Fiddleback Trilogy 1 - A Gathering Evil Page 17

  She reached back and grabbed my left buttock. "Snuggle up close here. I don't want you to slip out of the saddle when we go up the hill. Just put your arms around my waist and hang on." She pulled me forward, then settled my arms around her more to her satisfaction and comfort than mine. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, "I won't break."

  We left the burning Rover behind quickly enough, and I actually did have to tighten my grip to remain in the saddle as we went up over the lip of the canyon. Up top I could see a dim, distant horizon line where the clouds were thin enough to let sunlight lay down a gold layer between the mountains and the sky. Over the vast, flat plain across which we rode, I could see lightning strike from time to time. In the backlight I made out the squat, angular shape that marked the house toward which we rode.

  As we got closer the house appeared to be old and well-weathered. "Looks like the power is out."

  The woman nodded at the man's comment. "Looks like we'll have to use candles, again."

  The man half-turned toward Marit. "Know anything about horses?"

  "I have ridden quite a bit, actually."

  "Good." He dismounted in front of the house, then turned and caught Marit around the waist. He lifted her clear of the saddle and set her down gently. His hands lingered on her waist a bit longer than I thought necessary, but neither Marit or the woman seemed to notice it. "You can help me put the horses up while your friend and my wife rustle up something to eat."

  "Don't mind working for a meal," Marit smiled.

  "Good."

  The woman eased me down from the saddle, then dismounted quickly, turned around and accidentally bumped belly to belly with me. She steadied herself by grabbing my waist, then smiled. "Sorry, didn't think you'd still be standing there." As her husband took the reins to her horse, she grabbed my right hand and pulled me toward the porch steps.

  Marit, lost in a whispered and giggled conversation with the man, didn't notice.

  A wood-burned sign tacked to a porch pillar read "The Donners."

  The woman opened the door without benefit of keys. "Out here we don't have much cause to go locking doors. We might get a coyote in the yard from time to time, or some New Agers looking for a vortex, but they're never any trouble."

  Inside and out of the rain, she doffed the slicker and hat. She struck a match and set it to a candle on a table just inside the door. Once the scent of burning sulfur cleared my nostrils, I caught the musty smell of an old house with older furnishings. The air seemed a bit stagnant, as if the house had not been lived in for a while.

  This made me suspicious, but I put it down to the paranoia I'd been suffering since the Rover's explosion. It could have been that they had been away from the main house for a while, living in another building on their property while they tended their herd. Even more plausibly, the contrast of the clean smell of a rain-washed desert and this house accounted for my misgivings.

  The woman moved away from me like some fey creature. She touched the candle to a half-dozen others, literally blazing a trail toward the kitchen. In the candle-light I saw what my hands had confirmed during the ride. Though an average-sized woman, she had a very narrow waist and full hips. The damp jeans she wore looked more like a second skin than a garment, and this woman compared quite favorably to Marit in all ways.

  The candlelight burnished gold highlights into her long, blond hair. As she turned and caught me staring at her back, she smiled as if she welcomed the attention, then laughed throatily. "Let's see if we can find something in here to quench your hunger."

  As if in a trance I followed her into the kitchen. She drew a long bread knife from a block near the stove, then pointed with it toward a huge, rectangular spectral hulk in the corner of the room. Light from several small flames played along the blade's sharp edge. "In the icebox you'll find some meat. We can take slices off the rump roast for sandwiches."

  I looked away from her, albeit very reluctantly, and crossed to the refrigerator. I felt so confused that I didn't attach any significance to her having called it an icebox. Nor did the true meaning of a light going on when I opened the door hit me. I knew lights came on when refrigerator doors were opened. My brain was unable to connect the supposed lack of power to the house with this being a problem. It did not sound an alarm in my brain.

  Seeing an old man's head on the top shelf did. Lidless eyes stared at me, instantly transplanting the terror of his last moments to me. Below his head, on the different levels, various body parts had been stacked quite carefully. A charred hunk of meat sat in congealed juices on a plate, right next to two-thirds of a liver wrapped in plastic-wrap.

  Adrenaline jolted through me like lightning. I whirled, my right hand going for the Krait. As I moved out of the light, it washed full over the mad woman rushing at my back with her knife upraised. She slashed down through where I had stood, then snarled at me like some feral monster in human form.

  I snapped the Krait's safety lever down and stroked the trigger. The first bullet caught her in her flat belly and tossed her back against the kitchen counter. She rebounded from it, the knife flying from her fingers, and I shot her again. That bullet slammed into her left shoulder and spun her to the ground.

  I leaped over her, but as I did so, she clawed at and caught my ankle. I stumbled and went down, landing hard on my left arm. As I rolled onto my back, she rose up like a malevolent shadow in the refrigerator's light. Without conscious thought, I stabbed the gun at her and tightened my finger down on the trigger.

