Heroid

((Peggy Kirby's/Ireland Love's player has been so good to me about letting me write about her characters. She also has been good at giving me ideas and suggestions. I was supposed to start posting this April Fool's Day, but I kinda dropped the ball on it. Anyway, Maggie, I hope you like this...))


Roy Kirby mowed through the Malta operatives like a Toro Z500 with titanium blades. He moved with un-HEROID-like grace as he dispatched the “sapper” first, then turned his attention to the man in black who was barking orders. That guy quit barking pretty quickly. Two gunslingers were firing round after round of explosive-tipped, armor penetrating bullets at him, but for all the damage they did to Roy’s alloy body they might as well have been shooting him with spit-wads.

He felt unstoppable. He might not have been ten feet tall, but he was bulletproof and for once in his life he was ecstatically happy. He and Peggy had experienced the morning sickness, the Lamaze classes, the painting and decorating of the nursery -- all of the hardships and joys that an expecting couple can share. Plus there were all sorts of unusual complications along the way. This was, after all, Paragon City.

As Roy thought of the impending birth of the twins, he realized he needed to return his focus to the battle at hand..

The only real threat at the present was the Zeus Class Titan. Before Roy had a chance to put out his lights, the operations officer had managed to have the Titan dispatched to the battle-scene . It was almost within missile-firing range. Roy would have to finish off all of these other distractions before the real fight got started.

The two gunslingers smiled as the Titan got closer, and Roy knew they were about to beat a hasty retreat. Just as they turned to run, Roy jumped and landed with a street-busting thud between them, the shockwave of which put them both on their posteriors with their guns dislodged from their hands and laying just out of reach. Roy scooped up the two “cowboys” and threw them at the oncoming Titan. To say that the gunslingers were surprised would be an understatement.

The Zeus Class Titan had already begun its launch sequence, but with two new objects flying toward it, the big machine had to re-evalutate the situation. It was still trying to decide whether the flying Maltas were friend or foe when a streetlamp post whizzed past them, straight into the Titan's missle magazine. The gunslingers impacted the front of the robot just after.

A loud buzzing sound told Roy he had acheived success as the Titan's launch sequence finally activated, but with Roy's projectile jamming the missle loading mechanism, the missles would go "live" without ever being fired.

The gunslingers scrambled to their feet and limped away as quickly as they could.

Roy couldn't just let the Titan explode on the street, so in one surprisingly fast motion, he leapt to it, wrapped his arms around one of its massive legs, then jumped, as hard and as high as he could. As he and his payload cleared the top of the nearby buildings, Roy hoped that the leap had been well-timed. It would be painfully embarassing if the thing didn't go off until after he was already on his descent -- or worse, until after he had landed.

BOOM!

At the apex of the jump the missle detonated. The other missles in the magazine exploded with it. People on the street below "oooed" and "aaahed" at the display. People in the nearby buildings watched, then ducked as the windows of their offices bowed and shook. Only a handful were shattered, and even at that, no one was injured.

When Roy landed on his big rubber-bottomed feet, he was greeted with loud applause by onlookers, both the civilians and those in capes. Humility prevented him from taking a bow. Instead he just issued a deep-voiced, "Aww... geez... I really didn't do that much, but thanks, people."

The first day of April wasn't starting out too badly at all.

After the crowd dissipated, Roy decided to head back to King's Row and check in with the Tyler situation before heading home to his lovely wife, and very soon to be mother of his twins, Peggy.

He was in the air, heading for the Peregrine Island ferry, when he heard two voices: The first was an excited Maggie Love, she was on the Other Guys' comm channel frantically saying, "Roy? Are ye out there? Roy? Ye better bloody answer me!"

"Yeah, Maggie?" he said as he his leap carried him out over the bay toward the ferry.

"Ye need t' hurry on o'er here t' Chiron Medical Center. Peggy's in labor!"

He was descending again now, toward a rocky outcrop, which, when he kicked off from it in another leap, would get him to the ferry.

"B-but," he stammered, "She ain't due fer another couple weeks!"

"Well, tell tha' t' th' wee ones, ye big galoot! Just hurry! Ye promised ye'd be wi' her fer th' birthin'!"

"Just... stay with 'er, would ya Maggie?" he said as he feet touched down on the rocks, "I'll be there direc'ly."

Then he heard the second voice. It wasn't on his comm, nor was it coming through his audio receptors. This voice was internal, a digitized "systems" voice, built into his robot body. Generally he ignored these voices because they usually stated the obvious like, "Pressure is exceeding recommended psi," or, "Lifting capacity has been exceeded." This one bothered him though, because he hadn't heard it in a long, long, long time. Not since Purple Nebula had created his nearly limitless power crystal, the power source for his robot body.

The digitized voice said, "Warning: Batteries are extremely low. Shutdown imminent. Recharge is recommended immediately."

This took Roy by surprise, seeing as how he no longer ran on batteries. The closest thing he had now were the capacitors used to regulate the infinite flow of energy from the gem in his chest. If the energy supply was cut off then his capacitors would hold enough power for an emergency shutdown. But the jewel in his chest…

Roy looked down. The gem was gone. No doubt the explosion of the Titan robot had dislodged it.

No problem, he thought, I'll just change ta human form so I can go back an' find it.

Which is exactly what he did. But that changed his weight from well over 900 pounds to a much lighter 295 pounds, which affected the arc of the leap he was now in the middle of.

Roy Kirby braced himself for the impact. He wasn't going to land near the ferry where he had intended, and his body was tumbling head over heels, so that, even though he tried to twist around to land on his feet, he had no way of guaranteeing that he would do so. When he landed, he landed headfirst on the top of the ferry. He was out cold.

((And just to remind peeps what this thread is for...

It's a place for stories about your character's home life. Or maybe lack thereof.

Explore relationships. Present vignettes of daily life. That kind of thing. We're not looking for big rp plots or plot-driven stories. It's just a way to let others -- and yourself -- get to know your character(s) a little better.))

((Another bump. ))

((Just a bump.))

[ QUOTE ]
[Yeah, I wasn't sure, but I thought that's what had to happen. You know that means you have to write another one, right?]

[/ QUOTE ]

((Another one is already percolating in my little bitty head.

And thanks to everyone who read this one. I hope my uplifting little morality play lit up your otherwise gloomy lives, brought a smile to your face, and sweetened your dreams at night. ))

“Who… what are you?” Killian asked.

The stranger walked past him, toward the town, without so much as looking at him. As it passed him, its form shifted and became definite. No more a vague shape made of dust and shadow; it now had the form of a large man, with shoulders as wide as a doorway; he wore a long tan coat and a wide-brimmed hat. Killian was looking at the stranger’s back and so could not see its face, whether it was a man or some other thing.

“I am a seeker.” The voice was deep and rough like a cave-in in a mineshaft and it sent a chill up the sheriff’s spine.

“A seeker for what?”

“That which I have lost.”

“That ain’t no answer.”

Without breaking stride, the stranger said, “Do not get in my way.”

“Wait!” Killian said, drawing his Colt, unsure now if the stranger was an ally or not. “I’m the sheriff here…”

“Are you?” The stranger said it without pausing or turning to face him.

Killian really didn’t wish to challenge it after seeing what it was capable of. He lowered his gun – but didn’t holster it – and followed the stranger back into town.

“Listen, stranger,” Killian said as they walked. “I just want to thank you for what you did back there. You have no idea what those men…”

“I have a very good idea, Sheriff.”

As they approached the town, for the first time the stranger turned to face Killian. His face could have been chiseled out of flesh-colored stone, well-muscled, with craggy features. The one thing that stood out more than any other feature was his eyes – they were white and pupiless. But Killian knew he wasn’t blind.

“Where is she?” the stranger asked.

“There,” Killian replied pointing to the Lost Lake Gentlemen’s Club.

The stranger nodded and said, “Come with me.”

Killian did. He followed the stranger into the club and led him up the stairs to Rosalyn’s room. When they opened the door, she was still lying in bed, asleep, restful, as if for the first time in her life, she was at peace.

The stranger walked to the bed, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Rosalyn’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled at the stranger. There was a look of affection in her eyes.

“Bethany Rose,” the stranger said softly, though his deep voice rumbled as he spoke.

He stroked her hair and her face, and traced her lips with his fingers. She smiled up at him, and then contentedly closed her eyes.

