Devlin's Curse

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Cover Art:
MLC Designs 4U

Publisher’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

Copyright 2016

Brenda McKoy

I would like to dedicate my book to some very special people in my life. My husband Chris who I drive crazy by reading my kindle late into the night,  fellow  author Sandra Gluschankoff  who edited and encouraged me to finish Devlin’s Curse, Linda Gibson and Georgia Vlahos who gave my book a critical read and did not pull any punches.  Last but not least my beloved greyhound, Osiris who went over the rainbow bridge last November.     

Devlin’s Curse

By

Lady Brenda

Prologue

T
he lift descended down into the bowels of the earth and Jim Diamond, known as Big Jim, thought about death, a dark, suffocating death that pressed in on him from all sides. The cramped metal cage carried him and two other miners into the depths of the Gilded Bird mine. The feeble lights that shone from their lanterns did nothing to dispel his fantasies. A cold sweat beaded his brow and several wretched scenarios filled his mind. In one scenario the lift would break loose and send them racketing down the shaft like a billiard ball. Or worse than that, a sudden collapse of the scaffolding that would bury them under tons of dirt and rocks.

He knew he was being a paranoid fool. In reality there was really no reason for him to make this trip into the mine but Big Jim was Pennsylvanian Dutch and he did not trust anyone. He felt that if he was to invest in a claim in the Gilded Bird he damn well wanted to see what he was getting for his money. When word came to him that the owner of the mine, John Anderson was looking for investors, Big Jim made inquiries. After one meeting with Anderson, in the grim shack that he called an office, he could almost smell the desperation on him. An opportunity like this was sometimes too good to be true and Big Jim wanted to see for himself if the Gilded Bird mine had the potential to produce or if it had been ‘salted’–a method where gold dust was placed strategically throughout the mine– to appear like it.

All these thoughts, and more, swirled around in his brain as the lift continued its jerky descent down into the pitch black mining shaft. Presently, after what seemed like hours but in reality was less than ten minutes, it came to an abrupt stop.  The iron gate to the lift was pushed open and he followed the two miners out into the dark tunnel. He trailed behind them as they stepped deftly over the uneven, dimly lit ground, moving forward with a confidence that had been born out of traversing such terrain day in and day out.  He struggled to keep up.

This damn body has gone soft and fat! Too much rich food and drink,
he cursed to himself.

The air inside the mine was so stifling, hot and cloying he found it difficult to take a full deep breath. After a few minutes the two men ahead of him stopped in their tracks. They held their lanterns high.

“This ain’t the way,” said the leader.

“What?” said the other man. 

“What the hell?” said the leader again. He shone his lantern into the fathomless gloom and was met by a glowing shimmer, the sheen of pure gold. “Holy Christ on a cracker would ya lookie there!” he exclaimed.

For a moment all three of them were struck dumb by the sight of what must surely be a fabulous bounty. A thick vein of golden ore ran through the wall of the tunnel to reveal a tantalizing trail that reached out and beckoned to them. Big Jim felt his heart pound against his chest. Gold lust burned in his brain. He pushed ahead to follow the sparkling vein and the lambent glow ahead of it. The two men followed. When they rounded a dogleg turn in the tunnel they found themselves at the mouth of golden cavern. An Aladdin’s cave where the walls and ceilings glittered with gold dust lay before their startled gaze.  As they stood there a dead silence pressed in on them.

Big Jim could not believe his eyes; he reached out and touched the golden vein that ran along the wall. He itched to break it up or chisel it out and fill his pockets because he needed to know if it was real and not some fantasy brought on by the pulsing heat of the mine. He took a pocket knife out of his vest and dug into the vein intent on bringing a sample up to the surface. As his knife prodded deep into the rock a distant knocking sound came from far back in the direction they had come. He paused and pulled his knife out of the rock.

“What is that?” he asked. The two miners exchanged glances.

“Tommyknockers,” said the leader. The whites of his eyes rolling like those of a terrified horse. “We need to skeedaddle mister!”

