Night of the Wolves (6 page)

Even him.

He tamped down the thought. He’d decided long ago that his life was meant to be a solitary one.

“You think the boardinghouse is safe?” Brendan asked as they walked together along the street.

Cody shook his head. “It’s a boardinghouse. Its business is opening its door to strangers.”

“Someone in there knows something, though. There are
crosses all over the place, garlic festooned around the window.”

“Doesn’t matter. Milo has already been in there,” Cody said.

“Maybe we need more crosses,” Brendan suggested.

“What we need is to kill Milo,” Cody said, and kept walking.

Brendan looked after him. “Right. And then pierce his heart, chop off his head and burn the body to ash.”

A
S THE TWO OF THEM
walked back to the boardinghouse, Cody thought back to how he and Brendan had met. It had started with the murderer Aldridge had needed his help in stopping. He could still remember bending over the first two bodies….

The first of the two latest victims was lying on his back, a look of abject terror on his face. His wife was in worse condition. Her tormentor must have played with her first, because her eyes were closed, as if she had clenched them hard against the sight of her impending death.

Both bodies bore stab marks about the chest and abdomen, but neither was lying in the expected pool of blood, and both were curiously white.

“It beats everything I’ve seen,” Aldridge said quietly, watching as Cody moved the woman’s hair aside to reveal the marks he’d been sure he would find. Cody hesitated, wondering just how much of the truth Aldridge might be able to accept.

The evidence was actually encouraging, at least as far as putting an end to the killing spree went. He was pretty sure he was looking at a rogue killer, someone who was trying to blend in with the population of the city. The stab
marks had been made to fool whoever found the bodies, and it was only luck—good for Aldridge, maybe not so good for Cody himself—that someone had connected these killings to the case Cody had put an end to.

Cody looked up at Aldridge. “I’ll go after your killer, sir, but it’s unlikely I’ll be able to bring him in for trial. This…person will fight to the death.”

Aldridge stared at him. “You do what you have to do. I need you to catch this man.”

“I can’t be held to any curfew.”

“You’ll have free rein,” Aldridge promised.

That night, Cody prowled the streets.

He tried the bars first, but found nothing unusual. Then, as he walked along Dauphine Street, he noticed a gate standing ajar. Curious, he pushed the gate open and stepped into a dark courtyard.

He scanned the courtyard quickly, then winced, seeing what looked like a pile of clothing off to one side. He hurried over and found the body of a young woman, still warm to the touch, but dead.

Quite, quite dead.

Still warm, he thought. Which meant the killer might still be near.

He heard piano music and a songstress at work coming from one of the nearby restaurants, so he walked over to see what he might find.

He stood by the bar and sipped bourbon as he looked around the room. Several soldiers were at a table close to the piano, where they watched a dark-haired and quite beautiful woman as she played and sang, all the while flirting openly with them.

As he watched, the songstress rose, whispered in the ear
of one of the men, then left him sitting and staring hungrily after her as she walked toward the back and the alley Cody knew ran behind the building.

As subtly as he could, he followed.

He had to stop the death toll. Now.

She was waiting, leaning against the wall, a wicked smile upon her face as she waited with supreme anticipation. He stared at her for a moment, realizing with a sick feeling that she wasn’t the intended victim at all.

“Excuse me?” she said, surprised when she saw Cody, and not the young man with whom she’d been flirting.

“Good evening,” he said.

She smiled and shivered, though it was far from cold. “Lovely night, actually. I’m Vivien La Rue. How do you do?”

She stretched out a hand, and when he took it, she allowed her fingers to wander over his flesh.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, playing along. “There’s a killer loose in the city.”

He glanced toward the door. The young soldier had yet to emerge, but it might not be much longer until he showed. This would have to happen quickly.

“Are you interested in other sorts of…entertainment?” he asked softly.

She laughed and sized him up. “What might you have in mind? And what are you offering?”

She moved closer and slid her arms around his neck, gazing up into his eyes. Something she saw there seemed to startle her, and she started to pull away.

He didn’t let her. She let out a hissing sound and threw back her head, lips receding, teeth extending. She started to aim for his throat.

But he was ready. And he was extremely strong. He slit her throat, instantly severing the jugular. Trying to avoid the spilling blood, he worked relentlessly, sawing, finally dropping both the body and the head to the ground as he made the final cut. In moments, nothing was left but a pile of ash.

