Devlin's Curse (10 page)

“Do you think you can stop me from seeing you? I can and I will walk into your salon in broad daylight as I please,” he said. 

Esmeralda looked away. “I cannot prevent you from visiting my salon. I would ask though that you respect my wishes and not press me for more.” Without another word she pulled the door shut leaving Devlin alone on the balcony.

He stood there with a fire blazing in his chest. He’d been tempted to smash the door from it hinges grab her by her witchy red hair and pull her out to him. Ravish her from top to bottom, and inside out. But he could not. Not with her. By some strange, damned, curse what she felt mattered to him.

As he walked down the street in the moonlight, he wondered what her wicked game was. Her rejection had stung him but it had also jarred him into reality. There was more at stake here than his carnal desires. He realized now that his impulsive nature had not changed over these few hundred years. The same impulsiveness that had placed the love of his life in the path of danger before had swept him away in the arms of Esmeralda. He had psychic powers of his own, and he knew full well the danger that stalked him in this town. He had welcomed it and the confrontation that was sure to come.

The old witch, Annie, had seen through him before and he reluctantly admitted that he could use her counsel now.  His myopic view of the situation had been focused solely on vengeance with no regard of the lives that may be burned in its wake.  If he believed in Karma like the Hindus, he would have to admit that the events around him all had a purpose. A philosophy thought Devlin that did not lay easy with someone born under the sign of the Ram such as he.

Chapter Fourteen

The Shaft

I
t was not true that Boots was down and out. He had a donkey, the claim to a mine and a crock of moonshine. He and his donkey, Daisy, prowled the streets of Virginia City. Everyone human, and otherwise, knew Boots. They knew he was more than just a raggedy old sourdough. His mine, the Lily Ann, had been one of the first to produce and one of the first to play out. His faded blue eyes had seen fortunes won and lost and the boom and bust of the town many times over. He wore a tattered coat of an indeterminate color but once it had been the proud gray coat of a southern soldier. Boots loved to spin tall tales to anyone who would listen, and the few pennies people tossed his way, were spent in Chinatown on a big steaming bowl of beef chow mien. Well, he thought it was beef, but didn’t really care. Today he had some thinking to do and he always thought better on a full stomach. 

He and Daisy picked their way down the narrow streets to his favorite noodle house, Chin’s Egg Flower Noodles. He tethered her securely to a post and went inside. The noodle house was full of chatter as a group of pigtailed Chinese men were served bowls of chow mien. They all sat down with their bowls at a long communal table. Boots brought his own tin plate up to the large cauldron. The cook filled it to overflowing.  Boots handed him a coin and then sat down at the table and dug in.

He felt a strange kinship with the Chinese folk. They were a quiet lot that kept to themselves never shied away from hard work and never judged a man that was down on his luck and long in the tooth. Fact was, they respected their elders and paid them special care. Not like some he knew up on C Street and above that kicked him like a stray dog. Take that carpetbagger, Leonard White; he was crow’s bait and that he knew for sure. He’d seen many a man disappear after they crossed a Bloodsucker. And that little Cajun gal, well she belonged to their chief. Boots was no dummy he knew what was underground and knew that his shaft could reach it. That was why he carried sticks of dynamite in Daisy’s pack.

When he had eaten his fill he gathered up Daisy’s lead rope and walked out into the hills.  After a few minutes he came to the narrow mouth of a mineshaft. He lifted his lantern high to illuminate the way and then they both disappeared into the side of the mountain. After traversing about 100 feet they came out into a fairly large opening. A clearing that Boots called home. Inside of it he had a pallet on the ground, some pots and pans, bundles of old clothes and blankets and a small wood slat stall filled with fodder for Daisy. He bedded her down for the night and then sat down on an upturned bucket and lit his pipe. He took a white napkin out of his pocket and spread it on the ground. In the center of the napkin he put a twist of tobacco, a biscuit and a coin. When he finished with his pipe he took a last swig from his jug then flopped down on his pallet and fell fast asleep.

As he snored away, dead to the world, little green, gnome like men, bearded and no taller than twelve inches came out of the shadows. They were the Tommyknockers the spirits of the mines. They snatched up the biscuit and tobacco as they whispered amongst themselves. Two of them tilted up the moonshine jug and poured some of the liquid into a clay cup. They passed it round and swayed and jigged to invisible music then chuckling, they disappeared into the shadows again.