Big Jim frowned. He returned to his task and twisted his knife deeper and tried to pry loose a golden sliver. “The hell you say, we’ll leave when I’m good and ready “

“It ain’t safe!” The miner shook his head but before they had a chance to argue a green mist rose from the floor of the mine. It began to curl around their ankles and then upwards to engulf them, and smother them. Its sulfurous odor made them cough and gasp for breath. Big Jim stepped back, his eyes stung by the vapor made him drop his knife. A pair of red glowing eyes floated up into the gloom before them. A hulking, dark form rose out of the mist and slithered from out of a deep crevasse. The light of the lanterns revealed the shine of its reptilian scales. An ancient, and alien monster one whose origins could perhaps be traced back thousands of years to the seven original Babylonian demons of Gilgamesh. Whispers, like the buzz of a thousand bees, filled his head. The whispers translated to words of death and mayhem. Then at lighting speed a huge claw slashed out cleaving the lead miner from neck to waist and smashed his lantern. Scarlet blood spurted from the savaged miner. It drenched Big Jim and the surviving miner. 

“Oh God. Oh God,” he screamed.

They scrambled frantically back towards the way they had come. The thing let out an ear piercing screech then plunged after them.  They ran for the lift. Jim Diamond his heart pounding in
his
chest reached it first. He looked back and saw the Beast was nearly upon them. Hands slick with sweat he pulled himself into the lift. The other miner was right behind him and reached for the door but Big Jim slammed it shut and pulled the leaver.

“Mister, mister, help me please!” The miner cried grabbing the bars of the lift.

The Beast was upon him then, as its claws sunk into his leg he screamed. Jim Diamond brought his lantern down on the miner’s hands breaking his desperate hold. The lift rose swiftly and he did not look back.

Chapter One

The Queen of Hearts

“
W
hat’s yer business in Virginia City Miss Jones?”

Esmeralda Jones smiled. She braced herself and held fast to the leather strap above her head ready for when the iron wheels of the stagecoach might hit another rut in the road.

“Why Mr. White, a lady never reveals such a thing to strangers.”

Esmeralda was a striking beauty with titian red hair that she wore piled high beneath a smart feathered hat. Her emerald green traveling dress was of the finest of French silk velvet cut in the latest Paris fashion. Trappings, she thought an alluring concealment that had served her well in navigating the dark and secret world which was part of the wild and lawless West.

Mr. White’s eyes creased slyly and he leaned forward. She caught a whiff of whisky and peppermints from his hot breath. “Are ya an Opera Dancer? Will we be seein ya up on the stage at Pipers Opera House?”

“Not quite Mr. White, but I do have business in Virginia City.”

“We don’t need your kind of business, Miss Jones.” A loud indignant snort accompanied by a roll of beady eyes came from the other passenger that shared the stage with them.

Esmeralda removed her violet colored sunglasses, her own eyes the same emerald green as her dress took note of the black crow of a woman sitting opposite her, a pinched and proper suffragette by the name of Sara Fenn.  “Don’t presume to know my business Miss. Fenn”

“Hmmph, yer some man’s fancy woman and your kind is poisoning our city, you and them hurdy gurdy girls.” She fanned herself with a thin booklet, a pamphlet on women’s rights.

Esmeralda chuckled. “Come now, there are worst things like that type of poison. Take your dress as an example, who knows, under all those layers there could be a medieval chastity belt.”

“Why I never!”

“That is quite obvious.”

Mr. White guffawed. He winked at Esmeralda, took a nip of his flask and then offered it to her.

The anticipation of what lay ahead of her in the gold town of Virginia City had created a powerful thirst inside of her and she gladly accepted a drink from the silver flask. The bitter liquor slid down her throat ending in a slow burn beneath her corset. The air had become tense inside the hot confines of the stagecoach. Esmeralda took out a black lace fan and fanned herself languidly. Her mind dwelled briefly on the dark purpose behind her visit to Virginia City. She ignored the expression on Miss. Fenn’s face as well as the unique personal perfume that emanated from her person, which Esmeralda guessed to be a combination of mothballs and sweat. She was tempted to read into the minds of both of them as a way of staving off the sudden feeling of vulnerability, a feeling that assailed her every time she came to a new town. Underneath it all both dread and anticipation dwelled inside her.

Would she ever see him
again?
she thought.

She hoped that her present appearance would protect her. That she'd been able to blend into the West without any raised eyebrows.

It was well known that there were two types of women in the West, the chaste and the unchaste. Esmeralda Jones having long ago left behind any grand illusions belonged to the former. The past and the man she had gambled her heart on had made sure of that.

