The Walking (23 page)

Maybe the power ebbed and flowed. Maybe it even began to fade as one got older.

As quickly as it had come, the impulse disappeared, and he sat there silently as William asked his wife to bring a bottle and two glasses, waiting until Isabella left the room before continuing his story of the miners.

Ten years.

Wolf Canyon was coming up on its tenth anniversary, and

William wanted to do something special for the occasion. A celebration. He wanted to involve the entire town, from the first settlers to the most recent arrival, but he also wanted it to be a surprise. This was something he wanted to do for the town, and he thought that it would be nice to be able to dazzle them with something entirely unexpected.

Still, he could not pull off what he had planned by himself, so he had, out of necessity, involved Jeb and Isabella, the two people to whom he was closest in the word. He could trust them not to talk. Isabella had thrown herself into the planning with fervor, getting into the spirit of the occasion, but Jeb had seemed somewhat preoccupied lately, distant, not quite himself. William had asked what was wrong numerous times, had even tried to reach out and read him, but his friend remained stubbornly closed off. What worried him the most was that there seemed to be a touch of anxiety behind Jeb's recent reticence.

Not for the first time, William looked up the street and down. He consulted his pocket watch. A quarter of an hour late. Jeb was supposed to have met him this morning in front of the assaying office, but he had not yet shown. William found that worrisome. Jeb was seldom late, and when he was, the reason was always serious.

He walked through the narrow space between the assayer's and the fire brigade to Back Street, seeing if perhaps Jeb had misunderstood and was waiting at the rear of the building, but no one was on the street save Grover Farland, sweeping the wooden walkway in front of his small shop.

William walked up to the haberdasher. "Morning, Grover. You seen Jeb this morning?"

The other man stopped sweeping, shook his head. "Can't say that I have." He scratched his beard. "You looking for him? } "He "

was supposed to meet me Isabella's scream sliced through the morning stillness. What had been curiosity accelerated instantly into fatalistic dread as William ran across the dusty gravel and down the street. The scream came again, and he increased his pace until he thought his muscles would snap, dashing between buildings and across Main until he had reached the front yard of his home. He ran around the side of the house to the source of the scream.

Jeb was lying on the back porch. Or, rather, something that had once been Jeb was lying on the back porch.

For the dried white form that lay spread over the weathered boards only vaguely resembled a human being. It was naked, but all gender identification had been obliterated by whatever had vacuumed out the insides of the body. Crinkled milky skin was stretched over a partial skeleton. The features of the face and body had somehow been wiped away, leaving only a uniform blankness. He was reminded of the monster he and Jeb had come across in the canyon all those years ago, and while anger and agony battled for supremacy in his heart, terror overtook them both and set tied in his gut.

Isabella screamed again.

"What is it?" Grover called, hurrying around the corner. He had followed William through the town and a crowd had come with him, concerned and curious people who had heard Isabella's cries.

William shook his head, looked at Isabella. She was staring down at Jeb's unmoving form, and she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. She ran over to him, through the garden, not bothering to watch her step, trampling flowers and vegetables in her hurry to reach him. She threw her arms about his shoulders, and held him trembling.

"What's thatT" someone asked, voice hushed.

"It's Jeb," William said. He disengaged himself from Isabella embrace and walked onto the porch, over to the body, touching it, opening himself to it, trying to read it. Nothing.

More people were arriving. All of them stopped at the edge of the house as they saw Jeb's empty corpse. It was as though an invisible shield kept them from entering the backyard, and William could not help noticing the way they regarded Isabella with suspicion and trepidation.

He turned toward her. "What happened?" he asked. "Did you see who caused this?"

She shook her head. Her voice was hesitant, tentative. "I was walking out to pull some carrots and radishes, and I found him. I just came through the back door, and there he was. I didn't know who it was at first---or what it was. Then I saw that it was Jeb... and I screamed and you came over here."

William looked down at the bleached, dried form. "You didn't hear anything? You didn't see anything or sense anything?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head. Neither of them had been on the back porch since the previous day. Jeb could have been killed and dumped here hours ago or minutes ago. There was no way for them to know. But who could have killed him? And who could have done this to him? Who? Or what?

He licked his lips. What. For no human, not even a witch, could have so completely destroyed a man as powerful as Jeb.

Isabella seemed to be reading his mind.

"I have heard of this before," she said quietly. other told me stories."

"About what?"

"In Europe," she said, "they are called 'vampyrs."" Vampyrs. He glanced around at the gathered crowd. It was not a word with which any of them were familiar, but something about it rang of math, bespoke a reality they might not know but that existed nonetheless.

'they are monsters. Creatures that draw out the essence of a man--or a woman--and draw sustenance from it." "Bloodsuckers," Susan Clement said. "Yes."

William had heard rumors of such things, and he recalled his own mother telling him of monsters that fed upon human flesh, shape-shifters that drank blood and lived forever. "What do they look like?" he asked.

Isabella shook her head. 'those who have seen them have not lived to tell."

He walked about the yard, looked for signs, checked the dirt for footprints, tried to sense any psychic residue, but both the porch and the backyard appeared to be clean. What. ever this thing was, it could protect evidence of its existence even from their advanced senses.

"Can they fly?" Grover asked suspiciously.

Isabella nodded. "Some say they can."

There were vampyrs here in the West, William thought. It made sense.

It explained the emptied monster he and Jeb had found in the canyon. It explained what had happened to Jeb here today. The only thing that puzzled him was the fact that none of them had sensed its presence. It had been able to sneak in and out of the town as easily as if it had been wind.

Or perhaps it was still here.

Hiding.

Waiting.

