Night of the Wolves (9 page)

A
LEX AWOKE WITH THE
oddest feeling. As if she had been…active during the night.

Active?

She sat up, looking around the room.

The garlic strands were in place, the curtains hanging
undisturbed. The French doors were closed—but then, she had seen to it herself that they were closed and locked.

She rose, stretched, and then noticed her feet.

They had been clean when she’d gone to bed. And now…

She lifted her right foot. It wasn’t filthy—not as if she had been walking out in the garden. But there was dirt on it, and she never went to bed with dirt on her feet, because—she hated to get it on her sheets.

A sense of dread filled her, along with a full body blush as someone knocked on the connecting door to the next room.

Someone?

It could only be one person.

She dived toward the trunk at the foot of her bed and the dressing gown that lay there. She slipped the gown around her shoulders just as he called out to her, his voice holding an edge of anxiety.

“Alex?”

“Yes?”

She smoothed her hair back as the door opened and stared at him, wondering just what had gone on during the night.

Her dream
hadn’t
been a dream. It had been a vision. But visions were always of what
might
be. They were a warning, and the future could still be changed.

Had
it changed?

“We have to talk,” he told her gently.

“Oh?”

He took a seat at her dressing table, staring at her. “I’m truly sorry if I was harsh with you yesterday. I was frightened.”

“You? Frightened? I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’re
ever
frightened,” she said.

He smiled. “Am I afraid of death? Not particularly, though I do love living. And am I afraid of facing my enemies? No, because an enemy must always be faced or the battle is lost before it begins. But I can be afraid, I assure you.”

She was still for a moment, and then nodded. “All right, apology accepted. I suppose I might have been a bit hostile in return.”

“A bit.”

She lowered her eyes but allowed herself a careful smile as she sat at the foot of the bed to face him.

“Do you know what happened last night?” he asked her gravely.

She felt as if her stomach were falling to the floor.

Oh, dear God, no!

She looked up at him with dread. He was waiting for her to speak. “I—I might have an idea. I—” She broke off, wincing. “I sometimes…have visions of…things that will happen,
might
happen. I was arrested once because of them. Although, I met President Lincoln because of that, and he’s a wonderful man. I feel so sorry for his wife, though. She’s—”

“Alex,” he interrupted softly.

She blushed and stopped talking. She didn’t normally babble, but she certainly was babbling now. She forced herself back on topic.

“I have an idea, and it has something to do with what you were saying at the town meeting. I confess, I’m not sure I believed you then, or maybe even now, and I don’t remember anything that happened last night after I went
to bed. But the vision I had before…it was beautiful. The night was so perfect. I got up and went out on the balcony, as if someone had entered my mind the way you said…
they
could, and even though all I was doing was standing there, I felt as if I were being caressed, as if I were somehow being…I don’t know, cradled, cared for…I can’t really explain.” She paused and saw that he was watching her gravely. She couldn’t tell if he believed her, but at least he wasn’t mocking her.

“Then you were there,” she said. “You drew me back into the bedroom, and you told me to go to sleep.”

“You can’t let him into your dreams, or your conscious mind, either,” he said.

“I…never meant to. And by him…you mean Milo?”

“Yes, that’s who I believe is behind all of this.”

She let out another breath, looking downward once again. “So you…saved me from him last night?”

“Yes,” he said calmly.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Truly.”

The intensity with which he said it scared her a little. She looked up at him again quickly and cleared her throat.

“You, um, brought me in and told me to go to sleep, right? And…I did.”

The slow grin that teased his lips was genuinely charming, and yet it made her want to smack him. She realized immediately that he wasn’t going to give her a straight answer.

He wanted to see her squirm a bit.

Surely that meant that everything that had happened was innocent, didn’t it?

“Yes, you slept,” he said. “After the incident, of course.”

“I mean, I didn’t…you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” he asked innocently, but then he turned serious. “Here’s the thing that you need to think about, and I hope it scares you, because it should. He was out there somewhere. His power was working. You were his for the taking. You would have done anything he told you to do. Anything. The only reason you are still here and still
you
is because I found you and brought you back inside before he could take full control of you.”

Alex crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “I understand. And I
am
afraid. I need…I need you to teach me how to be strong.”

“You already know how,” he said. “You’re already strong, and now that you’ve seen and you believe, your mind will take over and fight. You’ll be all right. And I’ll be here to make sure of it.”

