The Phantom
by
A.W. Hart
(c) copyright by A.W. Hart, March 2009
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, March 2009
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Cripple Creek, Colorado
January 2:05 am
Rhiannon Brennan surveyed the casino floor from her vantage point behind blackjack Table Four with a weary eye. The interior of the small, elegant casino looked like the aftermath of a frat party during rush week. Ash trays overflowed with cigarette butts, empty beer bottles lined the tops of slot machines and stools were scattered haphazardly down the slot aisles.
Raised voices told her the last few revelers were about to be escorted from the Silver Pearl Casino. She glanced at her watch and smirked. Exactly five minutes after closing. Hardcore gamblers. They never could get enough.
With a sigh, she flipped her dark hair over one shoulder, and the residual aroma of cigarette smoke and beer wafted out of the black strands, making her wince. She stank. Everyone who had entered the doors of the crowded casino during the evening rush for even a moment probably smelled like an ashtray.
The blackjack pit would not be sorted out for at least an hour. The pit supervisor stepped up beside her to place the clear, Plexiglas cover over her chips and lock up the table.
“We’ll count the table down and sort cards in a few, Rhi. Go take a break,” Stephen, a slender, well-dressed man, told her. He appeared haggard and his eyes were red-rimmed from the smoke and noise of a ten-hour holiday shift.
“Your eyes could pass for a Denver roadmap.” Rhi ambled over to lean on the center podium and watch him lock down her fellow dealers’ tables.
“Yours ain’t much better, my sweet,” he replied over one shoulder. “Boy, things were a bit over the top on the maniacs tonight. Did you see the guy get hauled out for peeing in his token cup instead of taking two minutes away from his slot to hit the john?”
Rhi grinned. “Things could have been worse. Crazy Cootie didn’t make an appearance tonight.”
The pair shuddered in unison.
“I think he’s still in jail over his last world tour.” Stephen nodded at the dealer next to him, signaling her to clear her hands and step back from the locked down tray of chips.
A visit from the legendary hermit to the casino meant a confrontation over Cootie’s losses, if the man were sober. If the hermit had buried himself in the town’s stock of Kentucky bourbon, a visit from Cootie meant a brawl.
“Ahh, the casino life!” Marie Collier, the dealer Stephen released from her table, joined Rhi behind the podium. “Spit, beer, tobacco…”
“And money,” Rhi reminded the petite blonde.
“Oh yes, we can’t forget about the money, filthy stuff!” Marie yanked her bow tie loose and glanced at the clock. “Hitting any parties?”
“Are you nuts? I’ll barely be awake enough to drive home after we get done,” Rhi replied, rolling her eyes.
“Well, I was gonna hit a few to let off some steam, wind me down…you know.”
Marie swiveled on one heel, pouting. Rhi moaned inwardly. The girl would be unbearable to work closing duties with if she didn’t get her way.
“Go on, get out of here. I’ll close.”
“You mean it?” Marie squealed and hopped across the velvet rope.
Stephen, examining a new cigarette hole on Table One, straightened and eyeballed Rhi in disgust. “You know cutting slackers loose is my job, don’t you? Now you’re going to get to count down two tables.”
“I don’t mind. Anyway, do you want to put up with her for another hour?” Rhi grinned, watching Marie’s retreating back as she headed towards the heavy steel side door leading to the downstairs offices and locker room.
“Uh, you do have a point.”
Within ten minutes, Marie had returned to the main casino floor, dressed for the hike to the employee parking lots.
“That was fast,” Rhi told her dryly. She lounged in a chair at one of the tables, resting her feet and sipping coffee.
“Oh … Rhi, you aren’t closing for everyone are you?” Marie gave her a pitying glance, which annoyed Rhi. The pretty blonde openly detested her. She shrugged. She would rather close alone than listen to the other girl’s whining.
Marie put an arm around her shoulders, mistaking Rhi’s silence for embarrassment. “Come on, sweetie! Surely some fine piece of man flesh is waiting at home for you!”
“The only piece of man flesh I want in my house is the cable guy so I can get upgraded to the deluxe package. My dog can’t watch HBO right now and missing Rome is making her cranky.” Rhi picked up her coffee cup, hoping the movement would signal to Marie the conversation was over.
“Well, you just need to get out more! Live a little!” Marie whirled to head for the front doors, where she bounced impatiently as she waited for the security guard to unlock the doors to release her. Rhi observed as the guard lectured Marie for a moment about casino regulations mandating that workers leaving the casino after a shift were to exit via the employees’ entrance. Marie pouted and began to whine, her nasal pleas carrying to the pit. The older man, a grizzled Cripple Creek native, shook his head in despair and unlocked the doors.
Rhi began to turn back towards the pit when a shiver down her spine caused her to pause and stare again at the etched glass of the casino’s double doors. A shadow passed between the casino and the streetlamps lining the street. She gazed at the entrance through narrowed green eyes and blinked. She must have been more exhausted than she thought. The clouds of windblown snow moving in front of the streetlamps had taken on monstrous shapes in her mind.
“What’s wrong, princess?” Stephen busily sorted cards on the table. A plate crowned by a doughnut had miraculously appeared next to her coffee mug.
“You’re too good to me,” Rhi told him, settling back into her chair to sort the used cards. The cleaning crew and slot techs slammed and banged about behind the rows of slots but compared to the casino two hours earlier, the cavernous room was almost peaceful.
“The brat gone?”
“Finally,” Rhi replied. She hesitated and lowered her voice to speak again. “Is it just me or is something weird in the air tonight?”
Stephen laughed. “That’s just where the guy wearing the redneck sweatshirt puked in the corner around eleven. The air in here is gonna be weird for a while.”
“Ugh. You didn’t have to share that one, you know.”
* * * *
The odds of spotting a virgin on the street at this hour were about the same as hitting a jackpot on one of Slim Willy’s video poker machines.
The dark figure snorted with laughter at the notion as he balanced on the rim of the Palace Hotel’s roof, watching the street below. He’d brought his favorite demon along for company but the thing kept moaning about being cold. They both needed blood and entertainment. The solution: settle for a bit of tarnish on the girl.