He thought of the Bad Lands. The evil there had been strong, and perhaps that was where these vampyrs originated. After all this time he doubted he could even find that area

of the country again, but a part of him wanted to set out with an expedition right now, mustering all of the magic at their disposal, and lay waste to the land, putting their power to the ultimate test, using it not merely to change or alter

That was unrealistic, though. And it went against everything he stood for. If there was a vampyr in Wolf Canyon, they would find it, hunt it down and kill it. But they would not go out and attack some unknown assailant or wage war against an enemy that might or might not exist on the pretext of avenging the death of a friend. They would defend themselves, but they would not take the offensive.

William walked around the yard one more time and found himself again on the porch, looking down at the dried white body that had been his friend. His thoughts were all muddled, and he admitted to himself that he did not know what they should do.

Isabella began to herd people out of the yard, and for that he was grateful. He was the leader of the town, but Jeb had been his right arm, his co leader and the thought of continuing on alone was daunting.

Besides, he did not feel like much of a leader right now, and he did not want to set aside his own feelings in order to reassure others. He wanted the freedom to grieve, to see to his own personal needs for once rather than putting the town first.

Grover was the last to leave, and he asked William if there was anything he could do, but William merely shook his head, offered his thanks, and promised to call a town meeting later in the day.

The haberdasher left, and William squatted down on the newly painted boards of the back porch. He lifted his friend's lifeless and nearly unidentifiable body and carried it into the house. Jeb felt tOO light even for his newly shrunken size, as though even the heft of bones had disappeared, and

William had no trouble opening the door with one hand and supporting the corpse with the other.

He placed the body on the couch in his den, looking down at it with sadness and pity and a soul-deep ache.

"Jeb," he said softly, taking the corpse's skeletal hand. "Old Jeb."

By the time Isabella walked in, he was crying.

The funeral was attended by all. Jeb was liked, if not loved, by everyone, and though there was no obligation to appear, people did so out of admiration and friendship.

William sleep walked through the ceremony. Their kind had no death rituals, and they certainly weren't about to adopt the customs of Christianity, so they invented new rites of their own. It was a dignified ceremony in which they attempted to contact Jeb's ghost before silently consigning his body to the earth.

They had not had a cemetery up until this point, had not even designated a specific plot of land for that purpose, and William had been forced to determine where the graveyard would be.

Jeb was the first person to be interred there, and those who felt up to it took turns addressing him, letting him know how they felt, how much he meant to them. Afterward, they all joined in silent communion, expressing simultaneously a single predetermined wish of support that they willed to his bodiless spirit.

The odd thing was that no one had any luck in communicating with him.

Not that day, or the day after, or the day after that. They were able to contact the ghosts of Indians who had gone before, but it was as if Jeb had never existed. His spirit could not be reached.

Had the vampyr eaten his soul?

The question haunted William. The terror he had felt after first coming upon the shriveled body of his friend had never

entirely abated, and the complete absence of Jeb's afterlife presence suggested that his fear was not unfounded.

They combed the town, the canyon and even the top of the cliffs over the next week, the next month, separately and in groups, but no indication of anything abnormal was found. There were no more attack, not even any suspicious animal deaths, and it appeared as though whatever had killed Jeb had been after him specifically, had targeted him and then left, never to be seen again. Rumors were whispered about, and though they were not spoken to William's face, he was aware of what was being said, and it disturbed him.

At home, the sex with Isabella was unusually charged. They had always had a very active love life. Isabella was a supremely sensual woman, and sex with her was imaginatively vigorous and daring, comprised of acts that even to most witches would probably seem unnatural and perverse, but since Jeb's death the intensity had been increased tenfold.

One midday, after some particularly grueling lovemaking, they lay in bed, trying to gather their energy and rest their sore muscles.

Isabella stood, looked at herself in the mirror for a few moments, then turned back toward him. 'they are afraid of me, William. I can feel it. They think I killed Jeb, and you know I could never do such a thing. I cannot take back what I did to those men after I first arrived, but I should not have to suffer forever for doing what any of them would have done if they were in my place."

This was all a surprise, and he was not prepared for such a conversation. His brain was still numb, thinking about what they had just done, and he sat up in bed and shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What?" are they all talking about it. Everyone in town. I have heard them, whispering behind my back. They think I killed Jeb. They blame me for his death."

William stood, padded over to her. "No, they don't," he

lied. He put his arms around her, held her close. He had hoped to be able to keep this from her.

"Yes, they do," she said. "And they are afraid of me." "No."

Her voice dropped. "Maybe they should be afraid." "Isabella!"

She sighed, pulled away from him. The expression on her face was unreadable and emphasized that wild beauty which had so enchanted him on first meeting her. He realized that he did not know her any better now than he had then. He loved her, but he didn't know her.

"People are frightened," he told her. 'they do not know what killed Jeb and that scares them, something which is entirely understandable.

They are upset."

"Upset enough to undo all that you have done for them?" "What are you talking about?"

"They no longer trust you because you are married to me."

"That's nonsense."

"Some are even thinking of leaving!"

The words hit him like a physical blow. He sat down hard on the bed, not wanting to believe what she'd said but instinctively recognizing its veracity. He stared down at the floor. His dream was unraveling.

The anniversary of the town had passed without comment or acknowledgment, his celebratory plans derailed by Jeb's death. Now people were threatening to tear asunder all they had worked toward over the past decade due to fear and suspicion and unfounded allegations.

There was an empty hole inside him, and he admitted to himself that perhaps his idea for a town where those like himself could live in peace, without fear of persecution, was doomed to be a noble failure

"This is wrong," Isabella said. "We cannot allow decisions based on lies to destroy all that we have worked for.