he knows about him. Worse, he's making himself out to be him. Anyone who'd take that monster's name is looking to be one in his own right, and I won't stand for it."

Victoria nodded. She wasn't sure why Cora was telling her all of this. Disappointment and fear still churned inside her, and hearing Cora talk only intensified the vortex. Instead of boarding an east-bound train with her, the old hunter wanted to ride off into the desert after the blueeyed man. Even if Cora somehow managed to find the man calling himself Fodor Glava, she probably wouldn't do it in time to save Victoria from the red-eyed woman's wrath. The young woman tried to swallow her fear, eyes downcast as she wracked her brain for some way out of the trap she'd stumbled into.

"Seems right two-faced of me, I know," Cora said. "Here I am telling you I'm setting out to hunt me down a monster in the self-same morning I said I ain't helping you with yours."

Victoria looked at the old hunter in surprise. She hadn't expected her to just come out and say what Victoria herself had already considered. Holding her tongue, she hoped Cora would next admit that such hypocrisy didn't sit well with her or something of that nature.

"Fact is, I ain't any more inclined to trot on out to England to do your job than I was yesterday. I still prefer poker and whiskey to travel, even in a fancy train car, and I ain't got no interest at all in prancing about with the likes of you and George all day. If the good Lord wanted me to be fancy, he'd have made me out of silk and pearls or some such."

Cora paused, running a hand over her chin as if what she was going to say next wouldn't come out without encouragement. "You understand," she said, "that I ain't the sort to rely on nobody. Ain't but a few folks in this wide world that I trust, and I've had to kill some of them, too. I don't want to be adding to either list right now, but it seems I have to if I'm to get my answers. You're the only one who can take me to this feller, meaning I have to ask you for help to find him. I don't like it none, but there it is.

"So here's the deal." Her fist slammed down onto the bar, making Victoria jump. "You take me to this feller of yours so I can have my answers from him. Once he's had his say and I've put him in the ground, I'll follow you back to wherever you want and settle your spooks. Deal?"

Victoria couldn't believe her sudden change of fortune. "You would really do that?" she asked.

"If I hadn't said it, you would have," Cora said. "I need your help, you need mine. I reckon my helping you will be a sight more work than you helping me, but I guess I'm just generous like that. So we got a deal?"

"Yes! Yes, absolutely," Victoria said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the excitement out of her voice. She shook Cora's offered hand. "When do we start?"