That night, Deirdre had gone back to her room. God knows we didn't want another argument with Ol' Rasp. This time I might have just killed her.
But Dusty, dick that he was, waited for me to come down for breakfast that morning. "Good show, old man!" he said cheerily, clapping me on the shoulder.
I expressed my ignorance of the congratulations.
He laughed. His joy was like fried green tomatoes. "Oh, don't be bashful. I heard you two through the wall. You must be an experienced hand to make her..."
My hand shot up and covered his mouth. "Christ and all the saints, you old goat!" I hissed. "Whole town ain't gotta know what we was doin'."
He laughed out loud and whispered under his breath, "I don't have to tell them, old boy. She did. Your name is still echoing from the rooftops."
I laid my head on the table. If it were possible to die of embarrassment, there'd have been slow singin' and flower bringin' that very morning.
In his regular voice, he said, "Oh, cheer up, cynical apprentice of mine. She loves you, you love her. There is no shame in it. Now, go run along and find her. I know it's killing you."
He was right. It was killing me. But I was also starving. You have no idea how annoying it is to need both food and crimson liquid just to function normally. But such was the fate of the mostly dead.
We ate a breakfast of steak and eggs, then I put on my hat and poncho and walked out the door.
It didn't take me long to find Deirdre. I already knew the hotel she was staying in. I waited outside until she stepped into the street. She was dressed in a lovely red dress, lined in places with lace. She looked absolutely stunning. She gave me a broad smile and waved at me. I wasted no time crossing the street.
There was a loud whinny and a cart hauled to a stop. The driver gave me the universal symbol for anger. "Watch where you're going, you damned idiot!" he shouted. I waved an apology. Was my fault—though he ain't have to cuss me.
I finished my crossing and picked Deirdre up, whirling her around. I kissed her, and so began the first two weeks I got to spend, completely hers. I taught her to shoot, she taught me to dance. We spoke of a million small things and a dozen earth-shattering ones. Her mother was dead and her father had turned into a bastard, driving her westward.
I told her the truth about my father, how Dusty had found me. There wasn't a secret between us.
And then there were the nights—those glorious nights, complete in each other's arms. We were happy, she and I. I almost gave up my quest for vengeance in that time. I wanted to stay with her forever.
But fate—or God—has a sense of humor. I was waiting on the stoop when Dusty walked up to me. I could taste concern and rock-hard concentration in his thoughts.
Uh oh... I turned to face him.
He simply handed me a telegram. "Read it," he said.
I opened the envelope and sucked air through my teeth. The telegram went as follows:
To Dusty Holmes, US Marshal. Last known to be in Little Rock, Arkansas.
From Father Maximilian Jäger
My old friend, his time is up. His Crucible is at hand. Bring him to me with all due haste. I await your arrival with joy. I have no doubt that he will join our brethren. Our hall of stories now resides at St. Patrick's Church in Diamond Springs, Kansas. I look forward to meeting him in person.
I looked up at him and shook my head. "What does it mean?" I asked. "It's all gobbledygook to me."
Dusty sighed. "It is time for you and Deirdre to say goodbye. We leave tomorrow at dawn and will be riding hard to Kansas."
I took the news well. I only crushed the railing of the stoop into powder when I clenched my fist. I didn't scream or cry or have a tantrum. Just that involuntary shattering of the railing. It turned to sawdust under my fingers.
As he walked away, Dusty gave me a consoling touch on my shoulder. "I am truly sorry, my lad. If I could change things, I would."
I touched his hand. "Not up to you, master," I told him, pushing his hand away. "I chose this path."
With that, he parted and I waited for Deirdre. She came down, smiling broadly, but my face must have betrayed something because it faded immediately.
"What's wrong, Dodger?" she asked, wrapping her arms around me and laying her head on my chest.
I returned her embrace and ground my teeth. Having her this close, my breath hitched. "I'm leaving tomorrow. Dusty and I have to ride to Kansas. Ranger business. I suppose."
