Devlin's Curse (12 page)

Devlin approached a dark alley, one that ran between two saloons, and reached into his black duster and pulled out his sword. He could smell something lurking there in the shadows. He sensed the presence of diseased vermin who would benefit from extermination. He stepped down into the steep alley and moonlight flashed on a gleam of guns. He whirled and dodged. A bullet tore through him with a searing pain.

Damn Peabody! He’d forgotten that Son of a Bitch’s calling card of garlic coated bullets!

He swung his sword in a wide arc and felt it slice flesh. A severed head flew down the alley like a cannonball. More bullets whizzed by him as another man fired at him. Then Devlin was upon him. When the gunman tried to flee, Devlin’s blade sliced him from shoulder to stern and he crumpled to the ground. He nudged the bodies with the toe of his boot. Not a twitch.

That was good because you could never tell with Peabody’s kind,
he thought.

The bullet hole in his shoulder burned like the very Devil.  Those two bastards that lay in pieces in the alley were just flunkies, sacrificial lambs, crawfish sent to smoke out his weaknesses. 

This time around he would take his time with that Sasquatch, Peabody. He would make sure that the beast stayed dead. 

However, now, he had another problem.

It was a singular feeling.

He experienced pain as blood dripped steadily down his arm.  He needed a styptic; a rare type of elixir that only a sorcerer, or sorceress, could administer.

Chapter Eighteen

The Hunt

A
knock on her back door woke Esmeralda from a deep sleep. After nights of tossing and turning she had finally surrendered and added a few drop of laudanum to her nightly tonic of Demotic Blood. Groggy, she pulled on a silk robe, and went to the door. She opened it no more than a crack. Devlin stood there and for a moment she had the urge to slam the door in his face. Then she saw what she thought was the shine of wet blood on his clothes. 

“Devlin? My God, what’s happened?” 

He raised his arm. “Peabody, and his damn garlic bullets! I can’t stop the bleeding. I need some of your healing ministrations, Angel”

Although hesitant, Esmeralda opened the door. She led Devlin into her treatment room. “Sit down and let me take a look.”

Devlin removed his long duster, his coat and shirt.  The bullet had entered his left shoulder and blood seeped slowly and continuously. The flesh around it was trying to regenerate but unsuccessfully. Esmeralda felt from the front of the wound to the back of his shoulder. 

“There’s no exit wound. The bullet is still inside you. I am going to have to remove it.”

Devlin did as she instructed and lay back on the narrow treatment table. She opened a drawer filled with surgical instruments, sorted through them then took out a long pair of forceps, and a wad of cotton. 

“Those are wicked looking things,” he said.

Esmeralda smiled and set them aside.

“No more than you deserve” Then got a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cabinet. She poured Devlin a shot. Then she held it up to his lips.

“
No,
” he said. 

“Are you sure? I have to dig into your shoulder to get the bullet out. It will be painful.” 

“No, I welcome the pain. It’s a thread, a shadow sensation, of my lingering humanity.” 

Esmeralda smiled again at his dramatic words.

“That’s a lot of hogwash. You seek out trouble I have no sympathy for you. Go ahead and lie in your bed of nails!”

She downed the extra shot of whiskey herself.

Devlin stared at her.

Then reached forward and pulled her to him for a deep kiss of her whiskey flavored lips. She stiffened for a brief moment then returned his kiss with passion of her own. He wanted to continue but she pulled away. “Stop, I have to get this bullet out before it festers.”

It was Devlin’s turn to smile. He lay back down and let Esmeralda poke and prod the bloody wound. Seconds later she cried out.

“I have it!”

She held up the forceps. Clenched between them was a large 45 slug. She dropped it into a basin then rinsed it clean.

“Silver…”

Devlin nodded. “And no doubt rolled in raw garlic. The bastard did his homework.” 

He looked down at the wound. It still seeped slowly. Esmeralda went back to the cabinet and took out a jar of yellow powder. She poured it into the wound. After a matter of seconds the wound began to close.

“Annie?”

She nodded. “Yes, one of her magic styptic’s designed for special wounds.”  She turned away and could feel his gaze on her as she crossed the small room to gather up some cotton bandages.

“Must you torture me further with the swish of your silk covered hips? I find I am hungry for what lies beneath them,” he said.

“You’re my patient Devlin. Behave yourself.”