The wheels of the stagecoach slammed into yet another rut in the road. Her head pounded with a dull headache and she noticed a fine yellow dust had settled in every crease of her traveling costume and if it were not for the generous horsehair bustle of her dress her posterior would be surely as flat as a prairie flapjack by the time they reached their destination.

The overland trip from California to the Nevada Territory gave her plenty of time to reflect on her course of action. Was she running away? Or running to something? All the signs had pointed towards Virginia City. And who was she to tempt fate? Or a vow she had made many years ago with a long dead Hedge Witch? 

She and her current companions had been traveling since dawn. They had changed horses in Carson City and it would be another three and a half hours until they reached the town of Virginia City, if all went well. She had learned to anticipate just about anything while traveling by stage. The gourmet fare of beans and jerky at the stage stops to flea infested lumpy mattresses right through to the occasional stage robbery. The worst thing though was the boredom and the tedious bone rattling pace over an ever changing terrain. This time her current traveling companions had exceeded her expectations. Mr. Leonard White in his plaid suit and brown bowler hat was an interesting character. The worn carpetbag he kept close to him at all times was most likely filled with all matter of schemes and elixirs.

And what about Sara Fenn? The sour faced prune of a woman wearing the black bombazine dress. She chuckled inwardly at the way Miss Fenn had whisked her skirts away from Esmeralda when they had first boarded the stage as if she feared contamination. 

She could feel their covert glances and it was tempting once again to read their minds. She restrained herself and opted instead to pull out a deck of cards from her reticule. She shuffled them deftly. The cards felt familiar and soothing through the fingerless, black lace gloves she wore. She ignored the sudden blatant stare of the dandy Mr. White.

“You handle the cards with a flair, Miss. Jones. Are you looking for a game?”

Esmeralda fanned the cards then shuffled them again. It didn’t hurt to keep her skills sharp. “Why not? Mr. White, let us say a penny a point?”

Leonard White rubbed his hands together. “Deal me in, Miss. Jones.”

Sara Fenn glared at them from the corner of the coach. “Gamblers and imbibers are on the side of Satan!” 

Esmeralda dealt a hand to Leonard White. “Drinking and gaming, why Mr. White I do believe we are going Hell,” she said.

Mr. White tipped his hat. “Not Hell, Miss. Jones. Virginia City.”

After another hour of rattling around like dice in a box the stagecoach wound its way through Silver City to start the climb through Gold Hill and their destination of Virginia City Nevada. When she pushed the leather curtains aside Esmeralda could see huge mounds of pulverized ore tailings on either sides of the narrow road. The hills were honeycombed with mine shafts and smoke belched from machinery and the stamping mills where dusty miners toiled like ants at giant busy anthills.

The year was 1877 and Virginia City was the richest city in the west perhaps even in the whole Victorian world. Esmeralda had read newspaper stories before she travelled to Virginia City. Tales that told of a huge boomtown riding high on the big silver and gold Bonanza the likes of which no one had ever seen.  After the first big strike in 1859, at the Comstock Lode, miners had scooped up ore from the surface in what was called open pit mining. Later, enterprising men began to dig into the mountains excavating the veins of gold and silver and hauling the ore out to the stamping mills with mules. Gold was not the only thing that made peoples fortunes in Virginia City. Every type of vice imaginable followed the boom from gambling, liquor, prostitution to train robbery and human trafficking. People were attracted to Virginia City. The gold and silver acted like a huge magnet to draw people from all walks of life, many of them never to return. 

When at last they made their final climb up the hill into the main street of Virginia City the sounds of a tinny piano and hurdy-gurdy music heralded their entrance to the town. Saloon after saloon lined the busy boardwalk. All forms of conveyances from fancy carriages to pack-laden mules choked the streets. Loud voices accompanied by the occasional gunshot filled the air. For a moment Esmeralda felt faint and slightly nauseous but she shook it off along with the whiff of evil that she sensed all around her.  She touched the cameo at her throat. It was an antique of obscure origins that depicted the Greek goddess Diana. She took comfort from its talismanic power. This was not the first gold town she had been to and she counted herself foolish to think that it would be any different.