“I knew you’d come, my beloved.” she said in an English accent that Killian had never heard from her before.

“I am here,” he said, with the same accent.

Then the stranger picked up the pillow where Killian had earlier laid his head and put it over Rosalyn’s face. He pressed down. Rosalyn began to kick, but then calmed and became still again. The stranger kept the pillow pressed down.

“Stop!” Killian shouted, “You’re killing her!”

Without looking up, the stranger said, “She died a long time ago.”

“No! She’s alive!”

“She’s reanimated. There is a difference.”

“No! Stop!” Killian drew his pistol, “Stop or I’ll shoot you.”

“Do what you feel you must,” the stranger said without moving.

Killian fired. There was a spark and a sharp report like the bullet hit a rock and ricocheted. The stranger was unharmed.

Killian holstered his gun and leapt onto the stranger’s back, but the stranger didn’t as much as flinch. Killian tried for a time to pull the stranger off – he even bit hard into his neck – but he might as well have been trying to move a boulder.

Killian gave up and fell off of the stranger, even as the stranger stood up and dropped the pillow to the floor.

Rosalyn lay on the bed, her face slightly blue, and her eyes lifeless, like they were when she was under the opium.

“God… God…” Killian could not believe their savior had become her killer.

The stranger rubbed his neck where Killian bit him and said, “I’m sorry, Sheriff. It was for the best. You will come to understand that.”

The stranger went downstairs. For a time, Killian sat on the bed beside Rosalyn, then kissed her and covered her with her satin bedspread.

When he got downstairs, the stranger was sitting at the bar sipping Bitner’s good whiskey. Sitting on the bar in front of the man were the two books. The smaller of the two was flipped open.

“Death, why do you deny me your succor?” the stranger read aloud in a voice that sounded like sawdust and black powder, “Why must I linger unfulfilled? When my soul does desire to move on to the shadows; and my heart to rest, unbeating and stilled.”

Killian stood feeling the emptiness of the poem spread into him.

“You see?” the stranger said, “It was what she wanted – to be free.”

“I loved her.”

“As did I, a long time ago.”

“Then why…?” Killian began, but he did understand. He understood everything.

“Her time was not come yet. To make her linger would only forestall that.”

Killian nodded.

“Your time will come again also, and we shall test one another.”

Killian nodded again.

The stranger closed the book and stood. He picked up the smaller book, leaving the larger one on the bar, and walked towards the door.

“I trust you know what must be done, Sheriff.”

Killian nodded. He knew what must be done. He recalled the day he had fled from the beast. The day Rain had died. The day his friends had died. The day he had died.

He truly is the finest reanimator on two continents…

Killian drew his gun, placed the barrel in his mouth, and fired.

The patrons of the gentlemen’s club were stretched in a line along the edge of the flat plain that was the lake. They looked up the ridge of the shoreline at a solitary figure that was there. The figure was large, tall and wide, but dark and featureless as a starless night; its exact shape was indiscernible, but somehow it evoked power. Behind the figure, dust swirled high into the air. When the figure moved, the sandstorm followed, back and forth behind it.

Bitner stood in the center of his line, and on either side of him, Killian recognized the gunslingers he had shot over the past days… weeks… however long it had been. To the far left of the line Mr. Boulan stood, his mouth moving and his eyes closed – if Killian had to guess, he would say the man was chanting some spell.

Killian lay on the burning hot ground, the pain a welcome sensation that made him in some way feel connected with real life and not the nightmare existence he had endured lately. He looked through the binoculars, then pulled them away from his eyes, trying his best to judge the distance between himself and Bitner. He wasn’t within range yet. He would have to get closer.

He belly crawled across the cracked surface of the lake bed and was almost in position when a commotion arose that caused him to hold. He looked through the binoculars and saw a sight that made the blood freeze in his veins.

Mr. Boulan’s body was convulsing and twisting. His shape was contorting until he was no longer shaped like a man, but rather like a large slug; then he grew. In seconds he went from man-sized to almost the size of a steam engine. He began to excrete a yellow, steaming slime.

Killian dropped the binoculars and bit down on his own arm to keep from screaming.

The beast that had been called Boulan reared up to strike. The shadow thing twisted toward him and the dust storm rolled violently. It swirled into a cyclone and swept down the hill toward the left side of Bitner’s line and tore across the patrons, sucking them in and upward, but most especially, it seemed to target the monster. The twister grabbed the Boulan creature and despite its struggles, whipped it in a circle, then drew it in. The beast shot upward into the tempest.

Then the whirlwind receded and died. The beast and the men it had sucked up were gone.

Killian put the binocular back to his eyes and looked. Bitner was shouting but Killian could not quite hear what he was saying. The dark figure was still; the sand beneath it churned as if gathering strength for another attack, then sand and darkness surged and became one; the figure’s outline was lost in the black sand wall that had formed along the shoreline.

Then there was the flap of leathery wings and suddenly the remains of Bitner’s line rushed the ridge. The dead gunslingers’ guns blazed as they shot into the wall of sand and darkness.

Killian stood to a crouch and ran forward a few feet before dropping to the burning hot ground.

He didn’t know who or what the dark shape was, but if it was Bitner’s enemy, then it was Killian’s ally. The man who was once sheriff of a mining boomtown raised the marksman’s rifle, took aim, and fired. One of the gunslingers – Col. Mortimer – went down. Killian drew back the bolt and the spent cartridge popped out, then he shoved the bolt back into place and shot down Jack Colby. McGaffey was next. The last gunfighter – the one in the fringed shirt and too-small hat – he shot twice, just to make sure that this time, he didn’t come back.

Killian raised the binoculars and tried to make out what was happening in the skirmish. Some of the patrons of the gentlemen’s club took on the shapes of beasts and devils and dove headlong into the inky sand. The mysterious figure was nearly impossible to make out through the nebulous dust. As it moved through the churning horror of gunfire and claws, amongst the seething of skin and scales, Killian thought the dark shape could be either man or beast, or something neither – something he had no name for. It moved among them and the clientele of the gentlemen's club began to die, falling backwards from the swirling dust devil with gurgling screams, as if their very souls were being ripped from them.

Killian could not bring himself to look away as the ranks of his adversary were whittled away by whatever force this dark dust storm harnessed.

Then the torrent of sand slowed, diminished, until the figure stood hazily outlined against the fading daylight, it’s form breaking up, blowing away like smoke in the desert wind. Those of its enemies still alive pummeled, slashed, and tore at it, ripping away pieces that dissipated in the breeze.

Why? Killian wondered. It had been winning easily. Killian swept the battlefield with the binoculars. There. Bitner had crept away from the fight. He held the large tome called the King in Yellow open and was reading from it some spell or incantation.

Killian drew back the bolt of the Mauser.

One shot. Bitner went down.

Killian put the binoculars back up to his eyes.

The figure coalesced; the dust from the earth shot upward and filled the holes its opponents had made. It heaved and shrugged and tossed its assailants aside like cards in a bad hand. Then it raised his arms one last time and a tenebrous cloud formed around it and swelled until it eclipsed all of its enemies. The shadow-cloud writhed like a living creature for a few moments, and then it dissipated. When it was gone, there was nothing left but a pile of shriveled husks and the strange dusky figure standing over them.

The stranger walked to Bitner’s body and picked up the book. Then it came toward Killian.

((Susiebot, DB, you guys are awesome! You're going to give me the big head. *head swells to room size then asplodes!* Boom! *Heroid brains all over walls and ceiling...*

Um... I mean, thanks for the compliments and noticing the references. ))

The harsh afternoon sun streamed through the window right into Killian’s eyes, waking him up from a dreamless sleep. Rosalyn lay at his side so still and so peacefully that he had to hold his breath to hear her breathe.

It was late in the day and no one had come for either of them yet.

Killian left Rosalyn sleeping and slipped out of bed. He got dressed – though he felt naked now without his gun belt – and crept out of the room and down the stairs. No one was there, not even the bartender.

He looked around for any sign of Bitner or his cronies, but it seemed the place really was empty. Killian went behind the bar and retrieved the gun belt that he had been using in the gunfights. For the first time in a long time, he was able to pick it up and put it on of his own free will. Then – also for the first time in a long time – he stepped out onto the street without Bitner accompanying him.

The harsh desert air blew in his face and it felt refreshing.