Outside of the mineshaft Miguel Cruz shivered in the faint moonlight. He had followed Boots and his donkey from Chinatown. The old goat had refused to sell his mining share to that son of
de la chingada
Leonard White. Now White was nowhere to be found. Slunk away like a dog with his tail between his legs and he, Cruz, had to clean up the mess. Well, he had a plan of his own and it involved a gallon jug of kerosene and a match. He did not have time to wheedle the claim out of Boots nor did he need too. Big Jim had created a forged claim with Boots name on it. All that was needed was for the old man to disappear.

He waited for a couple of hours then with a lantern to light his way he crept slowly into the tunnel of the mine. It wasn’t long before he heard loud snoring resonating through the mine. He continued on until he reached the small cavern where Boots lay asleep on his pallet. A lone lantern hung on the wall casting a shadowy light on the meager living quarters of the old miner.

A startled snort came from the corner. Cruz lifted his lantern. The green iridescent orbs of Daisy the donkey stared out at him.

Shit,
he thought,
that old Cabron!
Why did he have to bring the donkey in here?

Cruz had a weakness for donkeys. This one had a nice apple shaped rump just like the one he and the other boys in the dirt patch village back in Mexico had lost their virginity to. He set down his lantern and walked over to her stall. Daisy shifted nervously, her eyes rolled and she turned her butt to him. Cruz could feel himself getting excited. Daisy fired out with both of her back feet, kicking him square in the crotch and sending him across the small space like a sack of grain.

Cruz doubled over on the dirt floor dazed with pain and gasping for breath. Just when he thought he was able to take air into his lungs a noose slipped over his head, a noose that was made from his very own rawhide whip. It tightened slowly and crushed his windpipe. He felt himself being dragged away, evil whisperings stung his ears and through blurry, bulging eyes he saw little green wizened faces hovering above him.

Dios, Dios…
he thought as the life was squeezed out of him.

Chapter Fifteen

Mercenary

D
ahlia, dressed in a frilly lemon yellow gown with a bustle bow, swished into the Carson City Depot. She sat down on a bench and waited for the train. She did not have long to wait, presently with a great gust of steam it rolled into the station. She idly twirled her parasol as she watched the passengers get off the train one by one. She paused and sat up straight at the sight of one of them. He was a large behemoth of a man in a buffalo hide coat. His hat was pulled low and the collar of his mangy coat was pulled up to his ears. As if scenting her interest he swiveled around and looked straight at her.

Mon Dieu!
she thought.

His muddy brown eyes were those of a stone cold killer and something else she could not quite put her finger on. Her fears were confirmed when a group of gunslingers got off the train and joined him. Lean, hollow men with their guns slung low and
murder
on their minds.

She shivered inside.

They were headed to Virginia City and she could guess why. She had heard that
canaille
Leonard White and his boss bragging about the new guns he had hired to ‘finish the gambler off’.

She pushed aside her promise to Devlin to leave Virginia City. Her Lord might need her and that horrible man and his crew was pure evil. She would not leave town yet, not now when he might be in danger. She would buy a ticket back to Virginia City, stay in the shadows and be ready when her Lord needed her. She had some tricks of her own, she did. Devlin and his gold nuggets had given her a new sheen, that and a brand new pearl handled derringer.

Lance Peabody was the name of the man in the filthy buffalo hide coat. The rotten teeth in his pockmarked face were as rotten as his soul. No one really knew where he was from or where he was spawned from for that matter. A hired killer, his weapon of choice was a Sharps buffalo gun. Long ago he had come out of the wilderness of the Yellowstone Mountains and there was no job too dirty for Lance. He had hunted men, women and children for their scalps. He’d robbed those fallen on the battlefield and raped their widows. His ugly face graced wanted posters in five states but no lawman had the guts to take him in. The men with him were all hand picked killers and just as nasty. They had come to bring Hell to Virginia City, an idea that brought delight to Lance’s twisted mind even more than whisky or humping a whore.

He had heard all about Virginia City. Now here was a place for a man of appetites. The town was like a fat buffalo cow ready for slaughter and Lance intended to gorge himself.

Lance Peabody and the man who had hired him went way back. In some ways they were like brothers. He had no loyalty to Big Jim but there
was
something owed between them. Big Jim had played both sides in the war peddling guns and treachery for gold. Before he had become what he was now, Peabody had been a deserter, rapist and a plunderer who would have hanged had not Big Jim intervened. Not because of any shred of sentiment but because he needed Lance to sell stolen army guns to the Indians. The rest and what had happened in the wild dark mountains afterwards, was just a flickering dull memory in his bestial brain.