She looked up at me, her eyes distraught. Then she shook her head. "Well, we knew it was coming," she said, plastering this fake smile on her face. "We will just have to make the most of today then, won't we?"
And with that, she led me away. That day we did everything we could, everywhere we could. Talking the whole time. I really considered just staying with her. I could listen to her talk forever that way. But no—my path was one writ in blood and powdersmoke.
And Deirdre... she never even asked. Just loved me till I left.
We stayed with each other until well past midnight, when she rolled over and looked in my eyes.
"I don't think I have ever told you this, my heart, but I think I like your red eye more than your blue one." She reached up and rubbed my face. "It is the same color as a ruby or roses. A beautiful thing, meant just for me."
"Always for you," I said, and she snuggled into my chest.
I had never thought somebody would say that. That they preferred the monstrous part of me. We passed that night together and she didn't go back. Just as an aside here, to keep this tale honest, I'm kind of glad she didn't stay on other nights. If she wasn't floppin' around like a dang fish, damn near beating me to death, she was trying to suffocate me by laying her arms or chest in my face. I hardly slept at all.
Dusty opened the door the next morning and nearly ate a bullet instead of breakfast. I had my gun in my hand and cocked before I realized I had even drawn it.
"Well," he said cheerily, "I know that you are not a morning person, but who knew waking you was an offense worthy of death?"
He chuckled, and I flopped back into the bed. I accidentally clipped Deirdre with my elbow and she grunted. She opened her eyes blearily and sat up. I tried to reach the blanket before it fell and managed to only catch one side.
Dusty cleared his throat and looked away—but not before I saw a glint in his eyes. "Ah, excuse me. I was not aware you had company," he said.
Deirdre gasped and turned so red she almost seemed to glow. She hid under the blanket like a child hiding from the imaginary thing under the bed.
"Oh my God! Marshal!" she whimpered. I could taste her embarrassment. Strawberries. Dusty could too, and grinned.
"And good morning to you, too, Ms. Adams," he said, still in his too-cheery voice. "I will just make myself scarce. Before my deputy actually decides to put one in me."
With that, he tucked away.
I turned to Deirdre, who still had her head covered with the blanket. "I am so sorry about that..."
Mortified laughter bubbled out from under the linens. "Oh God... I just let that old pervert see my girls... Oh Lord, I wanna die."
I started to crack up. "I'm sorry..." was all I could manage before I fell into full-on guffaw. I know I shouldn't have laughed but the whole situation was ridiculous. Here was the day that was supposed to be our sweet goodbye, and it starts out by showing my boss my lady friend's boobs... wonderful.
Of course, she beat me with her fists and told me to shut up, but then she started laughing again.
We got dressed and headed downstairs. She stayed with me the whole time I got Rosie saddled and then I turned to her. I pulled one of my pistol belts off.
"Here," I told her. "Take this. Keep it with you always."
She looked down at it and took it into her hands. "But, don't you need it?" she blinked. "It's heavy and slick..."
"Yeah. You have to keep it oiled from time to time or it will crack." I shook my head. "I have a spare gun belt and another pistol. But..."
I swallowed. Here came the hard part. "But I can't be there to protect you. At least this way I know you are safe. Kinda."
She nodded and pressed the gun to her chest. "Be safe out there. Go finish that song," she told me with a small smile. Tears were creeping into her eyes and she looked away. "Durn gnats..."
"I love you, Deirdre," I told her. I turned her face up to me and kissed her one last time. The gun belt was between us, but I didn't care. Nor did she.
Dusty didn't say a word. After we broke apart, I leapt into Rosie's saddle. Dusty nodded at me and we rode out into the street.
I couldn't stand leaving her sad. It would have killed me. So I whistled to get her attention and then did the silliest thing I could think of. I pulled back on Rosie's reins and gave her a kick to her side, indicating what I wanted. She whinnied loudly, irritated by my request, but she did it. She reared onto her back legs and pawed her feet into the air and I gave Deirdre my best "Hiiiii yo!" and then wolf-whistled at her.