Liar’s Lake looked like a ghost of a town, as if all life in it was gone and the bare bones remained to bleach in the glaring sunlight. Killian tried to remember it the way it had once been, but too much had happened. The people he had once known would not even form phantoms in his memory.

He thought about going upstairs, waking Rosalyn, and taking her away. They could make packs out of supplies in the gentlemen’s club and the general store and probably make the trek across the desert. But he knew if they fled, Bitner would come after them.

Better to see what the situation really was before he made a desperate play for escape.

As he made his way through town, Killian stuck close to the buildings. He paused at windows and doorways, listening, peeking in to see if anyone was inside. The town seemed to be as empty as he had perceived it to be.

He was near to going back to get Rosalyn when he saw the dust cloud, rising like a thunderhead, out on the empty lake bed. His heart sank. Whatever was going on out there, it involved the clientele from the Lost Lake Gentlemen’s Club.

He looked back down the street. The sheriff’s office door stood open as he had left it the last time he had stepped out of it. Inside would be the Winchester and the Mauser bolt rifle with its scope. If Bitner’s influence over him had proximity limits, then the range of the Mauser might end that influence once and for all.

Killian stepped into his old office, got the key to the gun lockup out of his desk drawer, then took both of the rifles out. He filled a box with plenty of rounds for both guns, grabbed his pair of old U.S. Army binoculars, then went out and started walking, down the street, out of town, toward the storm that was forming out on Liars’ Lake.

Killian stood and looked at the chandelier where Rosalyn -- in an opium-induced, semi-conscious state -- was tied, spread-eagle facing the floor. She was smiling at him. He closed his eyes.

They had spent the day in her bed, uninterrupted, and in that same dreamlike state that he had felt during the gunfight. “Live in this moment,” Rosalyn had told him, and they did. It would have been easy for him to believe that the events of the past several days – weeks? -- had been nothing but a nightmare, that the warm and yielding woman in his arms was merely a woman, and that when they were done, they could get dressed and he could take her to introduce her to Greedy and the Tildons…

But no. She was hanging on the large, circular, wrought-iron chandelier in a former saloon, smiling at him, awaiting yet another death that he was powerless to stop.

He tried to remember how many times he had watched her die, but his memory was as cloudy as his perceptions. Only during the gunfights did his senses seem to function sharply. Jack Colby. Ed McGaffey. Col. Mortimer. All men he had known were long dead. All men he had recently gunned down in the street in Liar’s Lake for the entertainment of Bitner and his bunch.

He opened his eyes. She was still smiling. Bitner stood nearby, looking Killian in the eye and also smiling.

“Mr. Whateley, are you ready?” Bitner said without looking away from Killian.

From somewhere in the room, a voice that sounded like a dry, hot, desert wind said, “I am.”

Bitner nodded and Killian heard a rustling like someone taking off a heavy coat. That was followed by a sound like someone was beating a rug. Killian closed his eyes again. Whatever was making those sounds, he did not want to see.

But Bitner said, “Sheriff, you’re going to miss it!”

And Killian’s eyelids flew open and he could no longer so much as blink.

Something large and roughly man-shaped, but somehow both more and less than human, flapped leathery wings as it flew a circle around the ceiling then landed atop the chandelier. It climbed to the underside of the fixture, and wrapped its scaly arms around Rosalyn. Then it folded its wings so that both their bodies were completely covered, hidden from sight. Except for Rosalyn’s face. She still smiled at Killian and continued smiling at him, even when the creature called Whateley began to…

Killian screamed, but his mouth didn’t open and he made no sound.

He awoke once again beneath the satin sheets with Rosalyn at his side. She smiled gently at him with eyes that showed the after-effects of opium use.

"How many?" he asked.

"How many what?" She rolled over onto her back and laid her arm across her brow, the smile faded.

"How many times has he killed you and brought you back?"

"I don't know. It's not important. After the first time, it doesn't matter."

"What has he done to me? Why can't I fight him?"

Rosalyn bit her lower lip for a moment, and then said, "A binding. He has you under a binding spell. It's like... your body has to ask him permission before it can do what you want it to."

Killian laid and looked at her. She was beautiful, fragile, needy. She appealed to him in every way a woman can appeal to a man like him.

"He won't kill you again. I promise."

She raised up on her elbow, then turned and kissed him. He held her there, pressed his lips to hers, felt her tongue flicker across his, and when the kiss was done, she looked at him sadly and said, "Yes, he will."

Then she kissed him again.

"... and so our intrepid band of mystics, conjurers, and demigods has wound up here in Liar's Lake, where the cursed 'guardian book' sought to woo my sweet Rosalyn and my precious King in Yellow away."

Here, Bitner paused, allowing his audience to bask in the moment with him.

Killian wanted to vomit, but he didn't think he would be able to unless Bitner gave him permission. He waited with dread for the moment that Bitner would stop talking and would give the command to drink.

Bitner continued, "And now I present to you our ultimate triumph!" Bitner suddenly held up a small, leatherbound book, thin enough so that it could easily disappear between other volumes on a bookshelf. "I have both of the books!"

A murmuring arose from the crowded room as the men in the club briefly discussed the ramifications of this new situation, then someone shouted, "Hail, Bitner!" which was followed by successive choruses of "Hail Bitner!" from all of those assembled.

All save one.

Killian stood shaking, fighting to regain his will, but he could not. He couldn't turn and walk away. He couldn't throw the shot glass full of blood in his hand away.

When the cheers died down, Bitner smiled and said, "But I have spoken too long, our beverage is getting cold." Then he hoisted his glass, and said, "To the Greater Darkness!"

"To the Greater Darkness!" came back the chorus.

Then they all turned up the glass and downed the blood. It was sharp and bitter on Killian's tongue.

After the toast, Bitner announced, "Give me an hour and she'll be ready to go again."

Then his bartender hoisted the body back up to the landing and carried it around the corner upstairs. Bitner followed.

The patrons of the gentlemen's club went back to their discussions and the drinking or their whiskey and wine, and left Killian standing alone among them as if he was beneath their notice. Killian overheard one of them say, "He truly is the finest reanimator on two continents." To which another replied, "So you think the Manchurian is as skilled?" And then another stated, "Perhaps more skilled, but hardly as prolific."

Killian finally found the willpower to faint. His body however remained standing.

When everyone had filled their glass, Bitner climbed the stairs so that he could address his clientele. "Friends and associates," he began, "today is indeed a momentous day. For months we have traveled this country seeking a location in which we may freely pursue our interests without the threat of interference or persecution. Now, we have found that place."

He paused and a spot of applause erupted.

Killian held the glass of blood in a trembling hand. It was still warm and the scent of it was worse than Boulan's stench. He could not bear to look up to see Rosalyn's defiled corpse hanging there, so he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

After the applause died, Bitner continued; he held up a rather large book as he spoke. "I have yet another piece of wonderful news. Many years has it been since I gained possession of this book -- the rarest of all editions of the King in Yellow – the Sisters Binding. My own father printed it, and he knew it was special. My father was a print master of some repute among devotees of the dark arts …"

Many, many years earlier


“Where did you find this?”

Aldin Bitner man crouched over the stack of pages like a lion over a deer. He looked up at the stranger who had brought in the manuscript: the man had an air of aristocracy about him, yet he did not seem to be of that pampered ilk. Neither did the man have the sickly pallid look of one who spent his time pouring over ancient scrolls.

“Never mind where I found it,” the stranger replied. “Just tell me if you can do it.”

Aldin Bitner looked over the pages. “Well… it will not be easy to maintain the form of each page exactly, down to the letter – no, no you said down to every dot and dash. And these roses that are drawn on three corners of each page… Oh, very difficult to do on my old press. That will cost you…”

“I am not much for quibbling. Name your price, but if you tell me you can do this and you fail, mark my word that you shall regret the undertaking of it.”

“Y-yes. I c-can do it. A-and I can mix the a-ashes into the ink. Y-yes.”

The stranger smiled. “Good. Take your time, but notify me at this address with the total charges for your work when it is done.” He handed Bitner a card with an apartment number. “I will send a man by to pick it up. You are to ask him no questions and there will be no mirrors in the shop when he comes. Is that understood?”

"There are no mirrors now, sir."

The stranger looked around to confirm that fact. "Good. See to it that it does not change before my associate comes."