With an eye on Cripple Creek’s deserted main thoroughfare, he flipped a knife into a discarded wooden billboard. Nearby, the naked figure of the demon cowered in the cold, the icy mucus that covered its wings and body a testament to the frigid temperature.
The smaller creature edged closer and reached to wrap itself in a corner of its master’s cashmere overcoat. The moment its abnormally long fingers touched the rich fabric, the blade flickered and impaled the pathetic being against the rooftop.
“Naughty, Adolph,” the demon’s master murmured. He jerked the smoking knife out and wiped the blade clean, first in the snow, then on his coat.
Adolph got up and tottered backwards. Black fluid poured from the cut and sizzled when the demon flopped to the ground. The hideous wound healed in seconds, the ebony flow slowing. Muttering, the creature scrambled a few feet away, hunched over, and rocked back and forth.
A lone woman emerged from one of the casinos across the street. She tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind one ear and surveyed her surroundings before setting off up the street for the employee lots.
The predator on the rooftop examined her aura. Not a virgin, but with those delicate features, who cared? He shifted and took a quick look at the faint glow of his designer watch. Time to announce his return.
* * * *
Marie stepped out of the swinging doors of the casino into a beautiful winter’s night and an unidentifiable stench. She wrinkled her nose. A horrific stink had joined Cripple Creek’s regular brew of bourbon and cigarette smoke. The burnt metallic smell made her eyes water. God only knew what some idiot had dumped nearby to create such a reek.
She paused to take a last glance at the stain of light that spilled out of the casino’s plate glass windows onto the sidewalk and shouldered her backpack to start the long trek up Bennett Avenue.
Marie hated the ink black alleyways of the old town. Late at night, the old brick buildings creaked and moaned and the dark side streets sounded as if they were filled with something unspeakable. Damn the casino owners for making their grunts hike so far to the employee lots. She had been forced to park in the furthest corner of the most remote lot in town earlier in the day because she was an hour late for her shift. The more accessible lots were filled with the cars of dealers who were conscientious enough to get to work on time.
The blackjack dealer’s hiking boots crunched pockets of snow as she trudged past another casino. The laughter of the closing employees and ring of slot machines shutting down floated outside. Marie glanced up but none of the crew joined her on the street. A few “Creekers” still puttered about but no one else headed to the parking lots.
The ghost of a grin crossed Marie’s face at the mental picture of Clark’s face when she got to his house and showed him the lace teddy she wore under her clothes. A little booze, a little pot, a scrap of lace and Clark and his one hundred thousand dollar-a-year casino manager salary would be locked up.
Behind her, a tiny figure scampered out of an alleyway. It stood on the sidewalk for a moment, head cocked, watching the woman. The creature gave a little shiver of glee before scampering away.
Marie glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. Whirling, she spotted nothing.
New Year’s Eve had been busy, as usual. Dealing blackjack to the masses filling the old gold mining town to capacity for the celebration had exhausted her. Marie’s leg and back muscles ached but her mind already spent the tips she pulled in during the long grind of the evening. She concentrated on cleansing her lungs of secondhand smoke by sucking in bucketfuls of clean air.
After an eternity of striding uphill, she turned down Fourth Street, descending to the Myers Avenue employee parking lot. There, her Jeep stood like a sentinel by a forlorn lamppost.
The cold worked its way up her coat sleeves, and she fumbled with the cuff of her parka while quickly marching towards the back lot.
By focusing on the cuff and not where she stepped, Marie sank a booted foot into the center of a smoking pile of fresh burro dung. One of the wild descendants of the miners’ pack animals that roamed the streets at will had deposited the manure within the last few moments.
Cursing, Marie stooped to scrape her boot on the curb, trying not to breathe in the fumes rising from the moss green goo.
Nearby, a shadow detached itself from the darkness behind the Old Homestead Whorehouse. The graceful white brick building was the sole remnant of Myers Avenue’s main source of revenue in the gold rush years, the shadow-filled alley in back of the building designed for discreet stealth.
Marie’s heart skipped when she heard a soft breath behind her, like a gunshot in the quiet air. Every muscle clenched as she whirled to stare into the shadow’s face. With a choked cry, she spun to race for the security of the Jeep. The pursuer made no sound as he flew along behind her, a long blade dangling from his right hand.
She slammed, sobbing, into the side of the truck and ripped open her pack to dig for keys.
A black-gloved hand swung her body around to smash her against the door. She couldn’t find her voice because of the vise-like fingers around her throat. Silent, her mouth gaped, desperate to scream.
The night hid the sight of the rise and fall of the steel blade. Marie crumpled to the ground, where she lay helpless and drowning in her own blood.
Her killer knelt and placed a gloved hand on her cheek in an almost comforting manner for a moment. Then he cut her jacket, her shirt and her new baby blue satin teddy away from her body. The cold sliced into her bare chest the same moment he cut out her heart. She made another gurgling effort to scream before succumbing to the spreading blackness.
Holding the heart in one hand, the killer’s sleek black head bent to feed at the fountain he created. Beneath, the snow turned black.
Chapter Two
Cripple Creek, Colorado
January 1, present
3:00 AM
Rhi was the last dealer to leave the Silver Pearl Casino.
After counting down the blackjack pit, Rhi waded through the night’s piles of used cards for an hour. In spite of her earlier misgivings, she left without an escort to her truck, knowing Stephen would be going over paperwork for another hour.
“What the hell was I thinking, moving here from nice warm Mississippi?”
She asked the question aloud as she stared at her breath turn to crystals in the air. Towards the west end of Bennett Avenue, her SUV stood parked in the driveway of one the last private homes that remained on the town’s main street.
She felt like a Popsicle. Thank God Stephen, a Cripple Creek native who inherited his period home, shared his driveway with her on nights like this.
The overgrown holly bushes to her left softly rustled. Rhi stared into the mass of greenery, straining to see.
Nothing.