Grateful that the soldier had not yet made an appearance, he hurried out of the alley and straight to Aldridge’s office, where the lieutenant had promised to wait for word.

Cody informed him that the killer had been found and, as he’d predicted, been killed.

“Where’s the body?”

“I’m afraid you won’t find it.” Suddenly, Cody realized Aldridge was looking at someone who was seated behind him, and he cursed himself. He should have sensed the other presence.

He turned quickly to see a lean, dignified man of middle age. Cody recognized him as Brendan Vincent, a one-time brigadier general in the Union army, discharged on medical grounds, who had made his reputation in the Mexican War and was now honored by both sides in the current conflict.

Vincent stood as Aldridge made the introductions and smiled grimly as he shook Cody’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, young man. I need you desperately.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve been having some trouble out West. In Texas.”

Startled, Cody looked at Aldridge.

Aldridge nodded grimly. “Yes, Texas, still a Southern state. But murder is murder, and Brendan is my cousin. He’s made Texas his home since his discharge, and…well, I’ll let him explain for himself.”

“We’ve had a few…incidents recently. Whole towns disappearing, and I think we’re looking at the same kind of killer my cousin tells me you’ve now defeated twice. I’m desperate, Mr. Fox. I need you to come with me.”

Cody winced, looking downward for a moment. Did he really want to go back there? Out West? Where he’d been conceived?

“All right,” he said after a moment. “When do we leave?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Exactly where are we going?” he asked.

“We’re going to Victory, my boy.”

At first he thought Vincent was trying to be poetic. Then it hit him.

“Victory, Texas,” he breathed, and the other man nodded.

Cody swore under his breath, cursing fate.

If there was any place he hated, it was Victory, Texas.

T
HE DREAM CAME UPON
Alex as if she were watching a play. It was as if velvet curtains opened and stage lighting slowly illuminated the scene, a scene she went from watching to starring in. She was lying in her bed at first, but then she rose.

The moonlight outside the window was so tempting. Or it might have been the shadows, like wings, like beckoning arms.

They’d been warned to keep everything locked, but it was such a beautiful night. The outlaws were long gone, had ridden out of town, and the sound of the breeze against the windows was enticing. She wanted to feel the wind. Feel it lift her hair and caress her cheeks. It would be soft
and balmy, as gentle as the moon glow. The breeze would lift the soft cotton of her gown, and she would feel its cool sensation on her flesh.

For a few moments she hovered by her bed, but then, almost as if she were floating, she moved toward the French doors that led out to the balcony and pushed them open.

And there was the moon. Not yet full, but it was a cloudless night, so perhaps that was why the moonlight seemed so strong. From her balcony, she could see virtually the entire town, except she couldn’t really see most of the houses, only the lights here and there where someone was keeping a lantern burning through the night.

She saw the trees, the branches that had created the beckoning shadows she had been unable to resist. Though the breeze was gentle, the branches bowed and waved as if they were in fact greeting her. She slid her hands over the rail at the balcony’s edge and felt the wood beneath her hands, warm and supportive, as if it were something living. The air moved around her, and she blushed, even though she was alone, at the way she was seduced by the erotic feel of it. The fabric of her gown, like the shadows, seemed to touch her, to stroke her with arousing fingers.

She needed to turn away.

To go inside, to lock the door.

To close away these feelings.

But even as the thought gained a foothold in her mind, the shadows continued touching her, their touch palpable, sensuous. It was as if they had substance, as if they could take her and whisk her away into the night. The shadows were taking form, as if they were giant birds, or even bats, as if they had talons and could pluck her up from where she stood and fly with her, their prisoner, into the night.

Into true darkness.

A scream froze in her throat. The dream had become a nightmare. She reminded herself that she was strong, that she knew how to fight, how to shoot. But she had no weapon, and even if she did, shooting a shadow would be of no avail, and fighting the wind was a futile task.

And then
he
was there.

Just as suddenly as he had appeared that day. The tall man in the railroad duster and the hat dipping low over golden eyes.

He stood straight and firm against the wind, defying the darkness.

He closed his arms around her and swept her close, and she was uncomfortably aware of the intense way he was looking down at her. His eyes, which in reality were hazel, were glowing with a true golden splendor against the night. It was like being touched by the sun, and heat coursed through her, warming her face, her limbs, and stirring an arousal she’d never experienced before.