The man that hired Lance Peabody sat down for breakfast in his fine, well-appointed parlor. The huge plate of food that had been set before him on delicate china plates tasted like sawdust. He barked at his Chinese manservant to bring him more coffee. Through eyes reddened from late nights and the opium pipe he opened the pages of The Territorial Enterprise. He scanned over the other pages passing over, ‘
Another prostitute found strangled’
, until he came to a small article.

Mysterious corpse found under boardwalk
.

The body of an unidentified man was found under the boardwalk of the Union Saloon, condition of most a curious nature and looks to be drained of all blood… patrons of the Union Saloon say the man found could be that of one Leonard White who keeps a room on C Street
…

He frowned. “God dammit! Maybe I should have listened to the little shit. It looks like he met up with his
Nosferatu
after all.”

He drained his coffee cup and called for his hat and coat. He was expecting some very special visitors at the train station today; the kind that would not be deterred by a friggin’ undead gambler.

Esmeralda tossed and turned beneath the curtains of her four poster bed. Sleep eluded her and Devlin haunted her dreams. Awake and alone in her bed she could feel him inside her very skin; hear his voice in her head like a brain fever. These past few days she had thrown herself into her work to try to keep her anxiety at bay. She had asked for Annie’s advice again but was met by silence. She even tried to read the cards for herself but when she laid them out they made no sense and came across gibberish. She put them aside, dressed and then called for her breakfast. Instead of the maid, Jamie burst through her doorway.

“Jamie whatever is wrong?”

Jamie hopped from one foot to another. “You best come down, Miss Esmeralda. We got us a ruckus outside.”

“What kind of ruckus Jamie?”

“It’s them Temperance Ladies, you know the ones that walk the boardwalk. Well, they come with their hatchets they have.”

“Go get Kuong. I‘ll be right down. Be ready you might have to go for the sheriff.” She paused then smiled “No, wait, I have a better idea, go get a few bottles of my finest champagne.”

Esmeralda smoothed her robe over her nightdress, checked her pistol and then stowed it in her pocket.

What a fine way to start the day
she thought.

When she entered the parlor the customers were milling around pushing aside the curtains to look outside. Jamie stood at her side as she opened her front door to meet the pinched face and hateful stare of Sara Fenn.

Miss Fenn, along with a dozen or so black garbed frumps, were marching back and forth in front of her salon with their signs held high.

With such inflammatory slogans as;
Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine
,
Demon Drink, Beer is Good For Cancer
and
Gambling is in League with the Devil
.

“Step away from my door, Miss Fenn. You and your followers are not welcome unless you want a spin at the roulette wheel or a shot of whiskey.”

Sara Fenn snorted rudely. The black plume on her bonnet appeared to tremble with ire. “Your Salon is a festering wound of Satan bound on corrupting good citizens!”

Esmeralda laughed. “Well then, what does that make me, Miss Fenn? The Devil’s Jade? Satan’s Whore?  I’ve heard it all before and I would ask you to leave peaceably.”

Sara Fenn took a step back, “I knowed it from the moment I laid eyes on you on the stage and here you are a vile corrupter of men promoting drunkenness and gambling and keeping company with the Devil himself!”

She raised her axe.

“Sisters, follow me! Let us smash the doors of this den of iniquity.”

She surged forward. Esmeralda stepped aside.

“Ready boys?” Then she called out the suffragette. “Well, Miss Fenn, if you won’t drink my whiskey maybe you might like my champagne.”

Kuong helped by Jamie, popped the cork off a couple of champagne bottles and sprayed Sara Fenn and her mob. A good healthy dose filled her mouth and drenched her clothes. She skidded to a halt sputtering and spitting. Esmeralda and her salon patrons laughed and hooted at the sight of the drenched suffragettes.

At a loss for words, Sara Fenn whirled and fled taking her soggy entourage with her. Esmeralda watched them go them and then went back upstairs to her rooms where she closed the door and leaned against it. She could feel a pressure building all around. She felt she desperately needed to be able see into things clearly. This silly incident with Sara Fenn and her reformers and the visit from Big Jim was just the beginning.

Maybe if she detached herself?
 
Pretended she was reading the cards the cards for a stranger?