  The first shot sent her flying back into the fridge. The old man's head bounced up and over her body. My second shot hit solidly and sprayed crimson over the refrigerator's interior. The light shifted to a lurid red as my last shot blew a chunk from her head and destroyed a bottle of wine on the top shelf.

  Blood mixed with wine ran down and flooded out onto the floor. I kicked the old man's head away from my feet and stood. I glanced back at the woman again and was prepared, at the least little twitch, to shoot her yet again. Then I heard a scream from outside. Seeing an image of Marit's head replacing that of the old man, I sprinted down the hallway to the door, outside and along the porch. I vaulted the railing and started running toward the small stable.

  The man, pulling Marit along behind him by the wrist, ran out the door and around the corner. I hit top speed crossing the open ground, then flattened with my back against the stable. I took a quick peek around the corner and saw the man standing there, weaponless, with Marit's right wrist held tightly in his left hand. I pulled my head back, took a deep breath, then cut around the corner and dropped my gun on him.

  They were gone!

  I darted forward, to where they had stood, right there, out in the open, and could see no trace of them. Then, one step beyond that, I caught sight of them again, but they appeared far further distant than they could have gotten in just a second. "Let her go!"

  The man stopped and his slicker melted back into a cape. The red-checked shirt and jeans I imagined him wearing became a scarlet tunic and blue pantaloons. His cowboy boots shifted into the floppy-top boots I associated with ancient corsairs. His hat even shifted into a black velvet beret and sprouted a long, green feather. His ears, I noticed for the first time, were pointed.

  Marit clawed at his wrist, and he released her. Then, striking faster than a cobra, he backhanded her and knocked her flying. She hit the ground and lay still. His eyes glowed with blacklight intensity as he brought his right hand forward. "Now you are in my realm, man-child! Here you will die."

  St. Elmo's fire sprouted from his fingertips and condensed into a large ball of fire. It arced toward me, but I triggered two shots, and it imploded when my bullets pierced its shell. I shifted my aim point and pulled the trigger twice more. Both those shots hit him in the chest and toppled him backward.

  Wary because of his wife, I ran up and pumped the rest of the clip into him. I saved the last bullet for his head, then slapped another clip into the Krait and watched him for a while to make s
ure he was dead. Slowly, still keeping my eye on him, I backed toward where Marit had fallen and found her amid some yellowish ground fog.

  She had a bruise on the side of her face and blood dribbled from a split lip, but otherwise she looked fine. Though she remained unconscious, I smiled and stroked the uninjured side of her face. "Don't worry, kid, I'll get you home."

  As I listened to the regular whisper of her breathing, I realized I didn't hear any more thunder. I stood and turned back toward the house, but no gravel crunched under my feet. The ground fog was possible in Arizona, especially after a thunderstorm, but why yellow? Completing my turn I saw no house, no stable, nothing. As far as I could see, the landscape was gray on purple with yellow-mist trim.

  I looked up expecting to see stars, but I saw nothing. My paranoia roared back with a vengeance, and I instantly regretted being so generous with the bullets I'd used on the man, if, in fact, that was what he was.

  Kneeling beside Marit again, I waved the mist away from her face. "I'll get you home again, Marit. I promise." Just as soon as I figure out where the hell we actually are.

  "You might try tapping your heels together and repeating 'There's no place like home,' but I doubt its efficacy in this case."

  I looked up and saw a man or, more accurately, the cameo of a man. It seemed, to me, to have all the dimensions of a normal body, but it was black on black. Still, I did not get the feeling he was black in a racial sense. In fact, doubtlessly projecting from myself, he could have been me except for the outline of a full goatee and his ring.

  While his entire body was made of shadow, the fourth finger on his right hand had a bright gold band on it. As his hand moved, I saw the same curious design on it that I had seen in my dream and drawn for Hal. It was the symbol that Juanita said belonged to El Espectro.

  "The first time I saw you I was dreaming. Am I dreaming now?"

  The shadow laughed politely. "No, you are not dreaming, and if you were, this would certainly be a nightmare."

  "According to Marit's cleaning woman, you are El Espectro."

  The man laughed again, but more heartily this time. "I suppose that is, indeed, possible. I have lost track of how many different names I have worn." He opened his arms to indicate the area surrounding us. "I also think we had best leave this place."

  I looked around the smoothly featureless plain. "Where are we?"

  El Espectro moved over to the dead body and prodded it with his toe. "I believe this is the protodimensional haven he has used for centuries to gain access to our world. This is not good because it bleeds into his home dimension, and that could cause us some trouble."

  "Dimension? Who is this Donner guy, anyway, and what do you mean by dimension?" My mouth began to get dry, and I detected a sulphurous tinge to the yellow fog. "What is that smell?"