He walked with her into her room and gently set her down on the bed. Then he touched her cheek with a tenderness that made her catch her breath, but when she would have stroked his face and drawn him to her, he rose.

“Always fight the shadows, and never listen to the wind,” he whispered. “And don’t worry. I’ll be here,” he added, as if it were a vow.

Despite the words, though, he stepped away from her and stood at the foot of her bed. “Never open your door. Believe me as you believe in God, Miss Gordon, and do not open your door,” he warned her.

She wanted to speak.

She wanted to draw him back to her.

She wanted to forget that her father had been killed, that there had ever been a past and would ever be a future.

She wanted him back.

But she couldn’t form words. It was a dream, of course. A dream turned nightmare, turned dream again. Because she was safe, and she knew it.

Because he was there.

“Sleep now, Miss Gordon.”

“Alex,” she managed to say.

“Sleep, Alex.”

And so she did.

W
HEN SHE OPENED
her eyes, she was alone.

Of course.

And yet she could remember every detail of the dream.

In the cold light of day, she groaned aloud, wishing she didn’t remember with quite so much clarity.

She rose impatiently and turned toward the doors to the balcony. They were closed, the curtains drawn. And it was the light of day seeping in, not moonlight punctuated by dancing shadows.

Then she noticed the door that connected her room to the one beyond. Once that room had been the nursery, but it had long ago been converted to a guest room.

She hesitated, her heart thundering, then set her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it.

The door was unlocked.

She pushed it open.

The bed was unmade, as if awaiting the maid’s attention. And lying on the bench at the foot of the bed were saddlebags. Saddlebags engraved with a name. Cody Fox, M.D.

B
EULAH WAS SINGING
when Alex went down to the dining room.

“Good morning, Miss Alex,” she said happily.

Alex cast her a curious glance. She wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as Beulah. She’d arrived in town to discover that vicious outlaws were decimating the region, she’d nearly become a victim herself, and then there had been that truly bizarre dream. “You’re certainly cheerful this morning,” Alex said to the older woman.

“Honey, I’m alive and kicking and breathing. That makes for a good morning in my book. And not only that, but I see hope for the future.” Beulah grinned, pulling out a chair for Alex. “Come on, sit down, honey. You’re still tired from the journey out here, that’s what’s bothering you. Didn’t you sleep well?”

Despite herself, Alex was certain she was blushing again. It was absurd—she knew the strange events of the night before had been all in her mind. And yet…he’d been right there. The door between the rooms hadn’t even been locked.

But she knew the difference between a dream and reality, and she had been dreaming, as strange as it had been. Then again, what
hadn’t
been strange since she had arrived?

Until now, she’d never seen anything odd about unlocked doors.

This had always been a trusting household. Her father had liked people and possessed a natural ability to size them up. No thief had ever come in and stolen anything.

The thieves terrorizing their little piece of the West right now didn’t seem to be interested in the usual ill-gotten gains. They were after souls, it seemed.

Where on earth had that thought come from?

She dismissed it quickly, shuddering despite herself.

“I slept okay,” Alex answered at last. “Maybe coffee will make the world look brighter,” she added hopefully.

“Right here, honey,” Beulah said, setting a cup in front of her. Her father had chosen wisely. No delicate china here. Their dinnerware was attractive, but of a thicker mold. The cup she lifted was sturdy, and the coffee was delicious.

“Beulah, you perform wonders out here,” Alex said, the compliment heartfelt.

“Well, thank you, child. And what, may I ask, are you planning to get up to today?” Beulah asked, eyeing the tailored shirt, riding breeches and boots Alex had chosen.

She meant to see where her father had died, but she decided not to mention that fact to Beulah.

“Oh, I just want to do a bit of riding.”

“Riding,” Beulah said, disturbed. “Now, Miss Alex, you’ve seen what can happen around here.”

“I’m going to coerce Deputy Hinton into being my escort, and I’ll be careful,” Alex promised.

Beulah pointed a finger at her. “You promise me, you swear on the souls of your blessed parents, that you’ll be back before sunset.”

Outlaws could and did attack by daylight as well as in the dark, Alex thought, but she decided to humor Beulah. “Yes, ma’am.”

Beulah sat back, eyeing the compact Colt six-shooter, caliber .58, that Alex had strapped around her hip.