Aldin Bitner nodded, and after the stranger curtly turned and walked out of the print shop, he said again, just as the door closed, “It wouldn’t kill you to tell me where you found this…”

Through the milky glass in the door, Bitner saw the man pause, and was afraid for a moment that the man had heard him, but then the stranger was suddenly gone.

Bitner took the manuscript and worked as quickly as possible. The words he read as he set his type were familiar, and the further he got into the work, the more he came to understand their power. Some there were who said that reading these words would cause madness. Nonsense. Fools always confused enlightenment with insanity.

In his dealings with printing arcane and ancient books, Bitner had made a few contacts. Among them was a necromancer of considerable talent, but less than modest reputation. The necromancer preferred his relative obscurity because it kept him away from the notice of the Council of Wizards and Sorcerers of England and the Celtic Lands. When he had finished the printing, Aldin Bitner took the book to him.

The necromancer examined the book, and confirmed that the book was a mooring – a way of chaining souls to this realm of existence in order to keep them from passing over to the other side. And due to the nature of the book itself and the fact that there was not merely one soul, but the souls of three sisters anchored to it; it had the potential to become an object of great power; for the sisters indeed represented archetypes found in the book – archetypes necessary for all of the magics in the tome to be released and mastered.

Aldin Bitner could not believe his luck. He filled his shop with mirrors, and when the stranger's associate showed up to retrieve the book, the associate found himself trapped in their reflections. Aldin Bitner shattered the mirrors, and absconded with the tome.

Little did he know, however, that the stranger had another object to which the sisters souls were moored -- a comb.

When the stranger arrived to check on the book and his associate, he found the print shop deserted and the manuscript gone, except for a few pages that had inadvertently become separated from the rest. There were only a handful of poems on those pages, but it was enough.

The stranger took the comb -- with strands of one or more of the sisters' hair still entangled in the teeth -- along with the manuscript to a place not of this realm. There golden strands and the comb were used to craft a small book of the poems, which was linked by association to the larger book. From beyond the stars, a creature of amorphous nature was captured and bound to the smaller book. This creature would serve as guardian of the books and the sisters, to keep anyone from ever using the sisters' souls in ways that would forever damn them.

Over the years, the smaller book would always draw the larger book to it, and then they would both mysteriously vanish again until some intrepid practioner of the arcane would discover the larger tome, then the cycle would begin again.

Things changed, however, when many years later, the stars aligned, and the sisters were born, incarnate, in the body of one woman...

After the gunfight, the dreamlike feeling returned. Bitner took Killian into the gentleman's club and set him up with his own bottle of Kentucky bourbon and Killian sat at a table alone to drink it. Now and again, one of the strangers would come up and clap him on the back and swear that it was the best gunfight he had seen yet and that Killian must have nerves of steel.

Killian filled his glass and looked at it without drinking. All of this had started when Greedy had shown him that book, and whatever power was being exerted over him, that book must have something to do with it. He just had to figure out what and how before Bitner put him up against a gun that was surer than his.

Suddenly a sickening smell almost overwhelmed him and when he looked up, he saw Mr. Boulan standing on the landing at the top of the stairs with Rosalyn close behind him.

"We're ready," Boulan announced.

A clamouring arose from around the room as the patrons of the gentlemen's club got up out of their seats and gathered below the landing. Those of slight stature jostled to get in front of some of the larger men. Killian found himself on his feet standing among the fringe in the rear.

Rosalyn wore a sheer white gown, tied in the front, and her hair was tied back with a length of white lace. Her eyes were glassy with dark circles under them. Even so, Killian still found her beautiful, and if he had not suddenly lost the strength of will to act on his own, he would have vaulted the stairs, grabbed her, and made off with her in a blaze of gunfire. As it was he could only watch.

From a back room, Bitner and his bartender emerged carrying a large washtub. The inside of it was stained a red deeper than any rust Killian had ever seen and he shuddered as the two men sat the tub down directly under where Rosalyn stood. Boulan offered her his hand, and she took it as he helped her climb up to stand on the railing. Then the bartender ascended the stairs carrying a length of rope, which Boulan took and tied around Rosalyn's ankles.

Killian's breath was coming in short, quick gasps. His heart felt as if it was going to beat out of his chest. He tried to shout at her to wake her up, but even his mouth was beyond his command now.

Boulan reached out and gave Rosalyn a gentle push that sent her over the rail where she hung upside down. Then he produced a long, wickedly curved knife and lunged halfway over the railing. The knife found its mark in Rosalyn's heart, then Boulan pulled himself back to stand on the landing, the knife following upward.

Blood began pouring into the washtub.

The bartender was busy again, milling through the crowd with a tray of tiny, crystal shotglasses.

Killian found himself holding one of the glasses. Bitner stood close by his side, watching the gentlemen lined up at the tub, filling their glasses with Rosalyn's blood.

"Won't you join us for a drink, Sheriff?"

Killian had left Rosalyn to “prepare” herself for her visit from Mr. Boulan. It disturbed him greatly to think that such a creature would soil the sheets that he had so recently warmed. It disturbed him even more that he would be with a woman who would share a bed with such a man.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head and focused on the scene at the bottom of the stairs.

The downstairs of the gentlemen’s club was bustling, just as it had been on the night when he had first met Rosalyn. Some of the strangers he had seen before; others were new; still others turned their faces away, or wore low-brimmed hats, or long bangs, so that he could not see their faces.

Bitner was there, dressed in a light blue suit, smiling his alligator smile, and sipping a glass of whiskey. “Ah, there he is!” Bitner shouted when Killian came down into view. “I must say that I admire the showmanship of a belated entrance. It builds tension nicely.”

Killian paused. “Belated… showmanship? What the hell are you talking about Bitner?”

“Why you, my dear sheriff,” Bitner said with a glee in his voice, “are to perform for our entertainment on this fine afternoon.”

“Entertain…?”

The little man looked Killian up and down that in a way that made his skin crawl, then said, “You look resplendent in black, Nick. Now, come along; a dramatic entrance is one thing, procrastination is quite another.”

“Wait, now, I didn’t agree to…”

The smile vanished from the Bitner’s face as he said, “Do as I say.”

“I’ll be damned if I jump when you…”

Killian didn’t finish the sentence. Bitner spun on his heels and started toward the saloon’s swinging doors; Killian followed.

The feeling was almost dreamlike, as if he was watching himself follow the man out into the street, like being caught up in an unreal scene that had to be played out, and then he would wake up – except he knew he was awake.

As he passed the bar, Killian was handed by the burly bartender a gun belt with two chrome-plated Colts in the holsters. Killian nodded a thank you because he was pretty damned sure he was going to need the pistols.

Outside the midday sun glared down and waves of heat rippled on the dusty street. Strangers lined both sides, standing in the shadows of doorways and awnings, some under parasols, and still others fanned themselves with fancy oriental fans. Quite a few, however, stood fully under the harsh light and looked completely comfortable, as if heat was what they had been born to.

Bitner addressed the crowd: “Gentlemen, I welcome you to the day’s midday entertainment. You have a few moments to arrange any wagers you wish to make. In the meantime, let me introduce to you our combatants.”

Killian worked quickly as Bitner spoke to put on the gun belt and tie the holsters to his thighs. It was not the setup he would have chosen. The holsters were deep and with barely a notch to accommodate the gun handles, not what he would have chosen for himself at all.

“My friends,” Bitner continued, “I believe you know our stalwart sheriff, Nick Killian.” He paused and swept a hand in Killian’s direction, then continued. “And if you look up in front of the church, I’m sure most of you will recognize our challenger…”

Killian looked up the street. Though the shadow of the midday sun and a hat pulled low on the brow obscured the man’s face, the fringed buckskin shirt and the narrow-brimmed cowboy hat reminded him of someone he knew long ago. But that couldn’t be, because that man was long dead.

The newcomer strode down the street toward the saloon. He wasn’t large of stature, but neither did he seem small. Compact was the word, like fist balled up tight – compact and powerful. His gait was purposeful, and his bearing confident.

Killian knew for sure who it was even before the stranger lifted the brim of his hat so that Killian could see his eyes.

“You!?”

“Yep.”

“But… you’re dead. Up in Johnson County, Wyoming… Jack Wilson shot you just before you gunned him down…”

“Yeah, well,” the newcomer said, “I came back.”