When Rosie's feet were on the ground again, I used my feet to tell her to give me as much speed as she could and rode from town.
As I went, I heard the ostler say, "Damned fool. Who was that patch-wearing idiot?"
Deirdre, who must have been grinning, told him, "Who knows?"
It was many years before I saw Deirdre again. And when we did meet, she was not the same bright-eyed girl I left in the dirt road in Little Rock. Damn, thinking of that moment still causes a small pang in my heart.
Anyway, Dusty and I lit out. There wasn't much in the way of stopping to rest other than to keep the horses from going ass over teakettle into an early grave. I don't recall how long the trip was. We avoided towns whenever possible and didn't stay long when we couldn't.
I fed from animals on a daily basis because we didn't have time for Dusty to prepare any of his concoctions.
There were no lessons—just hard riding and hard sleeping. Hell, I think I played my ocarina twice on that whole ride, and that was just because the horses were nearly blown.
But it all went swimmingly and we arrived in Diamond Springs relatively quickly.
My first impression of Diamond Springs was that it was the very definition of a boom town. Place already had a general goods store, a smith, two churches, and several small cribs for rent to folks passing through. It sat on the Santa Fe trail and had all the bustle you'd expect.
Dusty and I headed for the cribs. I blinked.
"After all this hard riding and we ain't goin' to the church right off? What gives?" I asked.
I kept touching my newly refilled holster. My father's LeMat now sat couched in the leather. Nine .36 caliber balls rested in its chambers, ready to unload death at a moment's notice.
Dusty had given it to me as we rode. There wasn't some big to-do about me getting it back. He just tossed it to me with a "Here ya go. You should have had it a while back. Sorry about that."
I was glad he had. This may seem crazy to you folks, but carrying that gun made it seem like my daddy wasn't that far away from me. Made me feel better somehow. Safer. Sorry, I'm rambling.
Anyway, he explained, "Saint Patrick's is not open to the public during the day except for prayer and adoration of the sacrament. But unless you intend to go for that, our business must take place at night."
"Who is this padre, anyhow? You never said," I told him as we walked toward the rent-a-shacks.
"The Grandmaster of our order. At least in the Americas," he said. "Now, ask no more questions of me today."
He seemed irritated. I had lost the ability to sense emotion somewhere along the trails and was now relying on old-fashioned intuition, and that intuition told me to leave the old man the hell alone.
So, I went to the church. When I went to the door, I hesitated before I touched the handle. I hadn't been in the Lord's house once in the time I had travelled with Dusty. There hadn't really been time. I had no idea if I even could go in.
I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.
When the static electricity from my wool pants zapped my hand on contact with the doorknob, I nearly fainted. I was dead! The Lord had given me His wrath! I was cursed!
Then I realized that I was an idiot.
I tried the handle again and stepped inside. It wasn't a grand cathedral or anything—everything inside was just plain old timbers, save the monstrance. That was plated in gold or at least gold leaf. The holy host sat in it.
It had been so long since I'd been in a church I almost forgot what to do. I blessed myself and knelt in front of the altar. I didn't ask for anything. I just sat there. Staring.
I sat like that for a long time, just looking.
My father had been a devout man of faith. Never missed a mass. I, of course, had been more worried about playing outside.
Anyway, I didn't do much good there. After a moment, I sent up a prayer for Deirdre and Ms. Kary, then stood to go.
After dark, Dusty and I returned to the church. We waited till the evening mass was done.
This Father Jäger was certainly an interesting priest. Kinda funny but still wise. I heard some of his homily from out in the street. He seemed to have a good grasp of how to keep his flock engaged with the service.
When all was said and done, we entered the church as everyone was filing out.
There, shaking hands and talking to his parishioners, was a very pale man in the bright robes and stole of a priest. He was a tall young fella. Maybe in his thirties.
Looking at him, my ears turned to him and the hair on my neck rose. Where there should have been the steady thump of his heart—was utter silence.
Father Maximilian Jäger. Grandmaster of the Rangers. And ordained priest of the Catholic Church...
...was a vampire.