“You didn’t forget how to shoot while you were off in the big city, did you?” she asked.

“I swear I remember how to shoot, so you mustn’t worry,” Alex assured her.

Beulah poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table, smiling slowly. “Just so long as you’re careful. You’re all we’ve got now, and keeping you safe is mighty important to us. Your father was a wonderful man. He was always so wise and so clever—” her smile faded “—until Linda.”

“Where
is
my father’s widow, anyway? Did he really marry her? Legally, I mean. According to his letters, it was quite a whirlwind thing.”

Beulah let out a sniff. “First time I ever saw your father thinking with his pants.”

“Beulah!”

“I’m sorry for the indelicacy, but it’s true. No sooner had he met her than he stopped coming home—he’d be sleeping over at the saloon every night.”

“So she was…working there? What was she? A pianist? A hostess, or maybe a bartender?”

“Whore,” Beulah said flatly.

Alex digested that for a minute before speaking. “Beulah, we’ve both learned over the years that everyone has to survive somehow. My father was a good man, and if he fell in love with Linda, she’s probably a fine woman. But where is she?”

Beulah snorted. Alex lifted a brow, and Beulah told her, “Your father weren’t never a complete fool. He left her a little bit of money, and she took it and moved out. He made sure with a big Eastern lawyer that the property and everything else went to you. Linda found out just how ironclad your father’s will was, and she didn’t stay to butt her head against any walls.”

“All right, the property is mine, but she
was
married to my father,” Alex said. “Surely, she must know she’s welcome here anytime.”

“Speak for yourself, Miss Alex,” Beulah said. “That one—she’s a tough cookie. I don’t know what went on while your father was alive. Maybe she really loved him—he was certainly worthy of love. But since he died…well, here it is. Some women are whores because they like being whores. It’s addictive. They like pretty things. And they like men.”

“Linda is back working at the saloon?” Alex asked.

“When she’s in town. She comes and goes,” Beulah told her.

“Oh, I see.”

In fact she didn’t really see at all. She thought of her long journey out, the train cars crammed with people that began to reek after the first hours, followed by the stuffy jolting carriage and the chubby banker who had passed gas all the way. She thought of the men fresh off the cattle drives, mud-encrusted and sweaty, and the nasty way some of them had of not seeming to know there was such a thing as a toothbrush. How could women choose to sleep with such men? Were whores allowed to force their customers to bathe first?

“She wasn’t there—yesterday,” Alex noted.

“I told you. She comes and goes,” Beulah said.

Alex started to rise from the table.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Beulah asked.

“I told you, I’m going to ride around, just get the feel of being home again,” Alex said. “It will be fine. I’m going to walk down to the sheriff’s office and get Dave to go with me.”

“Not until you’ve had breakfast. You just relax. Tess is in the kitchen, and I’ll have some eggs out for you in a flash. I made corn muffins this morning, too, and you are not leaving until you’ve told me just exactly how delicious they are. That nice Mr. Fox and his friend Mr. Vincent said they’d never had better.”

Alex frowned, looking at Beulah. “They are up already? Where are they now?”

“Honey, they were up bright and early. But I don’t know where they are now.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I don’t put my nose where it shouldn’t be,” Beulah told her firmly. “What those fellows choose to do is their business. I have no right to pry.”

Alex had to laugh. “You don’t mind grilling me as if I were a prisoner!”

Beulah looked at her sternly. “Honey child,
you
are my business. And bless the Lord, those fellows are like manna from above, the first paying customers in weeks, so don’t you go questioning them, either, missy—we want those men around here just as long as we can get them to stay. Now, sit tight. I’ll have your breakfast in two shakes, and then you can hurry down to see Dave and get up to whatever
extremely careful
adventure you’ve got planned for the day.”

C
ODY AND
B
RENDAN
were both well aware, as they neared the Apache camp, that they had been followed for a long time.

Victory, like its now ghost-town neighbors Brigsby and Hollow Tree, sat near the winding Little Red River. An offshoot of the Little Red, Dead Man’s Creek, meandered north through the plain and on into brush and forest land, to the sudden outcrop of cliffs that surrounded Tall Feather’s main camp. In the past, the Apache people had been known to move, following the buffalo trails, and sometimes they still did. But Tall Feather’s main camp, here in the cliff country, had been established for decades. It was a perfectly secure setup. Tall Feather’s warriors could see for miles around and were stalking them now from the heights.