She paused to check out her surroundings five times on her trip this evening. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. Casino life included a certain amount of negative energy, and some of negativity must have escaped to follow her imagination home.
There were days when dealing blackjack in Cripple Creek was what the job was supposed to be – harmless fun. But too often a true gambling addict materialized to play at Rhi’s table. Eyes alight with The Fever, the fanatic’s hands shook with desperation as he watched the cards fall. Rhi often left work with their greed following her like a dark, oily fog.
Whatever followed her tonight didn’t feel greedy, though. It felt hungry.
Rhi stopped beside the truck, dug for her keys, unlocked and climbed up into the vehicle. She started the engine and sat for a few moments, allowing the block to warm up. When the snow on the windows began to melt, she hopped out armed with a small broom she kept in the back. She swept as much snow as possible off of the windows and hood, working fast, one eye on the street.
Finished, Rhi jumped into the toasty vehicle and locked the doors. After backing out of the driveway, she turned up the street. A sudden giant-nails-against-a-chalkboard scraping followed by a whooshing thump caused her to almost jam the brake pedal through the floorboard.
Crap.
She skidded to a stop in the center of the empty street to check her rearview mirror. Seeing nothing, she pulled up a bit and cracked open the door to lean out and check behind her. A pile of snow lay in the street. The cap of frozen snow on the truck’s roof had slid off.
She slammed the door shut and goosed the gas pedal.
Behind the SUV, a small, winged creature burst from the pile of snow. The truck headed out of town and the demon took to the air to fly just above the SUV.
Clouds of snow crystals blew across the frozen dirt road as Rhi passed Mt Pisgah Cemetery. The interior of the vehicle reeked of the cigarette smoke clinging to Rhi’s hair. A stale spicy scent joined the mix, rising from the to-go box containing a burrito she left under the seat the night before.
Driving past several Victorian wood frame houses, the evergreens in the yards humped over with the weight of the new snowfall, Rhi ignored the hulking gray and white menace of the cemetery’s forty-acre hill to her left. But the road took a turn, forcing her to face the massive burial ground, sole proof that the tiny town of Cripple Creek had once been a thriving metropolis, considered as a potential location for the state capitol in its heyday. The thousands of snow-covered gravestones and mausoleums resembled a malevolent crowd gathered on the hill.
A sudden gust forced the truck towards the side of the road. Startled, Rhi managed to avoid slamming on the brakes again.
“Oh, hell!” she gasped.
When the truck skidded into a sluggish slide on the ice, she composed herself enough to remember to gently pump the brake pedal. After a long skid, the truck stopped in the center of the ice-covered road, cockeyed. She sat for a moment, taking a few deep, calming breaths, while she waited for the muscles in her neck to loosen up.
A thought scurried across her mind. Did she check the cargo space before she got in the truck?
“Yeah right, an axe murderer is crouched down behind the back seat,” she muttered.
Rhi’s pit supervisor once informed her in a superior male manner that “only women worry about those urban legends.” But for Rhi, it seemed like a reasonable fear for a woman alone in the night. And this, for some unknown reason, seemed like a good night to embrace a few of her more exotic paranoias.
Over the last few weeks, a series of nightmares plagued Rhi, made up of flashing scenes of Cripple Creek during the Gold Rush era. The nightmares brought back lost memories of childhood nightmares, populated by the same faces as the more recent dreams, one face in particular distinct and disturbing. A man, the weathered planes of his face marked by sorrow and loss, stared out at her in every vision.
Dark, anxious thoughts on an icy road were dangerous. The glow of the cell phone in the cup holder caught her eye. “Time for some company.”
She flipped the phone open, punching redial and the speaker function, while keeping the SUV from sliding off the road with one hand and a kneecap.
“What the hell are you still doing out this time of the night, little girl?” A booming female voice filled the confines of the truck. The sheer decibel level of the woman could probably set off an avalanche or two in the high country. Pam Douglas, Rhi’s self-appointed best friend and landlord, seemed to be in fine form for a woman who just finished a 10-hour shift. The single mother held down two jobs, alternating between the Long Branch and the Silver Pearl, working a 60 to 80 hour workweek and then taking off a week every month to spend quality time with her young daughter. Her ten-year plan was to retire with a comfortable nest egg. And Pam was well on her way.
Rhi grinned, envisioning the tall, gawky woman with frizzy blonde hair on the other end of the line, dressed in her favorite pajamas: an old fashioned red union suit with an honest-to-god button flap on the rear end.
“You didn’t see anything when you drove home tonight?”
Rhi hesitated before she answered. How could she tell her friend about sensing something wicked in the wind? “No, I didn’t see squat. Wait, I saw snowflakes. Yeah, thousands and thousands of snowflakes. Billions and billions…”
“Well, if you see anyone stranded on the side of the road, don’t stop. Just run them down and come home,” Pam advised her soberly. “Houston called to check on me. We had a murder downtown - the whole place went nuts about fifteen minutes ago. Lock up tight and take the big goofy dog to bed with you. I told you to get a gun - a girl can’t have too much firepower these days.”
Rhi stared at the white road unfolding outside the windshield, trying to absorb Pam’s words. “Murder? Here?”
She would have expected bloodshed in Tunica, Mississippi - the gambling town in which she began her casino career. The damp heat made people mean. But Cripple Creek? The weird feelings of earlier in the evening aside, a murder in Rhi’s new hometown was unthinkable. It was like a slime-covered monster had popped up in Mayberry, albeit a gambling and eccentric-filled Mayberry.
The bizarre town had the occasional alien sightings, Bigfoot encounters and hauntings. A week earlier a frantic gambler on her table swore he’d seen a dragon on one of the town’s back roads. But other than those occasional hiccups, Cripple Creek was a peaceful, weird little town most of the time.
“A murder?” she repeated. “Did somebody piss off a boyfriend?”
“No, sweetie, this was the real thing. Jack the Ripper would think of this guy as a model student. A girl got hacked to death in the employee lot on the far end of Myers.”
Rhi’s blood turned to ice. She stuttered before asking the question. “Who?”