She blushed again, looking away. “But—”

He rose, cutting her off. “I’ll let you get dressed. I’m afraid it’s going to be another long day.”

He started for the connecting door. He was already dressed—down to the gun belt riding low on his hips and the railroad duster that discreetly held a variety of weapons.

And he was smirking.

“Bastard,” she told him.

His smile broadened, and he left her.

B
EULAH HAD SET UP BREAKFAST
in the kitchen, and everyone sat down to eat together. The meal started off grimly, with everyone focused on the dangers they had escaped in the night and those that were yet to come.

But Jewell and Tess were too full of life to stay de
pressed for long, and they quickly grew flirtatious and silly. Beulah looked on like a proud mother, Bert shook his head in wonder at the craziness, and even Levy smiled now and then.

Poor Levy, Cody thought. He still looked like a haunted man.

At one point Cody glanced over and met the stable man’s eyes.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

Levy nodded and straightened his shoulders. “I’m going to practice my archery today. I never was much of a shot with a gun, but when I was a boy, we actually hunted with bows and arrows. I was decent as a child, and now I’m going to learn to aim true.”

“Good for you,” Cody said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

He smiled at Levy, who trembled slightly but managed to smile back.

It was while they were all sipping the last of their coffee that the knock came at the front door.

Every one of them froze, and Cody thought they were all a lot more spooked than he had imagined.

“I’ll go,” he said.

He strode down the hallway, looking through the glass pane in the top of the door before opening it.

“Dave,” Cody said. “Come on in. We’re just finishing our coffee.”

“Can’t come in, Cody,” Dave said. “Sheriff Granger needs you over at the jail.”

“You’ve got someone in jail?” Cody asked.

Dave shook his head. “Sorry, I mean the office. No one in jail. Not even the usual drunks. But Dolores Simpson is there, with her husband, and she’s acting weird, and he’s
upset, and…well, you’ve got to come. I just don’t know how to tell this story.”

“Just give me a minute to tell the others where I’m going,” Cody said, and turned to walk back to the kitchen, then stopped short. The others had followed him en masse and were hovering just a few feet away.

“Brendan, would you come with me? Everyone else, please go about your lives normally. Just be careful who you let into the boardinghouse, and make sure you’re inside by sunset.” He stared at Alex, who blushed prettily, but nodded.

“Who is Dolores Simpson?” Cody asked as he and Brendan accompanied Dave down the street.

“She and her husband, Bill, have one of the larger farms, just a few miles outside town. They’ve taken in orphaned children for years, not to mention they’ve had just about a litter of their own. One of their daughters died recently—consumption, we’re pretty sure. She didn’t come out once her folks decided they knew what was ailing her.”

They had reached the door of the sheriff’s office, and Cody stopped and looked meaningfully at Brendan.

Brendan arched an eyebrow and asked Dave, “How long ago was this?”

“A month back, maybe. They’re still mourning, that’s for sure. Anyway, Cole thinks you’ve got to hear the Simpsons out. He seems to think it’s mighty important.”

They entered the office. A thin woman was sitting in the chair next to Cole’s desk, a handkerchief in her hands. It was evident that she had been crying. She was probably about forty, and once she had been very pretty. Her hair was streaked with white, but rather than detracting from
her appearance, it only seemed to add to her character. Cody thought she had the look of a gentle soul who had lived a life of hard work, only to reach a place of terrible sadness. A man who had to be her husband, Bill, was perched on the edge of Dave’s desk, across the room. He, too, was thin. He had a bulldog face, pleasant, worn and, now, concerned.

“Ah, Cody, Brendan,” Cole said, rising. “I’d like you to meet the Simpsons, Dolores and Bill. Bill caught Dolores out on their front porch last night. When he asked her what she was doing there, since everyone had been told to stay inside at night, she said she had gone out because Amy, their daughter—who passed away recently—was calling to her.”

Cody shook Bill Simpson’s hand, then hunkered down by Dolores.

She looked at him with tear-reddened eyes.

“They think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I heard her calling to me.”

Cody took her hands. “Mrs. Simpson, lots of folks think
I’m
crazy, too, but I’m not. And you have to listen to me. I warned you last night that you might hear loved ones calling to you, didn’t I?” When she nodded, he went on. “If it happens again, you mustn’t listen.”