Killian pulled both of his guns -- one on the gunfighter and one on Bitner. “Bitner! You tell me what’s going on!”

“Put your guns away.”

“Like hell I will,” Killian said even as he realized they were already holstered.

“You will draw them, Sheriff, but you will draw them at the proper time.” Bitner smirked then went, “Tch. Tch. You made such a nice entrance, only to botch up the presentation.”

Killian wanted very badly to curse the man, to spit in his face. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Bitner smiled as if at a child who had confessed stealing a pie, and said, “It’s quite all right. I’m sure you will impress us very much in mere moments.” He turned to the crowd and said with a smile, “Now, gentlemen, place your final wagers and we’ll get underway.”

Killian found himself walking down the street in the direction opposite the church, toward where the street disappeared into the open desert. He told himself to run, but his feet just kept marching straight down the middle of the street, and when he reached a certain spot, just short of the abandoned claims office, his feet knew where to stop.

From here he knew what to do. No dreamlike compulsion. No sense of lost will. Here instincts from a life he had tried to forget took over. He watched his opponent with the eyes of a hawk. Every flare of the nostril; every blink; every heave of the chest; every strand of fringe on the shirt – Killian saw it all. And he waited.

The fringe at the elbow shook just a little, but enough for Killian to see and to know.

Both men’s hands moved quicker than any eye could follow. The stranger drew his single Smith & Wesson and fired; Killian heard the bullet whiz past his left ear before he squeezed the trigger of the gun in his right hand. His opponent’s shoulder jerked backward as a spray of red shot out the back of it. Before the other man could recover and aim, Killian raised both his guns – the one in his left hand aimed toward the chest; the one in his right, at the head – and fired.

The gunfighter fell backwards and threw up a cloud of dust when he landed. He lay perfectly still as a crimson stain spread beneath him, then quickly soaked into the thirsty ground.

A thunder of applause broke out from the crowd of strangers, as Bitner’s voice rose above it, saying, “And once again, we have proof that it is not the quickest draw, but the steadier hand and the cooler head that wins the day. Well done, gentlemen!”

Killian looked at the body lying in the street and wondered if he could hear Bitner's declarations of approval and satisfaction.

"Wake up."

He opened his eyes and saw her there, beside him. With a slender finger she traced around his brow, down his jaw line, to his mouth. Her finger stroked his lips, and then she kissed him. He kissed her back.

After the kiss she laid her head on his bare chest just like they had been lovers long enough to be comfortable just lying together. He could feel satin on his skin, and when he looked around, he saw that he was in Rosalyn's room at the gentlemen's club.

"Rosalyn?"

"Yes?"

"Am I dead? Is this heaven?"

Rosalyn laughed. "Oh, Nick Killian, you are so funny. No, this isn't heaven."

Killian tried to remember how he got here, but all he could remember was that the monster worm had killed his friends and neighbors and then had turned and chased him and that...

...nothing. He couldn't remember a thing except turning around to see the beast chasing him.

When he sat up in bed, Rosalyn grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back down, saying, "Please, just a little more time with me?"

His head felt like it was filled with sand and his stomach churned. "The people," he said, "my friends, they're all..."

Rosalyn sat up and looked into this eyes. "We're still here," she said. "I'm still here."

Killian brushed her hand off of his shoulder and swung his feet to the floor. "Your boss... he had something to do with it."

Rosalyn frowned but did not reply.

Killian stalked across the room to the dressing screen and looked behind it, then strode to the wardrobe and opened it, and when that didn't seem to satisfy him he went back to the bed and stood over Rosalyn. "Where are my clothes?"

"Emil will bring you new ones."

"Bitner?”

Rosalyn nodded and said, “Now, please, come back to bed.” She threw back the covers and invited him under them.

Killian looked at her laying there, her skin pale pink, smooth and perfect as if she had just been born. She looked at him with eyes that showed no signs of her opium use, and if he tried real hard, he could imagine that she was looking at him with the eyes of true love.

“No,” he said.

“Nick…”

“Something ain’t right. I need to get dressed and get out of here… figure out what’s going on…”

There was a knock at the door. Killian scooted over behind the silk dressing screen and peeked over the top of it as Rosalyn got up and, without so much as wrapping a sheet around her, walked over and opened the door. There stood a man so fat and tall that Killian could not see all of him through the door frame. The man sweated profusely; and he stunk with a stench that was not of sweat, but smelled… noxious – as if he had bathed in rotted meat.

“Oh my,” Rosalyn said, “Is it noon already? I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Nooo, Misssss Rossssalynnn.”

The man’s voice sent chills up Killian’s spine and he quickly thought about – and dismissed – leaping out of the window to get away.

The man continued: “I ammm earrrrrly. Emiiiiil hasss requessssted that the shhhhhheriffff come dowwwn for a little enterrrrtainnnnment.”

The man handed Rosalyn a bundle which looked to be clothing with a black flat-brimmed hat on top. Then he said, “I wiiillll be baaaack innnn twooo houuuurs for my appoiiintmeeent.”

Rosalyn smiled sweetly at the large, round man and said, “Thank you, Mr. Boulan, I’ll be ready.”

When she said that, Killian looked down at the dressing table and at the needle and the little jar of light-brown powder that sat on top of it.

Mr. Boulan excused himself and Rosalyn shut the door. “I told you Emil would provide you with some clothes,” she said.

“Who was he?” Killian asked.

“If you are going to ask that every time a gentleman comes to visit me,” she replied, “then our relationship is not going to be a happy one.”

“Rosalyn… I don’t understand any of this…”

“You don’t have to, Sheriff,” she said as she handed him the clothes, “but you do have to get dressed and see what Emil has for you.”

Killian sighed. The window was looking better and better. But where would he run to? There was no one left in town but him and the strangers. He was pretty sure that when he got dressed and went downstairs, he was going to die.

“Rosalyn,” he said as he dropped the bundle of clothes to the floor, “I might have to go down and face my fate, but I don’t have to be in a hurry to do so.” To his surprise he smiled as he said it.

Rosalyn took his hand and led him back to the bed and all the promises that satin sheets held.

Tessarae had found Rose. It had been as simple as that. Budgie had been unable to protect her. A woman with psychic abilities had tracked them down. No doubt the strange man could too.

Budgie had reached a decision.

Days after Rose was taken from her protection, Budgie met in the high places in the Hollows with Nick Kinsolving. As always, he had questions to which she had no answers.

Kinsolving's questions were moot at this point. She had failed -- at least in this form -- to protect the sisters. The third sister was still in her care, but fought to escape, and with an incarnate now available, it was all Budgie could do to keep her restrained.

So when Kinsolving arrived with his questions, Budgie decided she needed his help in protecting the sisters. She took to the sky and let go of the form she now wore...

Nick Kinsolving watched as Samantha Budgie became a dot in the sky. The girl infuriated him at times with her enigmatic statements and erractic behavior, but right now, he was worried about her. She had abducted Rose for no discernable reason other than to "protect the sisters", and had babbled about some strange man invading her mind.

If someone was invading her psychically, she needed to come with him -- there were people who could help her at the school. But she refused, and now she was fleeing him yet again.

Then suddenly, as he watched, the dot that was Budgie flashed like a spark, and, for a moment disappeared. Then the dot began to grow. Was she falling back to earth?

Kinsolving didn't know what had happened, but he braced himself. He had no way of knowing if she could survive such a fall.

Soon though, he realized it wasn't the winged girl who was falling. It was a book. He stepped aside as it slammed into the ground, and then he stooped to pick it up.

He tucked it into his jacket without taking a look at the title. He knew what it was...

The Song of Cassilda and Other Poems

When he got back to town, there was a lot of commotion going on. The townspeople were loading horses and wagons with whatever things of value or utility they had. They milled about busily, checking each other to make sure they had this or that, or if that wagon wheel needed repair before they set out. It was like everybody in town was moving out.

From up on Rain, Killian looked down at Greedy as the old man finished packing a wagon with dry goods, store fixtures, and furniture. He asked, "Where are you going?"

Greedy looked up and smiled, "Same place as them," he pointed to the end of town where other wagons and horses were raising a cloud of dust. "They bought us all out -- fair price too! -- so we're all leaving."

Killian took off his black Stetson and scratched his head. "Seems kinda sudden, don't it?"

"You don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Still..."