"Virginny City Folks!” The driver yelled out as they rolled down the main street and came to a halt in front of the magnificent International Hotel.

Esmeralda looked out of the stagecoach window.

“Miss Jones your lookin’ at the International Hotel the  jewel of the Comstock. It stands six stories high and boasts of 167 rooms. Why, just this year it had to be rebuilt again for the third time after the fire of ‘76, and has just opened its doors again."

"That is quite interesting, Mr. White."

"Yes, indeedy. The new hotel takes up the whole lot from C Street to B Street.”

Esmeralda sighed inwardly, she tried to blot out Mr. White's 'interesting' information.

All I really want is a bath and a soft bed,
she thought.

He babbled on; a sly hint in his next words.

"There's a mighty fine restaurant on the north side an’ there’s a rear entrance on B Street that provides convenient access to Piper's Opera House."

Esmeralda smiled politely.

When the door was swung open she stepped down quickly from the stagecoach eager to get away. She sensed an invitation from Mr. Leonard White and wanted to sidestep it if at all possible.

Unbeknown to her, across the street from the hotel, a tall, lean figure of a man known as Devlin Winter, who dressed in the traditional black frock coat of a gambler, stood on the boardwalk outside the Bucket of Blood Saloon. His low crowned, black hat was pulled down over one eye and he smoked a thin cigar. When the stagecoach pulled up to the hotel and its passengers were unloaded his dark eyes narrowed.

He cursed silently. “What the devil was she doing here?” He reckoned he would know that profile anywhere even though the last time he had seen her she had lain naked beside him on a bed of green grass with her white skin glowing in the moonlight like a brilliant distant star. He fought the gut wrenching feeling, the panic and desire that seeing her did to his insides. He could not afford this type of distraction, this interruption of his carefully laid plans. He stomped out his cigar and returned to the smoke filled saloon.

Once she had alighted from the stage, Esmeralda was immediately approached by a lean, hungry looking youth in a bellboy uniform.

“Git yer baggage, Ma’am?”

She nodded; an overwhelming sense of being watched raised the hair on the back of her neck and compelled her to look over her shoulder. She shook off the feeling and went to the front desk and registered for a room. The same feeling continued to follow her as she waited for the bellboy to load her baggage onto the Sky Lift.

“It’s the International hotel’s most famous feature,” the bellboy boasted. “The only hydraulic elevator in the Nevada territory, Ma’am”

When he showed her to her room she ordered a hot bath a light dinner and champagne on ice. She needed time to rest and meditate on her next course of action.

Once alone in her plush hotel room, Esmeralda sat down on the soft bed where she finally let the deep exhaustion overtake her. She felt as if she hurt all the way through to her bones. With a hand that shook she searched through one of her luggage bags for a purple glass bottle. She uncorked it and poured the remaining contents into a small silver cup. She lifted it to her lips and savored it slowly.  Tomorrow, as soon as possible, she would have to find more.

A knock interrupted Esmeralda’s thoughts and she rose from the bed and opened the door.

It was the bellboy and two maids bearing hot water for her bath. Under the young man’s arm he carried a silver bucket covered with a linen cloth.

“Got yer bath miss, the champagne is on the house,” he said.

Esmeralda gave him suspicious look. “Who may I thank for this gesture?”

The boy grinned sheepishly. “Don’t rightly know, Miss. The front desk sent it that’s all.”

“You must be sure to thank them.” 

The maids bustled around filling the hipbath and placing towels on a rack beside it. The bellboy tugged on his hat. “Name’s Jamie, let me know if there’s anything else.”

Esmeralda took a long look at him. “Why yes there is something,” she replied. “Do you know where I might find the Herbalist Grandfather Woo?”

Jamie grimaced. “The Chinee? Ya don’t want no business with him Miss.”

“Actually I do, where could I find him?”

Jamie hesitated. “If I tol’ you an somethin happened to ya, well then, my boss at the hotel would tan my hide.”

Esmeralda pulled out a velvet purse and dug inside. She held up a twenty-dollar gold piece. “Would this help you decide?”

Jamie took a deep breath. "Whoo-ee! That there's more money than I’ll make in two months!" He snatched up the coin and pocketed it. “Chinatown, but it ain’t safe, you gonna need someone to take you there.”

She smiled. “Well, Jamie, you look like a competent young man.”