“Our daughter is dead,” Bill Simpson said harshly. “Our beautiful daughter is dead. And that’s that.”

Dolores started to cry again. “You don’t understand. It was Amy, and Amy is
not
evil. By the grace of God, Amy is out there somewhere, and I have to find her and let her in. Maybe she’s cold and lonely, afraid. Maybe the evil men are after her.”

Cody stood. “Mr. Simpson, I’m a medical doctor. I’d
like to give your wife a small dose of laudanum. She needs some rest, to sleep long and deeply.”

“Thank you,” Bill Simpson said gratefully.

“I’ll get your bag from the boardinghouse,” Brendan said.

Cody nodded his thanks to Brendan, then knelt down by Dolores again. Instead of trying to convince her that she was mistaken about Amy, he asked her about her other children. They had two boys and two girls of their own, and four more they’d adopted after most of the travelers on a wagon train died of smallpox.

Brendan returned with the bag, and Cody gave Bill a small bottle of laudanum and instructions for dispensing it.

Bill thanked him, then said, “Come on, Dolores. We have to get home. And you need to think about the other children. They need us, and our strength, right now, too. All right, dear?”

Dolores looked at him vaguely. “I’m so tired, Bill.”

“I know. But Dr. Fox here has given us something so you can get to sleep.”

Dolores looked over at Cody. “You’re very kind.”

“And you’re going to be fine,” he assured her.

Bill Simpson took his wife’s arm and led her to the door, while Cody warned him that the laudanum was just to help her through this troubled time, and that he should watch for signs of growing dependence on the drug.

When the door closed behind them, Cody turned to the sheriff.

“Where is Amy buried?” he asked.

“In the cemetery just yonder, of course,” Cole told him, then frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to dig her up,” Cody said.

“What?” Cole demanded, shocked.

“Don’t worry. It should be easy. I’m willing to wager that the ground will be soft—and that her coffin will already have been opened.”

F
EELING AT A LOSS
as she wandered the boardinghouse, Alex decided this was a fine time to indulge in a long, hot bath in the kitchen tub. Beulah was a wonderful watchdog, keeping the room clear of anyone else, and Alex was so delighted to have the time to indulge that she delighted in the soap and shampoo until her skin pruned.

But after her bath she grew restless again. Cody hadn’t come back, though Beulah said that Brendan had come by for his medical bag, assuring her it was for a minor situation, and that they had everything under control.

Alex helped with household chores for a little while, then wandered into the parlor and sat down at the piano.

She thought about the times she had come here and played for her father. Even as a child, she’d been gifted, or so her father had said. She’d never parlayed her talent into a performing career, but she
had
discovered that she loved to teach, and had done her best to infuse her own love of music into children, and even the occasional adult, she had taken on as students in D.C.

But as much as she loved playing, and as passionate as she usually felt about music, today her études and sonatas fell flat on her ears. She switched to battle songs, and let her pent-up energy and anger run through her fingers onto
the keys. When she at last grew weary and restless, she turned to see that the household had gathered behind her to listen. Only Levy was absent.

Her little audience clapped for her—just as they had done whenever her father had dragged them in to listen to her.

She stood, thanking them. “Where’s Levy?” she asked.

“Target practice,” Beulah said, then gave Bert’s shoulder a swat with her dust cloth. “Let’s get back to work. Soon enough Victory is going to be booming again, and we need to be ready.”

As they left, Alex smiled. She wasn’t sure that Victory, Texas, had ever actually “boomed.”

Beulah might have been a mind reader. She suddenly stuck her head back inside the room and said, “You mark my words—that war will end, and displaced people will be heading West. Victory is destined to boom—if we can just keep it alive long enough.”

After Beulah disappeared, Alex ran her fingers over the keys again and then rose. She couldn’t stand being housebound. She had no intention of behaving foolishly, but it was broad daylight, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being locked away from the sun. And not even Cody had suggested that everyone stay locked up by day.

She wondered what was going on down at the jail that was still keeping him busy.

Just as she started from the room, Bert came in. “Someone to see you, Miss Alex.”

“Oh?”

“An old friend.”

She walked out to the entry, and there, standing straight and unwavering, not a glimmer of expression in his eyes
to give away the reason for his visit, was Chief Tall Feather. Behind him stood two of his warriors.