“So what now, Angel?”  he asked. “Am I out of favor? Will you banish me from your castle? Come here, I desire you.”

Esmeralda paused. Then slowly turned around, she shook her head. “No Devlin, I am resolved in this. As soon as I bandage your wound, you must leave.”

Devlin ignored her. As she returned to her task he rose from the table and slid his arms around her. He kissed the back of her neck and Esmeralda sighed. She arched her back in pleasure as he slid his hands under her robe. His hands caressed her thighs before they slid towards her breasts. He pushed his hips into her silk covered derrière, his hard cock pressing through the layers of fabric. His fingers moved to her womanly petals. They were already drenched and moist. She wanted to protest to tell him that this must not happen but all that escaped her lips was a moan. Devlin lifted her robe and unbuttoned his trousers and in one smooth move he entered her from behind. For a moment he paused rocking her to him. His hands cupped her breasts kneading their sensitive tips.

“Don’t stop, Devlin. Don’t stop.”

His answer was to pull himself out to the very entrance of her then drive into her with force over and over again. Esmeralda could do nothing but grasp the edges of the medical cabinet as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over her. Devlin made love to her with a passion fierce and tender, dominant and submissive and when they reached their peak together neither wanted to admit that the clouds had parted to reveal the true nature of their association. 

Afterwards when they left the treatment room they lay down together in her carved Chippendale bed. For just that moment nothing existed but the two of them and they clung to that.  Esmeralda felt she could no longer hold out against his will. Her resolve crumbled.

He has wrapped himself around my soul. Will I have the courage to ride this dark horse into Hell? To see Devlin and his quest to the end,
she thought.

When he started to speak she put her finger to his lips to silence him. There would be words enough to come but for now they needed to just hold each other against the breaking dawn.

Outside, on the streets that never slept, Jamie hunted for Dahlia. He went looking from saloon to saloon until he came to the Delta.

An unlikely place
, he thought.

Nevertheless he went inside.  He looked around the main room of the saloon, when he did not see Dahlia he opened a door and peeked into the elegantly appointed back room where a serious cockfight was taking place. The high rollers of the town rubbed shoulders with coarse, bearded miners, everyone pushing and shoving to place their bets. Bets that they hoped would be on the winner. Feathers flew as a red and white cock, hackles slashing, came together in midair. Through the haze of blue cigar smoke and jostling men he spied Dahlia all gussied up in a pink colored silk dress. She was picking the pocket of the mining superintendent of the Ophir Mine.

The little minx! Some things never change
, he thought.

He made his way over to her. Dahlia spied him and frowned, she waved her hand for him to beat it.

Jamie mouthed the words for her to come over to him. Dahlia shook her head, “No. I ain’t. I ain’t gonna budge no sirree!” she said.

Jamie stood and waited patiently.

She relented and came over to him. “Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Miss Esmeralda’s been asking after you,” he said.

Dahlia tossed her head. “I ain’t going back to the Salon. I’ve got me some new business here so scram!”

Jamie stood steadfast. He had held a secret crush on Dahlia since he had brought her to Esmeralda’s back door. He also knew she was one of them, like that gambler Devlin that pestered Miss Esmeralda. Jamie himself had once been one of the forgotten but he had scratched and clawed his way in this harsh town so he would not end up like his mother, a hollow empty shell. He had acquired the gift of single-minded purpose and with that he grasped Dahlia by one of her slender arms and pulled her out of the room. She wriggled and protested but no one noticed.

“Get yer, hands off en me! I ain’t going nowheres with you.”

When they were outside he let her go. He tugged off his hat and apologized. “I’m real sorry, Miss Dahlia, but Miss Esmeralda needs you.”

Dahlia looked up into his earnest face and her anger faded.

Ain’t nobody ever called me Miss Dahlia. Jamie is good. A genuine good person who ain’t been poisoned by evil, greedy and heartless trash
, she thought.

Nevertheless, she placed her hands on her hips. “Is that so? well what’s in it fer me?”

Jamie sighed. “I don’t rightly know. I was just sent to fetch you. My guess is that Miss Esmeralda wants to help that gambler Devlin Winter.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened. She had not expected to join forces with anyone let alone Devlin’s woman. Ligea had tossed her out like a field slave. Devlin would need all the help he could get against the Zombie and his rotten pack of killers. Wordlessly she linked arms with Jamie and let him lead her away. As they walked down the dark streets together she was acutely aware of him beside her, young, fresh and full of red coursing blood. Temptation rose high inside of her. At the corner of C and Union Street she suddenly stopped and pulled away. 