"Goodbye Nick. You was a good friend, and I'll miss you."

"Greedy... I..." Killian stuttered and stammered, but couldn't come up with words. Something was not right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Greedy shook his head and climbed up on the buckboard.

"Wait!" Killian said, he found at least a part of what troubled him. "Greedy, what happened to that book?"

The old man smiled and said, "I sold it to that Bitner fella." Then he picked up the reins and ordered his horses to "giddayup!" and took off.

Killian followed slowly, watching as his friends and neighbors left town, leaving him there alone with the strangers. He followed them out to the low ridge that marked the dry lake's ancient edge – what the locals had always called the “shoreline”. Something still wasn't right; he wanted to shout out after them, tell them to come back, but there would be no stopping them now.

As the little caravan approached the ridge, a rumbling rose up from all around. Rain skittered and reared, and nearly dumped Killian out of the saddle. The rumbling grew louder, so loud it shook Killian’s bones. Then the lake bed cracked open and something came out.

A long, sinuous blackness erupted from the earth. It was the size and length a steam locomotive with a train of cars behind, and it moved with as much speed and force. From far behind, Killian could only watch as the creature overtook the little caravan and encircled it with its snaking body.

Wet and slimy, it exuded a yellow trail of steaming goo that smelled like a rendering plant. The greasy fluid sent up a noxious vapor as it puddled around the terrified townsfolk; the stench was overwhelming.

Killian could only listen in dumb terror as, hidden from his sight behind the thick loop of the beast, his friends began to scream. Time seemed to stop as the creature rolled its massive body over the townspeople and their wagons and horses, crushing them into a smear on the barren lake bed. Then beast turned and reared what passed for its head, looking at Killian with dark, too-small eyes.

He wanted to flee, but the fear had him so that he couldn't move. Rain, however, did what any smart animal would -- he ran.

Killian turned to look back and saw the creature coil around to follow. He had no idea what the thing was, and didn't try to figure it out. He spurred Rain on and hoped to stay ahead of the beast. Somehow, it seemed, his lead was getting longer -- which meant he might make it if the horse could keep up this breakneck speed.

That's when the lightning hit. A streak came out of the clear desert sky and struck the ground right in front of them. Rain planted his hooves on the rocky ground and stopped. Killian didn't. He flew over Rain's head and hit the ground hard on his face. The reins were still in his hand and so the painted horse stumbled after his rider, rolled, and came to rest on top of him.

Killian tried to breathe but everything felt broken. Rain didn't move, and Killian knew Rain was dead, and as a result, so Killian would be soon. He closed his eyes and waited for the giant creature to come finish him.

Two days after the disturbing dream the killings happened.

First, Rusty, Lucky, and Ned came to town with the biggest gold nugget anyone had ever seen. When asked if it had come out of Satan's Chimney, they had replied, no. They claimed that one of the strangers had made it for them out of a large chunk of quartz they had found that had only a fleck or two of gold in it. When asked how in the world a man could take a rock and turn it into solid gold, Ned replied, "He said he was a chemist."

Then Rusty corrected his friend and said, "That's alchemist, Ned."

To which Lucky said, "You're always so damn much smarter than we are, aren't you, Rusty?"

And the three friends began an argument that soon turned into a brawl, and after Ned had come out on the losing end of that, he pulled a gun and shot the other two. Now Ned was locked up in Killian's jail and the population of Liar's Lake was decreased by two.

The next day, Old Luke Patterson and his son, Danny used some boards they had left from the old building supply to build a couple of coffins, and Ma Hunkle -- possessor of one of the few Bibles in town -- said a few words over them.

After the funeral, talk turned to the nugget. Caul Tildon, Lester Cox, Tucco Sanchez, and Manly Wellman had all seen it and spoke in awe of it's shining glory. "What happened to it?" someone had said. That became a point of heated debate, and since Ned was the last one of the three miners alive, he was the person Killian went to ask.

Ned wouldn't talk at first. He figured that as soon as Killian could get the circuit judge to come out, he was a dead man anyway. But Killian reasoned with him that two people had already died on account of that rock, and it might be best to locate it before someone else died. So, Ned wound up telling him who all had been witness to the brawl and the shooting that came of it: J.D. Drew, Joe Watson, and Joe Eagleclaw.

Killian went out searching for the three men. On a hunch, he rode two days to get to Satan's Chimney. He figured they would go looking for the bonanza that the miners had found. His hunch was right. When Killian found them, both Joes had taken a pickaxe to the skull and J.D. (the "J" of which ironically stood for "Joseph") had turned a pistol on himself.

The giant gold nugget wasn't there. He buried the men in holes that had already been dug, either by them or by Ned and company, then started the two day ride back to town.

When he camped that night, Rain kept acting skittish and whinnying like there was something wrong. The horse wasn't usually given to nervous behavior. Killian had ridden him in the face of Comanchero ambushes and Rain had even saved his life once when they were caught in a flashfire in Colorado.

"Easy there, boy," he said and patted Rain's neck. "You smell something on the wind, fella?"

Killian picked up a handful of dust and threw it up, watching to see which way it drifted. The wind was blowing from the south -- from the direction of town.

A week passed.

Some strangers left town, others came in. The longer the gentlemen's club stayed open, the odder the clientele became. Some of them talked funny, some of them didn't talk at all. Some dressed in silks and satins, others normal. Still others dressed in furs and leather. But every night the lamp stayed on in Rosalyn's room and shadows moved in there until near dawn.

"Nick," Greedy said as he poured Killian another cup of coffee, "You're looking pretty haggard. Reckon you might need to get some shut eye?"

Killian took the cup from his friend and shook his head. "Something just ain't right, Greedy."

The storekeeper looked at his friend silently, then turned away without comment. When moments passed without a word between them, Greedy walked to the door of his store and closed it, blocking Killian's view of the Lost Lake.

"Listen here, Nick," Greedy said, "Them men -- whatever else they might be up to -- ain't doing nothing that ain't legal in this territory. Why, you haven't so much as had to lock one up for drunk and disorderly. They're heads and shoulders above the old crowd of miners and drifters we used to have. And who knows, maybe some of them will stay and this will turn into a viable town. Now, no more staying here with my door open all night. No more, you hear?""

"All right. I guess that's fair." Killian stood, rubbed his stiff knees, and said, "But take my word. You don't want them men staying in this town." Then he opened the door and walked out.

Sleep? How could he do that when the whole situation was eating at him? He walked down the street to the jailhouse and went inside. He could still see the Lost Lake from here, but he couldn't look inside the door, nor could he see her window. He shut the door behind him and sat with his feet propped on his desk.

But maybe Greedy was right. Maybe lack of sleep and too many years of too much trouble were making him see things that weren't there. Maybe if he just closed his eyes...

She was there. All pink and golden-haired, with eyes that burned into a man's memory, and lips he would sell his soul to kiss. She stood right across the desk from him. Her hair moved like a breeze was blowing it, long strands moving in wisps behind her. Her skin was pure and white from head to toe.

Killian stood and with a hand swept everything that cluttered the top of his desk off onto the floor. Rosalyn gave him an amused smile and laid down.

He didn't remember shucking out of his own clothes, but he had. Her arms reached up to him and her fell into them without a thought. Any caution he had once had concerning the girl had been swept away just like the desk clutter.

She pressed her body up against his and their lips came together.

Then Killian shoved himself off of her so hard that he stumbled and landed on his backside on the hard floor.

She sat up and looked at him, first in confusion, then a sadness dulled her eyes. "Why won't you love me?" she asked.

"You-- your lips-- your skin..." Killian stammered, unable to reconcile the ecstasy he had felt moments ago for the revulsion he felt now. "You're... cold!"

"I told you he would kill me again." Her expression was heart-broken sad.

Of a sudden the jailhouse door crashed in. Rosalyn screamed and her eyes widened as in through the remains of the door, a thick black tentacle slithered. It was covered in rows rings, each ring about as big as the palm of a man's hand; and each one of those rings was circled with rows teeth as sharp and wicked as a wolf's.

The tentacle wrapped around Rosalyn and yanked her through the doorway with such force that it pulled the remains of the oaken door off of its hinges and out onto the street.

Killian was sat stunned into silence. When a second tentacle as large and black as the first wriggled into the jailhouse, Killian screamed...

... and woke himself up.