Esmeralda picked up her tarot deck. She shuffled then lay a down a few only to gather them up again in frustration. She needed an objective view, a fresh look in to the situation and she had heard that Grandmother Woo was a powerful seer. She dressed hastily in a fashionable jade-green walking-dress and matching parasol and then left the salon to make her way down to Chinatown.

When she arrived at the herbalist shop she was not welcomed with open arms but rather with an air of resignation. Grandfather Woo was nowhere in sight and it was a young teenage boy that met her at the door.

“I have come to see Grandmother Woo, I need her to see for me.”

The boy bowed low. “Yes Missy, you come, Grandmother will see you.” He led her through the shop and behind the beaded curtain to the treatment room. Grandmother was there, sitting on a low stool in the corner drinking tea from a delicate china cup as she wrote Chinese characters on a long scroll of paper. She looked up but her face remained expressionless when she saw Esmeralda.

The young boy gestured for Esmeralda to sit down on a low pallet across from Grandmother. The old Chinese woman nodded at her then spoke to the young man in rapid Chinese.  “Grandmother says she knows why you are here; she says she will read for you,” he translated.

Grandmother got up from her stool, walked over to Esmeralda and made a gesture for her to remove her hat. Esmeralda removed her hat pins and placed the hat on the pallet. Grandmother placed her hands on Esmeralda’s curls and delicately felt her head and scalp.

She spoke to the boy.

“Grandmother says you have Buddha bumps, very auspicious, you have much wisdom, very smart. Too many bumps, you are not lucky in love.”

The old woman nodded then moved away. She picked up a bamboo cylinder and shook it. A few long sticks slid out onto the floor mat. They looked like chopsticks but were covered with Chinese symbols and letters.

“They are known as Kua Cim or Chi Chi sticks,” the boy said.

Then Grandmother looked intently at Esmeralda. She spoke softly almost a whisper.

“What does she say?” Esmeralda asked.

The young man bowed his head. “She say the man you love has been with you for many lifetimes, his destiny is hard, cursed by the gods. On the next full moon he will follow you into the belly of the demon and only one of you will come out alive.”

Esmeralda gasped. “What does she mean? What Dragon?”

Grandmother shook her head and backed away.  The young man made her a short bow. “You go now, missy.”

Esmeralda fished a gold coin out of her purse and handed it to him. She needed to know more but could sense that Grandmother would not be forthcoming. Esmeralda put her hat on secured it with a gold hatpin and walked out of the shop.

She didn’t look back, but once she was outside on the street, tears burned behind her eyes and her corset felt like a vise.  She’d vowed that she would not shed a tear for him but was betrayed by the watery flow that blurred her vision and ran in rivulets down her cheeks. She reached into her reticule and took out a lace handkerchief and dried her eyes. 

This needed to end now!

Esmeralda took a deep breath and walked in the direction of the train depot. She would buy a ticket out of this godforsaken town today without delay.

I will stop the dreadful tendrils of fate from ensnaring us. This way Devlin will survive,
she thought.

She hurried over to E Street. The train was just pulling in as she reached the ticket office. 

“Where to?” asked the clerk.

“San Francisco,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Big Jim Diamond stroll past her towards the train platform. She paused and looked at him.

“Miss?”

She backed away from the window. She watched as a large man in a buffalo hide coat stepped off the train to meet Big Jim. “Oh my God!” Her heart thumped rapidly she knew that foul, subhuman excuse for a man. Devlin had killed him! She was sure of it! Terror filled her breast and she gathered up her reticule and fled.

Once she reached her house on B Street she called immediately for Jamie.

“Yes, Ma’am?” He hesitated and then asked, “Are you okay?”

Esmeralda scribbled a note on a piece of paper.

“Jamie, I want you to take this to Devlin Winter.”

Jamie frowned.  “Are you sure Ma’am?”

“Please, Jamie, do as I ask.”

Jamie beat it down to the boardwalk. He asked around from saloon to saloon until he finally came upon Devlin, in the Silver Queen, playing poker with a couple of cowboys.

Devlin looked up from his cards as Jamie burst into the room and then came over to his table. He knew the boy had no love for him so his Angel must have sent him. His thoughts were confirmed when Jamie thrust a crumpled piece of paper at him. 

“Miss Esmeralda sent me with this note fer ya.”

Devlin took the paper. He scanned it briefly.
Peabody alive?
He had personally driven a stake through that animal’s heart himself, that son of a bitch should have stayed dead and saved him the trouble of having to kill him twice. He tucked the note into his vest pocket and poured himself another shot of whiskey.