“We both work with her and though my maw maw taught me not to speak poorly of the dead, neither of us can stand her. Marie Collier.”
“Oh God.” Rhi clutched the steering wheel, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Marie. She gritted her teeth against the unbearable urge to pull over and vomit. “Pam, I told her to go home early … I let her go.”
“Rhi, everybody let her go home early. She was a pest. But a good dealer.” Several metallic clicks sounded in the background as Pam spoke. Clicks corresponding with the sound of a large caliber gun being loaded and checked.
“What are you loading?”
Pam replied with an evil laugh, “My boyfriends, Smith, Wesson and Mr. Remington. This idiot from town shows up here and I might leave enough of his DNA on the floor to ID’em … if I’m in a good mood. And we know how cranky I get when I don’t get enough sleep.”
Heaven help the slasher who decided to invade that particular isolated home.
Squinting through the windshield at the slender beams of light put out by the headlights, Rhi resisted the urge to floor the gas pedal. If a lone stranger popped out of a snow bank on the side of the road, she would run him over. Right after peeing in her pants.
“I suppose they haven’t caught the guy yet.” Rhi tried not to sob as slow tears ran down her face.
“Of course not. Our cops handle liquored up military retirees from Colorado Springs, bikers and tourists. They’re more freaked out by this than we are. But freaky towns attract freaky people,” Pam pointed out, pausing for dramatic effect before continuing. “Houston said whoever did this took her heart with him.”
A stop to vomit was not an option. She needed to concentrate. “Please tell me you mean her love and not the pulsing thing in the center of her chest.”
“Sorry. And yes, I’m freaked out too. Want to come over? We’ll have a sleep over and eat lots of popcorn and make stupidly fattening cocktails.”
“I’ve gotta go get my dog and I want my own bed.” Rhi sighed. “I just hope if he’s out here, he comes to your house first. If he does show up, give me a call. Because a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body.”
“And don’t think I’m going to forget!” Pam hesitated. “Rhi, are you alright? You sound a bit weird.”
“Uh, you just told me about a kinda gross murder in the town and I was maybe the last person to speak to the victim. I didn’t like Marie very much but …” Rhi trailed off, thinking of the shadow outside of the casino earlier. “You do realize I just walked alone to my truck right in downtown Cripple Creek? You’d sound weird too.” She set her jaw. Freaking out would have to wait. “I can see the lights from here, I’m almost there anyway.”
“Call me when you get inside, okay?” The other woman ordered, her voice booming again.
“Yes, Ma’am!” Rhi flipped the phone shut. Lights blazed ahead as she pushed the switch to engage the four-wheel drive and gunned the engine to take the slope of her driveway. The SUV burst through the new powder to arrive at her small A-frame perched on the side of a hill off of Horse Thief Gulch, snow frothing to the sides of the drive. Rhi sat in the driveway for a moment to scan the gray shadows between the pines.
The feeling of menace from the road hadn’t followed her up the slope. Relieved, she examined the picture postcard scene of her home and the clearing.
Strategic timers lit the house, inside and out. The lights made her comfortable coming home to an empty house a quarter of a mile from any neighbor.
The nights in her new home thrilled Rhi when she arrived in Colorado. A stunning, solitary spot, the little house in Horse Thief Gulch possessed an unobscured view of banks of clear stars marking the night sky, unblemished by the pollution of city lights. The night sounds of the mountains hypnotic in any season, civilized noises were prohibited.
She spent the warmer evenings on the deck beside her fire pit, a glass of cabernet in hand, admiring the sky. But as the snow formed falling patterns of Battenburg lace in front of her headlights, the mountains that once offered solace felt menacing.
Rhi’s huge bloodhound, Ellie Mae, stuck her head out of the heated doghouse when the trucks lights hit the clearing. The fortress-like dog pen surrounding the doghouse had been caged on all sides and the roof to keep wayward, hungry mountain lions out. The dog could not be left inside the house for the duration of a double shift because of her size. The 20-foot long dog pen offered enough room for Ellie Mae to stretch her legs and enjoy the sights and smells of the mountains.
The dog’s deep baying could be heard inside the vehicle. Rhi grabbed a leash and large cardboard box from the passenger seat before stepping out of the truck to make a run for the kennel. She allowed the dog two minutes of enthusiastic tail wagging and slobbery kisses before picking her way through the snow to the front door with the dog at her side and the cardboard box balanced on one hip.
She unlocked the deadbolt and threw open the door to allow the dog to check out the premises.
“Pity the fool hiding in our house, huh, girl?” Rhi grinned and locked the door. She turned to observe as the animal prowled through the entire house, inspecting every room. Finished, Ellie Mae returned to nuzzle her mistress’s hand and stroll to the overstuffed couch to stretch out full length across the plump cushions.
“I’m glad someone’s comfy,” Rhi muttered. She placed the heavy box on the kitchen table, stripped her outer clothes off and dropped them on the bench by the door. Heading upstairs to the loft bedroom, she pulled an oversized sweatshirt, leggings and wool socks over her chilled skin.
Rhi’s long black hair fell over her face for a moment, the smell almost suffocating. Too tired to shower and wash the mess, Rhi sprinkled her offending mane with baby powder and ran a brush through the strands as she headed downstairs.
After making hot chocolate in the kitchen, she carried her cup and hairbrush to the living room. Ellie Mae sat up on the couch and gave her a reproachful glance.
Rhi flipped a light switch to turn on the cheery flames of the gas fireplace and picked up the remote. She spared a wry smirk for Ellie Mae, whose tail eagerly thumped against the couch cushions.
The dog’s mournful brown eyes met hers.
“I’m sorry I didn’t turn the idiot box on, okay?” Rhi apologized. “I’m a bad pet mommy! How about Animal Planet tonight? Maybe Emergency Vets is on.”
She switched on the set for her media addicted dog and glanced through the entrance to the kitchen. A new goodie box of used books and interesting bits of junk from the antique store in Victor sat on the battered kitchen table, beckoning. She contemplated delving into its depths to escape the mental picture of Marie Collier’s fate.