Jamie looked down. “What’s the matter?”

Dahlia shook her head. Inside she was fighting her hunger. “You go on ahead, I will catch up with ya come morning.”

“ Honest?”

“ Honest” she replied.

Reluctantly Jamie watched her go. He could not force her to come with him. He could only hope that she was as good as her word.

Lance woke up on the dirt floor of Wing’s Opium Den; a ramshackle dive that was really just a glorified tent that Wing had pitched on the outskirts of E Street. He felt energized and ravenous. He had vague memories of swilling a couple of gallons of Cactus wine, raping a Paiute squaw and tearing a trail through every bughouse and shebang on the Barbary Coast. He lurched to his feet and drew his coat up around his ears. The other wretched occupants of Wing’s tent slept on. Slack jawed and stupefied lumps, on grimy pallets. 

Wing, an emaciated old Chinaman with long stringy hair and a handful of yellow teeth in his head sat cross legged at the entrance of the tent. He was frying what looked to be skinned rodents on bamboo sticks. He looked up when Lance walked by. “You want?” 

Lance tossed him a coin. Just the thing to get his appetite piqued! He thought. He left the tent munching on a half cooked fried rat, oily juices running down his dirty face. When he finished he wiped his fingers on his coat, spit out some tiny bones and went in search of his crew.

He found them in a shanty on D Street snoring off the effects of bad whisky. After a brief count he noticed two missing but did not give it much credence. They were a wild bunch not worth a shit anyhow. 

“Wake yer god damned asses up!” he shouted, as he kicked them awake. He was met by mumbles. “Yes, Boss”.  When he had their attention he spoke. “We got us some work ta do, I want ya ta find a sourdough, name of Boots, and bring him to me at Wings in Chinatown by noon.”

They nodded and shuffled out of the shanty. Lance went in a different direction, towards C Street; he sniffed the air and pulled a sliver of a mirror from inside his coat. His rat snack had made him sharp set for another type of flesh and he had a hunch on where he might find some.

Boots came down from the hills with a spring in his old bones. The night before last he had found a thumbnail size nugget outside of the entrance to his mine. A little stake that would keep him in whiskey and bacon for a week! He headed toward the boardwalk and his favorite watering hole, the Red Garter Saloon, to quench his thirst. He tied Daisy to the hitch rail, straightened and dusted off his coat and went inside.

An hour later, happily sauced, he ambled out whistling “Dixie”.  A sudden melancholy overtook him and he stopped short. Vivid memories of his childhood swam through his mind. He remembered skipping and playing in the fields of his family’s tobacco farm in South Carolina and fishing in the old stream behind the smoke house. He vaguely noticed a dark shape pass him on the boardwalk.

The next moment a burlap bag was thrown over his head and he was bludgeoned into unconsciousness. As his mind drifted through the darkness, he saw the face of a kindly old woman. Her dark raisin eyes bore into him with pity as she puffed on her corncob pipe. “Don’t be afeared “ she said. “ Yer mammy and pappy’s waiting fer ya up yonder.”

Daisy threw up her head, ears pricked, as she watched her master being dragged away. She brayed mournfully and pulled at her lead-rope but to no avail.

At the very end of E Street, next to the cemetery, stood the establishment of Thaddeus Meeks Undertaker. Thaddeus was a solitary man more at home with the dead than the living. Tall and cadaverous he dressed in a rusty black suit and a stovepipe hat, which he rarely removed. After he had completed his work for the day he enjoyed taking walks through the cemetery at dusk. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see the headstones of the dead that he had personally prepared for their final rest. It was there one evening in the twilight, while he was while taking his evening stroll, that he met the widow. She was standing motionless under a skeletal, leafless tree and a long black lace veil covered her face. A shy and self-conscious man, Thaddeus had never been close to a live woman before. Compelled, he approached her. She lifted her veil to reveal a mass of tight curly blond hair, pale white skin and eyes that shone like blue diamonds. He asked if she would like to walk with him and they set off together through the vast cemetery. She was a librarian, she had said which interested him, for he had a love of books as well, especially, he’d told her, those written by Edgar Allan Poe.