Cody had expected the escort, but he wasn’t expecting any actual trouble, even though the Apache were generally regarded as warlike, and they had a complex social network. According to Brendan, who had spent time in Texas and knew the man, Chief Tall Feather was part of the Jicarilla tribe, the Llaneros band and his own clan, which he had named for the area in which he chose to live; in English, it translated as the Cave Warriors, and he was their supreme authority.

These days, Tall Feather had chosen the richness of life over the glory of warfare. In fact, from all that he had learned, Cody didn’t believe that Tall Feather had ever been responsible for cold-bloodedly murdering anyone, including Alex’s father. If he went to war, if he attacked riders or a wagon train, he would not deny what he had done.

“There,” Brendan said quietly, nodding in the direction he meant. “The chief is waiting to meet us.”

They were nearing the vast array of deer-and buffalo-skin tents, many adorned with antlers, feathers and other trophies from the hunt, that marked Tall Feather’s camp. A path led through the camp, and at the end of the path stood an extremely large tepee.

A man stood in front of it, as still as the cliffs themselves, his face set in an expression that told them nothing of his feelings.

Cody noted that the warriors who had watched them from above had descended a path down the face of the cliff and were now following them, six men on horseback, silent and orderly.

Tall Feather did not have an intermediary speak for him. He waited for them to dismount directly before him, by which time the entire tribe had gathered around. Warriors, stone-faced, stood without hostility, but at the ready should there be any threat to their chief. Women hovered behind the men; children looked out around their mothers’ knees.

“Tall Feather,” Brendan said, “I have brought you my friend Cody Fox, who has come to help us all with the evil that has invaded this land we share so peacefully. May we speak with you?”

At last the chief moved, merely inclining his head. That seemed to be the signal for two of his warriors to take their horses as they dismounted. Cody nodded his thanks, and the young warrior who took the reins gave him a slight smile in return.

Tall Feather preceded them into the tepee, where a central fire burned, the smoke escaping through a shaft at
the peak. Tall Feather’s tent was large, and Cody saw sleeping pallets and skins all around the edge. Tall Feather had many children, it appeared.

He sat before the fire, indicating that they should join him. Something bubbled in a pot that hung over the fire. It smelled oddly like coffee, Cody thought.

The chief was dressed handsomely in hand-sewn and beaded buckskin, a band around his forehead keeping his long braided hair from his face. Cody estimated that the man had to be in his sixties, but his posture was so erect and his muscles so honed that they were at odds with the reality. His face, however, was deeply lined, and there were many gray strands in his long black hair.

“We are living in grave times,” Tall Feather said, staring at Cody. “I am anxious to hear what you can do to help.”

The man definitely didn’t need an interpreter. His English was perfect.

Cody spoke carefully. “Chief, what I hope to do is root out the evil that my friend Brendan has spoken of. To do that, we must first find the heart of that evil. It’s my belief that this man, Milo, is more than your usual outlaw. So no matter how brave, strong and selfless your men may be in battle, they simply aren’t prepared to fight this particular enemy.”

To Cody’s surprise, Tall Feather smiled. “You need not be so careful in your words, Cody Fox. You are not speaking to one of your reporters.”

Cody smiled in return. “I’m talking about a different kind of being. Something diseased and…not human.”

Tall Feather nodded. “In our culture, the Black Sky and the Earth Mother came together and created our Great Spirit, who we call Hascin. When a man or maid is ill,
ghosts will offer them fruit, and if they accept, they will go on and enter the new world. If they do not, they will return to us. If they eat of the fruit and die, we take them carefully to their burial place. The dead are tended reverently, clad in their best. The horse of the dead man is slain, and his belongings are dispersed. The funeral party takes a different route back from the burial site, because we believe in ghosts, and our ghosts do not always come to plant a gentle kiss on the cheek of a loved one. Our ghosts sometimes come with vengeance in mind, angry over some wrong that was done to them in life, and they can take many forms, perhaps the coyote or the bear or the mountain lion.”

Tall Feather paused, and Cody nodded silently, certain that it wasn’t his time to speak yet.

After a moment Tall Feather nodded, as well, satisfied that Cody accepted the way of the Cave Warriors. Then he went on.

“At first I thought that ghosts had come in the form of these outlaws, an army of ghosts, our enemies from years gone past,” he said.