No.
Instead, she seated herself in her easy chair with the cocoa and propped her aching legs up on the ottoman. She was home and safe. She would not allow herself to believe otherwise.
A half a cup of cocoa later, she slept.
* * * *
In the kitchen, a soft red glow rose from the box of books on the worn table. A low humming sound flowed through the house. Ellie Mae cracked opened an eye to observe the radiance rising from the adjacent room. Hackles rising, the dog growled as the light and sound hastily retreated.
Chapter Three
The town burned. The weathered, gray wooden buildings belched orange and red flames. The cracked wood, dry from years of exposure to the arid Colorado climate, caught the sparks and held them until they grew to adulthood in seconds.
Black smoke rolled out of doorways, carrying the reek of rotten eggs and stinging Rhi’s eyes.
A red-haired woman half-carried, half-dragged Rhi, ignoring the crowded boardwalk. Instead, she steered them through the filthy center of Meyers Avenue.
Ash fell on the fleeing crowd as thunder shook the hillsides. Most assumed the fires reached a cache of dynamite in one of the mines. Rhi knew better. Monsters and men wrestled beneath the mountains, beings of such power there would be little protection if they burst free.
What was the name of the woman who dragged her along unmercifully? Oh yes, Pearl DeVere. The most famous madam west of St. Louis.
Rhi gritted her teeth, trying to not to scream. Her unforgivably damaged body made each step Pearl forced her to take pure agony.
A detached part of her mind dully watched the skirts of her dress dragged through manure, rotting garbage, and pools of urine. Pearl struggled along with Rhi’s arm over a shoulder. Rhi did her best to keep up but her wounds hampered her, and she couldn’t catch more than a tablespoon of air in her lungs at a time.
Pearl’s cupid bow lips moved but Rhi heard silence. She made an effort to speak but coughed instead, and felt the blood run down her chin.
They fought through crowds of fleeing miners and dance hall girls until a man barred their way, holding a broadsword in one bloody hand. He spoke and Pearl shook her head several times before relenting, reluctantly handing Rhi over. The newcomer looked as if he had crawled through a ditch filled with mud and glass, and his clothes were covered in blood and filth.
He took Rhi in his arms after tucking the sword into a scabbard at his side. Pearl gathered up her skirts to do an unladylike trot behind him. They made an odd group and should have gotten a bit of attention. Pearl, dressed in her tenderloin district finest, had her more obvious charms on partial display. But the citizens of Cripple Creek were busy, salvaging possessions and fleeing the fire, looking nowhere but at their feet, the better to avoid slipping in raw sewage.
The man with longish black hair thundered along with Rhi clutched to his chest. She glanced down and realized her dress had been on fire at some point, the fabric ripped and scorched in places. She was marked by strange, oozing wounds and noticed they covered her benefactor and Pearl as well. A nasty bite oozed near Pearl’s slender neck. Deep bites and scratches covered the trio and their clothing was in tatters.
The man whispered and Rhi tensed. He wanted something but she couldn’t hear. Pain creased his features as he spoke.
Another massive explosion rang through the mountains and the ground rolled beneath them. A geyser of ash and dirt spewed into the air from the hillside behind Meyers Avenue.
Losing consciousness, Rhi’s eyes closed on the sight of the burning gold rush town and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains shining in the distance. She curled against the man’s shirt, listening to his heartbeat. Sangre de Cristo, ‘The Blood of Christ’ mountains. Blood – she’d seen enough blood today.
* * * *
Ellie Mae remained on guard as Rhi struggled in her sleep. The dog crept nearer to nuzzle the woman’s hand and the blanket covering Rhi fell to the floor. Then the animal lay down nearby, ever watchful, glancing occasionally towards the kitchen doorway. But the sound and the glow knew better than to approach Rhi’s guardian again.
The woods surrounding the house should have been silent. Instead the trees whispered and moaned. Down the gulch, the falling snow obliterated small prints resembling those of barefoot children. Hundreds of tracks in circular patterns cut off abruptly at the foot of the hill. The tracks milled and paced, their makers an impatient bunch, stopping next to an invisible barrier bordering the land near the house.
The prints’ makers wanted her. Badly. The girl was close enough to taste.
Chapter Four
The ring of the phone shattered the dream into a thousand mirrored pieces. Each bit reflected the mountains named for the blood of a messiah.
Rhi clutched her head. A railroad spike pounded through her skull. She rolled out of the chair and climbed to her feet. A drowsy Ellie Mae eyed her from the floor.
The phone continued to ring as Rhi stumbled about the room.
Where had the damned thing gone? There.
The noise stopped before the answering machine kicked on. She stood for a moment with the phone in her hand before she dropped the receiver and made her way to the bathroom to dig in the cabinet for her migraine prescription.
She slid to the floor with the bottle in one hand and a cup of water in the other.
The dreams were misty scenes in the muted tones of old-fashioned daguerreotypes. The stink of late 1800’s Meyers Avenue still clung to her skin.
As she wiped something wet from her chin and gaped at the red stain on her fingertips, the phone rang again. She staggered to her feet and made her way back to the living room.
Only one person would call at four-thirty in the morning on New Year’s Day.
“Rhi! Why the hell haven’t you called me?”
As usual, Pam’s shrill voice hurt a bit.
“I fell asleep … until the phone ringing scared the crap out of me! What are you doing still prissing about at this hour?” Rhi’s voice came out as a croak.
Pam lived with her small daughter across the mountain in a second A-frame and it suddenly occurred to Rhi that she had forgotten to call her friend after she had locked herself inside her house. She shuddered - shocked Pam had bothered to phone to see that she was alive instead of calling in several neighbors to form up a lifelong dream: a real posse, guns and all.
“God! I’m so sorry that I didn’t call!” Rhi bit her lip to keep down a moan. A box of tissue sat nearby and she grabbed a handful to swab the blood off of her chin, upper lip and nose. A quick glance at her arms and the front of her shirt eased the fear that there might be hideous little bloody bites all over her body.