"Make yourself comfortable," she said. Her voice was as flat and dry as the lake bed under the town. She disappeared behind a silken dressing screen. "I um... I need to get ready."

Killian sat on the bed without pulling down the blue satin sheets. Behind the screen Rosalyn lit a lamp on a dressing table and when she moved she cast a shadow across the silken fabric. Her figure was lithe and full of promise and Killian couldn't help but watch as her garments were removed and he could see more of the pure outline of her. He watched her kneel on the floor. Praying? He couldn't tell at first, but then she turned the lamp’s flame up high and he could see her hold something over it. He had seen such things before, in San Francisco, and he had no stomach to watch her stab herself with a needle full of poison. He turned away and waited.

Moments later, she stepped out from behind the screen wearing a lacey gown that had little to do with covering her body, and everything to do with accentuating it. Her hair fell like a honey waterfall over her shoulders and down her back. When she walked, her hips gently swayed and her body moved so smooth that she near glided across the room like a swan across a pond.

For a moment the thought crossed his mind to forget getting involved and just take what he'd paid for.

She came across and sat down beside him on the bed without looking him in the eye the whole time. She seemed instead to be doing her best not to look at him. The realization made Killian feel like a weasel.

They sat in silence for a moment and then she began to touch him.

"Stop," he said.

For the first time, she met his gaze.

Her eyes were deep blue like the south Texas sky in wintertime, and with the same threat of storm at the edges. When she blinked, they glistened and he wanted more than anything at that moment to put his arms around her and kiss her the way a woman with eyes that blue should be kissed.

Then she looked away and said, "I'm sorry, mister. Please don't tell him you didn't like me. He'll kill me again."

The words almost knocked Killian out of his boots.

"Please, mister?"

He didn't know what to say. He'll kill me again? What the hell did that even mean?

He put an arm across her shoulders and said, "It's all right. I do like you. But tonight, I just want to talk. Is that all right?"

She looked up at him with a mixture of relief and puzzlement and said, "I-I can't give you your money back though..."

Killian reached in his pocket and got out the last five-dollar gold piece he had to his name, took her hand in his and laid the gold in it.

"See?" he said, "It's all right."

She smile that briefly flashed across her face was worth his last dollar. "You're nice. Not like any of the other ones."

"Miss Rosalyn, I want to talk to you about this man you're with... Bitner. When I first asked him about you, he told me you were his wife. Now, just tonight, he said you were his daughter. I know he's lying, but he's got some sort of a hold on you..."

The tiny red dots on her forearm told Killian what kind of hold the little man had on her.

Rosalyn's focus seemed to be on the floor now as he spoke, all hint of the smile gone, and probably her good opinion of him gone with it. The hand was dealt; there was no taking back his ante.

"Miss Rosalyn, I think I can help you if you just tell me what he's up to and why you stay with him."

She shook her head. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to talk. Let me give you what you paid for and you can go."

She untied the gown and let it fall to the floor.

He stood up and grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.

"Why won't you let me help you?"

Her head rolled like a broken doll's when he shook her and he knew the opium had her now.

"Why won't you just love me?" she replied with glazed eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her and caught her just as she went limp against him.

"Damn, girl," he said to himself, "How much of that stuff did you give yourself."

"Not enough," she slurred.

With little effort he picked her up and laid her on the bed. After he covered her in satin, he stayed beside her for a while, until he was sure she was going to make it through the night, then quietly slid off of the bed and started for the door.

"Mister?" Her voice was soft and fragile now, more like a little girl's than a woman's, "I-I'm sorry."

Killian turned and looked at her. She hadn't moved and her eyes were still closed as she spoke.

"Please don't tell," she said.

"Don't worry, Rosalyn," he replied as he turned the doorknob to leave, "I won't tell."

It was late in the evening when he stepped through the swinging doors of the gentlemen’s club. Killian’s breath caught in his lungs. There was a smell in the place; sweet and pungent like rotting fruit. The room was full of men, sitting on the settee, smoking their cigars; standing in groups speaking quietly, and with grave faces that revealed that their conversation was of serious matters; sitting at the bar in solitudinous repose. One of them sat in the corner near the bar playing some odd type of music on the harp that was there.

A big man arms like oak limbs stood behind the bar dispensing drinks; Killian was wary of him – something about his face didn’t seem right, as if it wasn’t really his face, but a mask; the bartender’s expression never changed, but remained neither a smile nor a frown, neither angry, nor sympathetic, sympathetic nor forgiving.

“Sheriff!” From nowhere came Bitner. He wore a grey suit with a starched white shirt under it. A large gold pendant – an oakleaf – hung from thick gold chain around his neck and rested heavily upon his chest. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Killian’s throat suddenly went dry, and when he tried to speak his lips felt parched.

He finally managed to get out, “I’d like a shot of whiskey, if you don’t mind.”

Bitner smiled and said, “Then come join me at the bar.”

The strangers sitting at the bar got up and moved elsewhere when Killian approached. Bitner sat on the stool beside him and held up two fingers to the giant bartender. The bartender soon sat two glasses of whiskey in front of them. Killian picked his up and sipped it slowly.

Bitner looked Killian steadily in the eye with an expression of amusement, as if he had some secret joke on the sheriff. He said, “I’ve seen you watching from the General Store. If I read your face rightly, then I must conclude that you disapprove of my presence in your town.”

The whiskey was smooth – richer than Killian was used to. He liked it.

“I’m just having trouble figuring out what’s going on here.”

“Well, look around…” Bitner swept his arm in an arc. “You can see for yourself. These gentlemen are all learned men who enjoy coming together and sharing ideas and opinions.”

“Well, maybe you got yourself a roomful of geniuses here, but ideas ain’t the only thing I suspect they’re sharing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… how does that girl figure into this?”

“Ah! You mean my lovely daughter!”

“Your d…? Yes, your daughter.”

“She’s a talented girl. Special.”

Killian looked around the crowded room. The strangers were all men of different ages, sizes; some of them handsome enough, he reckoned, and others as ugly as pigs; all were well-dressed and held their posture the way that men who have never had to bend their backs to make a living hold themselves.

“A lot of men here,” Killian said.

Bitner’s look of amusement faded just a little as he said, “They’re not animals, sheriff. Rosalyn is quite happy with the arraignment.” The smirk returned. “A girl doesn’t want to be entirely dependent on her guardian, does she?”

The whiskey felt like it went bad in his stomach. Killian wanted to draw his gun and shoot this dude, then turn the gun on whichever of these strangers would dare to so much as open his mouth against him, but he had no way to know how many other firearms were in the room. And then there was the bartender.

Despite the urge to vomit, Killian drank down his whiskey and said, “I reckon so. I guess you can’t fault a girl for being ambitious.”

Bitner finished his whiskey, and then held up two fingers again and both his and Killian’s glasses were refilled.

“Tell, me sheriff,” the strange man said with his odd accent, “I have seen few women in this town and none of them what I would call… shall we say… a flower of beauty.”

Killian picked up his glass and looked at the amber liquid in it. “I’d have to agree with you.”

“Rosalyn is an exceptional beauty. Would you like to meet her?”

After he drank his shot down, Killian forced a smile and said, “I ain’t never turned down meeting a pretty lady.”

Bitner crooked a finger at his bartender, who leaned over the bar as his boss whispered something into his ear; then the bartender left his post and went up the stairs.

An awkward silence followed during which Bitner continued to smirk at him and Killian tried not to just get up and leave. The silence didn’t last that long because a couple of minutes later, the bartender returned, behind him, the woman.

The claims of her beauty were no lie and as she descended the stairway all eyes in the place turned toward her. She wore a tight-fitting, pink, silk dress, with white irises and a slit up the side that revealed a long, shapely leg with each step. Her hair was like spun gold; her eyes were blue and wide-set; her cheeks were high with a natural blush to them; her nose straight and narrow; her lips full and slightly pouting. She looked regal, and Killian had to admit that, yes, she was special.

“How much?” Killian asked Bitner.

“It ain’t decent.”

Greedy gave Killian a shushing look, then said to the man who had just bought the last of his flour and lard, “Thank you sir, come again.”

Killian stepped aside so the stranger could go out the door then waited for the lecture he knew was to come.

“Sheriff, I’ll ask you again not to make comments like that when customers are in the store.”