“Chief Tall Feather,” she said welcomingly, then walked over to him, and, despite the fact that he was standing so stiffly, she hugged him, just as she’d done since the first time she’d met him as a child.

She felt him soften as he held her briefly in return, before drawing away.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking past him to smile at his companions. “I thought you hated coming into town?”

“I had to see you,” he said.

“Well, you’re always welcome. What can I get you? I know you like coffee, and Beulah made some wonderful muffins this morning.”

She saw one of the young warriors cast a hopeful glance, quickly concealed, in Tall Feather’s direction. She took the chief’s arm. “Please, come on back to the kitchen.”

He went with her, saying something to his companions in swift Apache that Alex couldn’t follow, but they, too, headed for the kitchen.

To Beulah’s delight, they made swift work of the muffins. Then Tall Feather spoke to the warriors again, and they nodded gravely and went out to the front porch, apparently intending to stand sentinel until Tall Feather was ready to leave.

Alex led Tall Feather to the parlor so they could discuss the reason for his visit in private. There, seated in comfortable brocade chairs, the coffee service on a small table between them, Tall Feather at last seemed to relax.

“I’m delighted to see you here,” Alex said. “My father
valued your friendship, and you’ve always been like an uncle to me.”

The chief let out a sigh. “I know there are those who claim that I or my men killed him, or perhaps a band of rogue Apache, but I have come to tell you that we loved him. We called him Thinking Owl, and we would never have done harm to your father.”

She set a hand on his. “I know that. I never believed such tales. And now, I’m afraid, we know what kind of monster
did
kill my father.”

Tall Feather looked away for a moment, and though he rarely betrayed emotion, she could tell that something was hurting him almost unbearably now.

“I have lost both a child and the fine warrior who loved her,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.”

He met her eyes then, his expression intense. “You must never go out at night,” he said. “And you must believe what Cody Fox tells you. I have seen, and I know.”

She nodded. “I’ll be very careful. I swear.”

“Good. Then I will leave you. I look forward to the time when you will come to us again. Head Woman is anxious to see you, as are all who know you.”

“Soon,” she promised him.

He rose, and she followed suit. As they walked to the front door, she asked him, “Have you seen John Snow and his family recently? I know the sheriff went out to his place, but so much was happening here that I never got the chance to ask if everything was all right.”

“I haven’t been there, but John Snow is no fool. Still, perhaps he needs to be warned of the danger. Talk to your new friends. Perhaps they should visit him.”

“I’ll do that, Tall Feather. I promise.”

He left, and after she watched him and his warriors disappear down Main Street, she realized she could no longer stand to stay in the house.

It was time to get to know her stepmother.

T
HE CEMETERY WASN’T EVEN
a mile from the town, inland from the river on high ground, and it rarely saw any excitement.

But when they arrived later that morning, it was obvious that something had been going on.

Staring at the cemetery with its poor wooden crosses and the scrub that passed for ornamentation, Cody felt a sense of dismay. Several graves looked as if they had been dug up again mere hours ago. And Amy Simpson’s was one.

“Cody, over here.”

Cody turned to see what Brendan was referring to and saw the scattered remains of a half-dozen small animals.

Some had been…gnawed down to the bone. Others were freshly decaying.

“What is it?” Cole asked, coming forward to join them.

“Milo is being…selective,” Cody said, indicating the disturbed graves. “Bringing those he chooses into his fold, allowing them to join the band, if you will. When his chosen few awaken here, they do so with a hunger that burns inside them so fiercely that they can’t stand it, but they don’t know how to hunt. They have to learn. They might have devoured any innocent soul walking out here at night, but luckily, that hasn’t happened—yet. When the dead awaken, they’re disoriented. They start feeding on small animals, but they’re afraid, so they either stay close
to their graves or go looking for where they used to live. Evidently Amy has been wandering home, crying out for her mother. She was a child when she was taken, so she believes her mother can help her.”

“Lord,” Cole said softly. “Amy was a beautiful little girl. Sweet as sunshine. It broke her folks’ hearts when she died. So how…how did he get to her?” he asked.

“I don’t know. When we’re done here, Brendan and I will pay a call on the Simpsons and see what we can find out,” Cody said.

“Well, then, let’s get started,” Brendan suggested.

“Yes,” Cody said. “Looks like we’ve got five of these things to deal with, so let’s each take one and get this over with. I want to finish this business while the sun is high.”