“Do you have any idea how close you were to having half of the Cripple Creek police force along with the fire department in your house?” Pam lectured. “And turn some of those lights off, your place looks like a disco from over here.”
“I forgot.”
“Just come over to stay and I’ll shoot anything that wakes you. Or we can have hot toddies and watch our favorite movie again, for the four hundred and eighty sixth time. My sitter braved the snow to go home so it’s just us girls.”
Rhi glanced at the bolted door and the dog dozing on the couch. “Ellie Mae’ll grumble if I take her back out in this weather,” she replied. “Anyway, I’ve got to get up and unpack some more. These last few weeks have been so busy and I’ve still got moving boxes everywhere. And I keep adding stuff. I’ve got to stay out of thrift shops in Victor.”
“I’ll come over to help in the morning,” Pam offered. “The junk you manage to find is freaky.”
“One woman’s junk is another woman’s shabby chic. See you in the morning about 10 a.m.?”
Pam groaned. “Southern girls get up way too early. You work in a casino, Rhi. When are you going to learn casino workers don’t function well in bright light, kinda like vampires. Those ethics might be contagious but I’ll be there.”
“Did you have to say vampire? I’m alone over here and I’m not a badass ex-marine like you. Can you really kill someone with your pinky finger?” The idea of Pam in a Marine’s uniform intrigued Rhi. Her contentious friend couldn’t have taken orders very well. “Tell Katie I’ll make her some pancakes and sausage.”
“Please don’t. She thinks there’s something lacking in me because I don’t keep a “Martha Stewart” clean house like you. All I need is for her to see you cook. And if my daughter starts preferring you over me - I’ll have to kill you with my pinky finger.”
“Bye!” Rhi put the phone in the pocket of her shirt and plopped into the chair. She needed to relax, read and not sleep for the rest of her life.
So what if a murderer was on the loose? What self-respecting, axe wielding killer would tromp out this far in this weather?
A yawn exploded out of her mouth and she reconsidered the ‘not sleeping again’ scheme. Maybe the dreams were over for the night. She had a job to keep and she could not afford to be groggy on her blackjack table, she liked her job too much for that. She pulled the quilt over her legs and leaned the chair back to snooze position.
“Ellie, if anything bursts into the house while I’m asleep, please eat it and don’t wake me unless there’s a ghost standing over me, holding a tray with some doughnuts and coffee.”
In response, the bloodhound rolled over onto her back with all four legs in the air and snored.
* * * *
A few hundred feet away from the house, darkness gathered to form the outline of a man standing in between the two evergreens guarding the driveway. Jack Blackthorne’s jeans, turtleneck, calf-length sheepskin jacket and work gloves were woefully inadequate for the weather but he didn’t notice the cold.
He could feel her in the house, the girl and her ridiculous dog. Of all of the animals she could have owned, how did she end up with one that could sense his presence? A hound of the Templars. Those guys always did get on his nerves, some more than others.
When Blackthorne spotted Rhi Brennan in the casino a few hours beforehand, his chest felt like someone had hit him with a two-by-four.
She gave him a little sideways glance as she dealt, sensing his presence. Certainly she didn’t know why she sensed him or who she felt staring as she dealt hand after hand of blackjack. But she knew she was being watched.
He stood there like an idiot and stared for an embarrassing amount of time. She had no idea.
Now, in front of her home, Blackthorne reached out to touch the invisible barrier surrounding the house. So close … he could smell her life force. A warding held him back. Additional, weaker wardings kept the hillside demon-free but allowed him through without any fireworks. His hand glowed red against the wall of snow. He could break the second ward with a snap of his fingers.
One person in town knew how or would want to ward the girl and that knowledge irritated him even more. He took another glance at Rhi Brennan’s windows and turned to leave before pausing to stare hard into the stand of evergreens to the left of the drive.
With a weary sigh, he trudged towards the darkness gathering in the empty space between the trees. He got close enough to view another empty clearing and fresh tracks marked by black stains in the snow. His uncanny sense of smell told him the color of the stains in daylight would be scarlet red. The blood would turn into frozen red lumps by morning. He didn’t make the effort to glance in the direction of the dozens of slitted, red eyes blinking in the darkness down the hill from where he stood. He didn’t need to see minor demons, their scent was easy to identify, even in the wind.
“Isn’t this delicious, Blackie? She’s here!” A familiar voice hissed beside his ear. The smug superiority in the voice annoyed him almost as much as the wards.
Blackthorne whirled and his sword appeared in his hand. No one. “Not up to a good brawl tonight, Manus? But, I forgot, you prefer your opponents a little less able to kill you.” He swished his sword around in the air, for intimidation and in the hope that he might impale the little prick.
The voice continued in a conversational tone. “I’ve been here for weeks, don’t you know. I was a little miffed you hadn’t arrived yet. Pearl’s been here for a while. You’d think she’d drop you a line or something. Let you know the gang’s all here.”
The idiot droned on as the number of red eyes in the woods multiplied. Did Manius hope Blackthorne didn’t notice?
“How long has it been since we have been thrown together, bro? Bosnia? Afghanistan? Iraq? The Bronx? My work is so varied and far reaching since I got back - one would think you would’ve been here earlier to chase after me. You must be getting old.”
The source of the voice changed several times during the one-sided conversation. Blackthorne grimaced. Manius was jumping from tree to tree to keep from getting a sword jammed in a very uncomfortable place. He spent an enjoyable moment thinking about the picture that kind of ‘accident’ would make. “You don’t have an accent anymore,” he remarked. “You sound American.”
“I’ve been watching television a lot. By the way … love the modern guy in a duster with a sword look.”
“I don’t have a lot of time for television,” Blackthorne replied as he prepared himself for a fight that was a bit premature. But the diminutive house was too vulnerable. “The idiot box will burn your brain out. Is that why you shortened our father’s name to Black – because you now have the attention span of a gerbil and can’t remember the original?”
Laughter filled the air.