  He turned back to me. "I will answer your questions, perhaps not to your satisfaction, then we must move if you want to leave this place. You will have to do everything I tell you to do, without questions. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. This was a Draoling—consider it a sociopathic human for all intents and purposes. This one has been around a long time. He took the place of Lewis Keseberg at Truckee Lake in 1846, inspiring the acts of cannibalism surrounding the Donner Party legend. When the crimes were discovered, he returned here and left the real Lewis Keseberg to face the music. This one, or another of his vile race, was responsible for the Jack the Ripper murder spree and, 40 years ago, may have signed the name 'Zodiac' to a series of murders in California. This one had a sense of humor, hence his use of the Donner name."

  He pointed off in a direction I sensed was south. "Tell me what you see."

  "Gray landscape, patches of purple." As I spoke I found myself focusing more clearly on things. "The purple is textured. It might be rock formations or vegetation. I also see the yellow mist in hollows like this one."

  "Good. What do you smell?"

  "Rotten eggs, sulphur."

  "Excellent." He walked over to me and probed my forehead with his right hand. The shadow touch felt not unlike the St. Elmo's fire in that it didn't hurt and actually tickled a bit. "The blow to your head is clearing up. You will continue to have increasing sensory acuity in this place. Someday you may even learn to come here again."

  "I don't think I would like that."

  "I understand your reticence, but you might find this place useful to you at some point." El Espectro held out his left hand, with the palm skyward, and lifted. Marit's unconscious body floated up in the air and hovered at waist height. "Being here makes this much easier for me. If you are ready, we can begin traveling. We should have you home in under two hours."

  "On foot? Fat chance." I glanced at my watch and saw something very odd. The analog portion of it seemed to be functioning perfectly. The second hand swept on as if the whole watch were brand-new. The little LCD window, by way of contrast, flickered and flashed with lines and dots. The patterns, when they looked anything but random, seemed to be playing out an infinite sequence of numbers determined by a formula that was well beyond me.

  I decided, at that point, that if I gave too much thought to what I was seeing, my head would begin to hurt a lot more than it did now, and the situation would not get any better. "Home, did you say?"

  "Yes, back to Eclipse, I think. You will find nothing in Sedona that will aid your mission." El Espectro began walking south, and Marit drifted smoothly behind him. In a few steps he got far distant, it seemed, but when I ran to catch up with him, I reached his side in only a few strides.

  "How do you know what we were doing in Sedona?"

  "I know because I know." He gave me a sidelong glance that, despite being totally blank to me, had to have contained some amusement in it. "In this case I know you came to Sedona searching for Nero Loring. You came to Sedona because a friend of his received a postcard from Loring that was postmarked Sedona."

  "Okay, that's right. How do you know?" Could the traitor be selling me out to him?

  "No, your traitor and I have no connection. And I know about the postcard because I am the one who sent it, at Loring's request."

  I stared at the shadow man. "You read my mind. That, or you are Coyote."

  "Me, Coyote? Please, no. I have met him, and he is a most interesting individual, but I am not him." He led me up and around a grayish standing stone topped with a thorny, purple-leafed bush. "I am able, in certain places, at certain times, to pick off surface thoughts. Right now, because of your injury, you are confused enough not to be exerting as much control over your mind as you might otherwise. Even in a dream state your control is admirable. And if you really do want to bet a million dolmarks that I am insane, I can find you plenty of takers for that wager."

  I blushed. "Forgive me, but my memory goes back less than a week. All this dimension stuff is confusing and, quite frankly, unbelievable." I followed him down a hill and through a cloud of the yellow fog. "I assume, if you sent the card for Loring, you know where he is now?"

  "I do."

  "Tell me. It is imperative I find him."

  El Espectro shook his head as we cleared the mist. "I will not do that without Nero's permission. I will not violate his confidence or security."

  I knew, just in hearing the words and a sense I got from him, that El Espectro would brook no argument and would not waver. "You will tell me if he gives you permission to do so?"

  "Death itself could not keep me from giving you the news."

  He made that declaration with enough confidence that I found myself believing him. Sure, I believe a man made of shadow in a dimension that apparently lies parallel to Earth will come back from the dead to share information with me. Hell, he's called 'the Ghost' by some of the city's Hispanics. Maybe he's already dead.

  "Who in God's name are you?"

  "Names will mean nothing to you, and I sincerely doubt that, 'in God's name,' I am not much of anyone at all. I am someone who, years ago, while the world was still rati
onal, learned secrets I should not have learned. I walked places men were not meant to go, and I saw things that were meant to torture the soul. I discovered, in myself, powers and abilities the normal world would not recognize. They told me things upon which I was compelled to act, but ultimately proved unable to stop.

  "In many ways I am like your Coyote. I chose to battle things I see as evil, to help people beset by troubles. The difference between us is that Coyote acts in the material world because he lacks even the nascent empathic skills that allow one to discern anything in this place. I act here or in the realm of dreams to delay and defeat abominations."

  I shook my head. "I'm not even going to pretend I understand any of this."

  "At this point, a wise choice." He held up a hand and crouched. Marit floated back down to the ground, and I crouched next to him. "I had not expected this."