Killian stood in the doorway and looked out at the bustling town. Just like the last week and the three weeks before, the street was full of men who Killian didn’t know. They were peaceable enough – so far – but they were all strangers. Some of them had strange ways also; nothing he could put his finger on, but their bearing, the way they said things; there was something just… not right. But they had plenty of money and when things came down to it, Liar’s Lake was founded on the pursuit of filthy lucre. For the first time in years, the people who lived here were actually prospering; the blacksmith and livery; the tailor; the General Store; even people who didn’t have a business were boarding visitors in their spare rooms.

When Greedy didn’t add anything to his comment, Killian turned and asked, “Is that all? You ain’t going to preach to me about how I should be happy that our little slice of heaven in the desert here is thriving again?”

Greedy slammed the cash drawer shut. “Nick, I’m going to tell you this for your own good: Sometimes you need to just mind your own business. You’re here to uphold the law – not to pass moral judgment on people just because you don’t like the way they do business.

“There’s just one girl there.”

“Well, if these strangers are as free with their money in the gentlemen’s club as they are everywhere else in town, then she’s going to be a very rich young woman. And right soon too.”

Killian stuck his fingers in his shirt pocket to take out his tobacco and rolling papers, but pulled out an empty pouch. He said, “Well, I ain’t got no problem with a cathouse, but this many toms and only one kitty… I don’t like it.” He tossed his tobacco pouch onto the counter. “Fill that up for me?”

Greedy smirked and said, “That feller just bought the last little bit of smoke I had. I’ll have more when my supplies git here in a couple of weeks.”

The news wasn’t welcome – Killian liked his smokes – but it was even more disturbing that Greedy was ordering supplies like he expected the town to keep on like this, with these strangers constantly coming and going. What was going to happen when Bitner pulled up and left just as suddenly as he had shown up? Greedy – and every other businessman in town – would be stuck high and dry, waiting once again for their town to finish withering in the Arizona heat.

“I do admit something,” Greedy said as if to appease his friend, “I have to say I sure do wonder what that little gal has that makes all these men come all the way out here for it.”

Killian nodded. The question had occurred to him as well. Maybe it was time he tried to find out the answer.

Everybody who lived in Liar's Lake lived within earshot of the church bell. The church had never actually been used -- at least not for a house of worship -- and after it was built by a group of well-meaning miners who soon thereafter lost their religion when Sam opened the Lost Lake and brought in some girls from back east, it was never consecrated. The girls left when the miners left, and now the church stood at its end of the street and stared accusingly at the rest of the town.

Some of the folk in town were afraid of the place, saying that an unconsecrated church was practically an open invitation for the devil to move in. This made for a bit of a problem when it came to town meetings. It did, however, have the bell. So when town meetings were called, one of the less superstitious men would go inside the church and ring it. Then the meeting would take place in the Lost Lake Saloon.

Today, the meeting would take place in Greedy's store.

By four o'clock every citizen Killian figured was left had assembled: George and Marjorie Holt (they ran the blacksmith’s shop and stables); Vance Hillard and his squaw (he had found her wandering in the hills to the south, her tongue cut out and a U.S. Cavalry brand on her back); Gus and Homer, the McClean brothers; Manly Wellman; Tom Darling; J.D. Drew; Joseph Watson; Tucco Sanchez; Cheyenne Lane; Lester Cox, the tailor; Caul and Ginger Tildon (Ginger was one of two girls from back east who had come to work at the Lost Lake who didn't leave when the gold ran out, the other one being Mrs. Holt); Chuck Grant; old Luke Patterson and his son, Danny (they used to run the building supply until lack of demand put them out of business); Ma Hunkle and her grandson, John (John's mother and father died in the same savage wind storm that destroyed the family's house -- Ma and John lived with Caul and Ginger now); Joe Eagleclaw; Rusty, Lucky, and Ned (the only three active miners left, who claimed to still be pulling gold out of a hole beneath Satan’s Chimney, even though no one has seen a single nugget from them in years); Greedy; and himself.

Sam was gone. The town was down to twenty-six residents, excluding the newcomers.

When they had all crowded into the store, Killian began. "I don't know if any of you was as surprised as me to see it happen, but Sam finally must have sold the saloon."

A few people nodded indicating that they to were surprised and a general murmuring arose as they all speculated about when he had done it and when he had left town, then a lone voice spoke up:

"He came by our place last night -- don't know what time -- and said goodbye."

Everyone stopped speaking and turned to look at Vance Hillard.

“He came by and told me that he’d sold the Lost Lake to some dude back from back east for three-hundred dollars. Said the man showed up sometime after dark and told him he was buying the place. He gave Sam five-hundred dollars and a horse. Next thing Sam knew he was on his horse headed west out of town. Couldn't even remember putting a saddle on it. He looked kinda spooked when stopped by my place."

The room was silent for a moment until Greedy said, "Five-hunnerd dollars? Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus! I know we ain't exactly Dodge or Cimmaron, but there was five-hunnerd dollars just in the tables and that old piano."

All eyes suddenly turned to the sheriff.

"Look everybody," Killian began, "we can't just jump to conclusions, but if you ask me if I trust this 'Bitner', I'd say, 'hell no'. But we also can't assume he's done anything wrong--"

"He's a devil!" Ma Hunkle shouted. Some of the others nodded in agreement with her while others rolled their eyes.

"Ma, he ain't no devil," Killian said. "He's just a business man -- maybe a little on the shady side -- but whatever else he might be, I think you're giving him way too much credit to label him a devil."

Ma snorted and crossed her arms over her expansive chest.

"So," Danny Patterson said, "what do you want us to do, sheriff?"

Killian had already given it some thought. "Just stay away from the place. If he don't get no business from us, then he'll have to close up and move on."

In this the whole of the community was in agreement. They would boycott the Lost Lake Gentlemen's Club and the offending stranger would soon be gone.

After dusk the next night, the first of the strangers arrived. By midnight, all of the hitching posts in front of the gentlemen's club were full.

"Come in, come in!"

Killian paused as the double doors flapped in his wake. Even though the morning light should be streaming in through the windows, the Lost Lake was dark inside. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. Heavy velvet curtains were hanging over the windows now, crimson, and brushed to a smooth, even texture, with gold tasseled valances across the tops.

Gone were the tables and chairs that had not been filled to capacity in a score of years. The scuffed wooden floor boards were covered with a red patterned carpet that matched the velvet window dressings. Two settees and a half dozen wing-backed chairs took up the most of the floor. The bar was still there, but the old beat-up piano in the corner had been replaced by large, ornately decorated harp.

It didn’t look at all like the same place.

“Welcome to the Lost Lake Gentlemen's Club, friend.”

The small man in the herring bone suit stood on the stairs with the same broad, welcoming smile that Killian had once seen on an alligator in Louisiana. When he spoke, it was with a trace of a strange accent.

Killian didn't smile back or make a move to go any further inside, but just introduced himself as the sheriff.

“Oh!” the man moved from the stairs to the bar and poured up a shot of whiskey – and not the watered down rotgut the Lost Lake had been known for. He reached the glass toward the sheriff and said, “Well, then you are especially welcome!”

Killian hesitantly stepped up to the bar. “Obliged,” he said and took the glass.

The little man poured himself a glass and said, “An establishment such as this needs the presence of strong law-enforcement.”

“And what sort of establishment is this, Mr…?”

“Bitner. Emil Bitner.”

"... Mr. Bitner. And that woman I saw earlier was…?”

“My wife, sir.”

Somehow that answer just didn’t sound convincing.

Killian took a sip of his whiskey and asked, “What do you do here at your 'gentlemen's club'?"

Bitner smiled. "What gentlemen do."

"That's no answer."

"Well, Sheriff, why don't we wait and see what kind of gentlemen show up and then we'll find out what they do?" When Killian didn't reply, Bitner killed his whiskey then refilled his glass and said, "Tell me, Sheriff, what -- short of murder, claim-jumping, and horse-stealing -- is illegal here in Arizona Territory?"

Killian drank down his whiskey and looked at Bitner over the empty glass. "We got lines here, mister. Don't cross 'em."

"And where can I find those lines?"

Killian set his glass on the bar, and as he turned toward the door, said, "I'll let you know when you cross one."

Minutes later, Greedy greeted him inside the general store with eyes full of questions. Killian didn't answer them, he just said:

"Get everybody together. We're having a town meeting."