Blackthorne stared up at the shadow as the dark form took to the sky, disappearing into the remnants of the storm. Drops of blood rained down onto the snow. He knew better than to hope Manius had been wounded. His brother’s voice had been swelled with the power of human sacrifice, the evidence of his crime the globs of frozen blood against the whiteness.
As he stared down at the snow, a small hand touched his shoulder and he whirled, prepared to gut whoever had managed to sneak up on him. A smaller blade parried his sword.
The woman holding the opposing weapon grinned as she lowered her blade. “He always could make an entrance, huh? He’s been up and about for a couple of years and already watches too much television.”
Pure silk, the woman’s husky tones were capable of bringing most men to their knees – except for the ones on the receiving end of her pit viper temper. The sword vanished into the luxurious, dark furs she wore. An outfit for every occasion. Classic Pearl DeVere.
“He swished by to greet you, huh?” Pearl stepped back to allow Blackthorne time to recover from the humiliating fact that he, an honest-to-God knight, had been taken by surprise by an overdressed fashion plate half his size. “If anyone had been interested in my opinion at the time we would not even be here, freezing our butts off. Damn those old bastards for letting him live, Blackie. Only men would decide something so ridiculous.”
Blackthorne stepped closer to her and stared down into her face. Pearl raised an eyebrow, daring him to say diddly. “You knew,” he growled. “These woods are filled with his creatures! With her here - alone.”
His best friend Pearl. Some days, in an organization comprised of several hundred men and one woman, his only friend. Blackthorne felt betrayed. Pearl’s natural impulse was to screw with men, and he usually accepted her quirks with more grace. But he didn’t feel like dealing with her stiletto sharp cleverness tonight.
“Yes, Manius is still not shy about summoning hordes of the little monsters,” Pearl replied, not bothering to acknowledge the accusation. “I hope he hasn’t gotten too brave. A dragon or a demon prince might be a bit of a pain. But he didn’t have nearly enough the last time, did he? He got smarter over the years. Plucking thoughts, whispers and information out of the air with his mind while he lay trapped, he must have prepared for decades. While you idiots believed you had him contained, he attended antichrist-college. I wonder how much blood he took to find out when she would be here.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
She waved a cashmere-gloved hand in the direction of the A-frame nestled on the breast of the mountain. “I didn’t imagine you needed any more torture than you already subject yourself to. The hill is warded, and her house. Heck, I even warded the car. Demons won’t enter. Manius wants to see what she’ll do as much as we do. All he’ll do is hover about and make nasty comments to irritate you.” Pearl’s eyes filled with blue incandescent light in the gloom. “Fate sent her here, Blackthorne, and we can’t interfere.”
Blackthorne’s face set into a grim series of planes and angles as he stared at the tiny house.
“Are you going to stand out here in the dark all night? You’re going to look silly in the morning, covered with snow. We do have work to do,” Pearl told him in an impatient tone.
“Like what? We’re as blind as he is. We have no idea where the damned thing is and we can’t do anything until the new moon. If he gets to the key first – all we’ll be doing is dying,” Blackthorne replied. He sounded tired. The sight of the A-frame made everything worse.
“Quitting, Blackie? That’s what got you into trouble in the first place.” She stepped away to examine the blood in the snow. The wicked little blade reappeared in her hands. “We can hunt some of these beasties in the woods and keep them from eating the locals, like this poor creature.”
Blackthorne stood in Pearl’s wake for a moment before he trudged after her slim, gliding figure. He reached to free his sword from its sheath. She was right, they had work to do.
* * * *
Inside the house, Rhi slept but Ellie Mae sat near her feet at attention. The dog’s sensitive nose picked up a strange scent. An uncomfortable scent. The dog stood and paced the floor, the golden fur on her neck on end. Ellie Mae stalked back and forth between the door and Rhi for several minutes until the smell dissipated, allowing the dog to resume her original position with a puzzled expression on her wrinkled face. First the glowing box, now this.
Mountain lions, bears, raccoons, Ellie Mae scented them all since moving here. The dog didn’t fear these creatures. But although Ellie Mae didn’t recognize the new smell, the dog knew it should be feared.
Chapter Five
Sleep engulfed Rhi and her mind wandered. So close - she could feel his touch. Fire ran through her. His mouth on hers as his callused hands stroked her skin. Where did a man get such thick calluses? The room filled with blue fire. His dark hair brushed her shoulder, and his gaze met hers. His eyes glowed with an unearthly blue light and Rhi had a moment of terror. Her lungs weren’t working. A brick wall had been built on top of her chest. She coughed violently. The pressure wouldn’t stop and she fell away from his hands. She couldn’t get a breath of air, certain she was suffocating. She shook herself awake, still coughing and her lungs on fire.
Rhi stumbled to the kitchen for water. Her hands were shaking and she almost dropped the glass before catching herself. What had been in the nachos she’d shared in the break room with the rest of the casino crew? Angel dust?
“More like demon dust,” she muttered and double-checked the doors. She would give up the recliner for the evening, even though Rhi preferred the cozy chair sometimes to the big, empty bed upstairs.
After rousing the dog, they stumbled to the bedroom, where Ellie Mae climbed in to curl up beside her mistress in the sleigh bed. Rhi scrunched her eyes closed, trying to remember who the dream man could have been. Not her ex-husband, a blonde with a sculpted body, the result of hours in the gym in front of workout mirrors. The man of her dreams was not a bodybuilder. He was muscled like a predator. A big predator.
She couldn’t decide whether to call the episode a nightmare or a wet dream so she settled for ignoring it like the rest of the hallucinations of the evening and snuggled next to the dog to sleep.
* * * *
In the morning, the sun rose in a glorious show of orange and yellow. Up and about after two hours of sleep, Rhi shoveled and swept the deck clean to perform her ritual of morning stretches and Tai chi moves outdoors in the cold sunlight.
The dreams and fears of the night before dissipated as she stood on the deck wrapped in a blanket over her workout sweats. She savored her aching muscles as she took in the magnificent view of the mountains, covered in eight fresh inches of white magic. The clean air flowed through her, purging the last shreds of the dreams from the night before. The Rockies pulsed with a power like no other.