The disturbed graves were scattered, so Brendan headed to the west side of the cemetery, Cody to the south, and Dave and Cole toward the center.

Cody started digging. As he had expected, the earth was soft, and it wasn’t difficult getting down to the coffin. He lifted the lid, which wasn’t difficult, either. The seals had already been broken.

He found himself staring down at the face of an elderly man. He looked as if he had just died, and been laid out for his viewing. Cody could see why people had assumed the man had died of natural causes; he must have been over ninety. The rudimentary etching on the stone at the head of his grave read “Arthur Connelly, Revolutionary War, a True Hero.”

At least the man had lived a long life after having fought for his country’s independence, Cody thought as he reached for his stake and hammer.

Now the man would have his soul returned, as well.

He drove the stake into the man’s heart. Arthur Connelly’s eyes opened for a split second but never even had a chance to focus. The creature didn’t cry out, only closed his eyes and began to decay.

Cody felt numb as he leaped out of the grave and closed the coffin.

“Cody!”

Brendan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it still managed to sound urgent.

Cody stared in the direction Brendan indicated. Cole Granger had finished digging out Amy’s grave and opening her coffin, but he clearly hadn’t been prepared for what he had to do.

The sheriff was down in the dark earth with Amy and had taken the little girl into his arms.

Cody looked up to the sky. Old vampires could function in sunlight, though they weren’t at their most powerful and were far more vulnerable than in the dark. But they could still rip out the throat of an unwary soul. Amy was a new vampire, but she had been made by one of the most powerful vampires Cody had encountered to date, so…

“Cole!” Cody shouted, and raced across the graveyard.

“She’s so precious,” Cole said, holding her as if to defend her from Cody. “Couldn’t there have been a mistake? Maybe…she was buried alive and somehow managed to crawl her way out. Maybe—”

“Cole!” Cody yelled again.

Amy had awakened. Blue eyes instantly took on a burning red cast, and a look of vicious pleasure curved her lips. She started to draw them back, revealing her fangs.

Cody leaped down into the grave, ripping the girl from Cole’s arms. Then he threw her down, pinning her with his
foot, realizing suddenly that his stake and hammer were at the other grave. The girl thrashed with surprising power beneath him.

“Cody!”

He turned. Brendan was hurling a stake in his direction. Cody caught it and slammed it into the girl’s chest with all his might.

Little Amy Simpson went still at last.

Cole stared down at her with horror, then turned to Cody, his eyes wide with horror. “Sweet Jesus, this is all for real.”

Cody gripped the sheriff by the shoulders. “You’re a good man, Cole. You don’t want to see evil in what was once innocent, but this is turning into an epidemic. You can’t let them trick you, can’t let your heart take over from your mind. This is going to be hard on you, because—you know all these people. But God help me, Sheriff, I don’t want to be staking you, but if I have to? I won’t hesitate.” He met Cole’s eyes and held the stare until the other man stiffened. “This can’t happen again.”

Cole stared back at him, green eyes flashing. “It won’t. I’m the sheriff, and I know my business, but you’ll have to forgive me for finding it hard to stake a child in the heart. You may have nothing but ice in your veins, but that was a child I knew.”

Cody nodded. Cole Granger was as tightly wound as a piano wire, and his jaw was locked hard.

It was like the first time the friend next to you on a battle line was suddenly blown to bits, Cody thought. You’d have to be made of stone to take it in stride.

Cole bent down and severed Amy’s head. Proving his point, Cody thought, and looked down at his boots,
wincing. He shouldn’t have allowed Cole to be the one to dig up Amy’s grave.

No, maybe it was better this way. Now Cole would be prepared for anything. And anything just might come their way.

“Oh, hell!” Dave suddenly cried out.

He was standing by the last of the disturbed graves and looking over at them with his face a sickly shade of green.

“What is it?” Cole demanded, leaping out of Amy’s grave and rushing toward his deputy, though he looked as if he’d been run over by an entire wagon train himself.

Dave didn’t answer, so Cody walked over to join the two men.

The customary wooden cross had been erected over the grave, along with a stone marker—in this case a large rock, probably dredged up from the river—with crude writing on it.

Cody looked down at the grave marker, and his heart sank when he saw the name scratched on the stone.

Eugene Alexander Gordon
.