Behind her, she could hear the chugging sound of Pam’s truck making its way up the road. The battered green pickup slid into the driveway and stopped behind the newer SUV, not quite bumping the rear bumper.
“I’m up with the chickens because of you. Have you been outside working out? Stupid question - of course you have,” Pam shouted as she hopped from the vehicle. The tall woman turned to unfasten the car seat of her three-year-old daughter, Katie. “I feel so healthy and wholesome I could puke. Please tell me there’s coffee containing caffeine in your house.”
“Rhi! Come get me now,” Katie demanded as she struggled through the snow while her mother unloaded a backpack and huge purse from the truck.
Rhi obliged the little girl, wading through the snow in moccasins to pick her up. Snow spilled into Rhi’s shoes and melted into her wool socks. Better dressed than her rescuer, Katie wore a shocking pink snowsuit and boots. The outfit gave her the grace of a tiny feminine Michelin Man. Picking her up was the equivalent of picking up a squirming pink pillow.
“I have caffeine and food that doesn’t require the use of a microwave,” Rhi shot over her shoulder as she climbed the steps to carry Katie in the house. She deposited the little girl on the couch to strip the snowsuit off of her tiny form. An even pinker Nike tracksuit hid beneath the snowsuit, the color almost blinding. Rhi blinked.
Freed, Katie ran squealing over to pet Ellie Mae. The dog lounged by the warmth of the woodstove, resting after a morning romp in the snow. Rhi started the sausage links and poured another cup of coffee.
Pam struggled through the door and kicked it shut behind her with a boot. The little A-frame filled with the intoxicating aroma of pancakes, sausage and good black coffee.
“My God, what a fabulous smell!”
“This is what is known as cooking. These little knobs on the stove make the food hot. We just put the pan on the stove with meat products inside,” Rhi instructed soberly, miming putting links in the pan.
“I don’t suppose those are fat free.” Pam eyeballed the links of brown sugar and honey sausage cooking in the pan. She grimaced at the sight of a platter of sliced fruit and shed her coat and boots before plopping down at the breakfast table with a cup of steaming coffee to root through the box of books.
“I thought you told me we burn off calories quicker at this altitude?” Rhi raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Was I drinking when I told you this?”
“Of course.”
Pam leafed through several dusty books, exclaiming when something caught her attention. “By the way, if we get snowed in for days on end, I think we should eat Ellie Mae first.”
“She’d taste a bit gamey if you ask me. But I guess if anyone in this house is gonna qualify as an Alferd Packer it’s me.”
“Who’s Alferd Packer?” Pam glanced at her quizzically.
“I can’t believe you’ve been up here for three years and are a Colorado native. Don’t you read? Alferd is the state cannibal. He got caught in a snowstorm on the way to the gold fields in the late 1800’s with a group of men and good old Alferd was the only man to walk out of the mountains still breathing a few months later. Everyone noticed he seemed pretty well fed for someone lost in the mountains that long. He murdered and ate his companions. The University of Colorado named a cafeteria after him.” Rhi’s grin shone in the sunny kitchen as she tended her stove. “There’s a great cookbook written in Alferd’s honor I’ve got somewhere. It’s mostly pork dishes.”
“Ewwh! Sorry I asked,” Pam grunted as she dug again. “Nasty, dusty books. Can’t you carry home something interesting? Like a man? Oh, great! This is disgusting - a beautiful Bible with a dragon and skull printed on the inside of the cover. What were people thinking? Did the Hell’s Angels exist when this thing was published?” She held the book gingerly, taking care not to damage the gilded lettering and designs on the black leather cover. “Isn’t this kind of sacrilegious?”
Such a book occupied a place of honor in the homes of a bygone era. The Bible’s gilded pages, hand-sewn binding, ornate cover and illustrations were beautiful and of the highest quality.
The book’s splendor had been one of the reasons Rhi claimed the tome for her own out of the dusty bin of a Victor, Colorado junk store. But she’d missed the skull.
A skillfully rendered human skull filled the flyleaf of the book Pam held up for her inspection, the colors a strange combination of dark purples and shades of green, rich and textured. A rich purple outlined the eyes and mouth of the skull and ran in veins through the rest of the head, combined with mottled shades of green. A small black dragon had gracefully wrapped itself around the skull, the creature’s emerald green eyes the exact same shade as Rhi’s.
“How beautiful!” She took the proffered book to examine the picture. “What on earth is it doing in a Bible? The picture must have been printed as a part of the original book - and what about the caption below?” She squinted to decipher the stylized script. “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock. Where have I heard that before?”
“Revelations,” Pam replied and took a gulp of coffee, trying to ignore Rhi’s questioning glance.
Rhi cleared her throat.
“Okay, okay - I’m a fallen Catholic, if you must know. And things like my mother forcing me to memorize Bible verses are what made me fall.” Pam took the Bible to stow the book in the box. “Bibles give me the willies and this one’s creepier than most.”
The sausages were done and the pancakes browned and warming in the oven. Rhi took her coffee to the breakfast bar to lean and face her friend. She glanced at Katie, who had managed to find the cartoon channel on the television in the interim. By mutual, unspoken assent, they had avoided the subject of the last night’s events thus far.
“The accident last night – any other news?”
“Nope, but we will know more this morning. They’re sending someone out to talk to us since I knew Marie and you … well you were the last person to speak to her, they think. I left a note on my door. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Great. You’ve invited the cops here and I only have enough sausages for us.” Rhi hurried to the freezer and dug for another package of sausage links.
“If they send the cop I think they will, I doubt he’ll break bread with us. He thinks casinos are the root of all evil. He opposed the vote a few years ago when they held the gambling referendum. Like my maw maw always said - cards are the devil’s play pretties.” Pam waggled her empty plate in front of Rhi’s nose. “He’s also the owner of one of those god-awful gingerbread houses you worship.”
“Okay, okay. No wonder you’ve been divorced twice, demanding little creature.” Rhi turned to the stove with the plate to fill with food. “Is he some old miner turned cop?”