Part 16 (1/2)
The fingers of my left hand moved up and unb.u.t.toned my vest.
”What kind of magic?” the cowboy asked.
”The forbidden kind,” the voice said.
My fingers now unb.u.t.toned the top of my blouse and spread the collar, exposing some cleavage. Strangely, the cowboys were quiet. Then my hands pulled out my s.h.i.+rttail and smoothed it over my pants.
”Can you tell us why you killed all those people? Was it for the money?”
”The money?” the voice asked. ”What fool kills for money? There is only one reason for murder, and that is for power. Our master required human blood, and we gave it to him, by the bucketful.”
”Ask another question,” somebody urged the cowboy with the curls.
”All right,” he said, less confident now. ”Do you serve Satan?”
”It is easier to name those who don't,” the voice said.
”Tell Old Scratch to go on down to the Saratoga,” somebody called. ”Old Chalk Beeson'll serve anybody!”
This got some laughs.
”You are amused,” the voice said. Now my fingers were fussing with my hair, smoothing it over one ear. ”But the one I serve walks among you, like a wolf among lambs. He is the hammer that will pound the stob of man down beyond the ground. From the world of darkness, he hath loosed devils and demons. He maketh me to lie down with putrefaction, and he hath led us down the paths of wickedness for d.a.m.nation's sake.”
My back arched and my shoulders spread as if I had wings.
”The master bade us become pioneers,” the voice said. ”Pioneers of a new kind of evil, a random and serial evil, an evil that will make people distrust their neighbors while at the same time creating an obscene craving for every detail of depravity.”
I felt my face grow tight with a smile.
”You want to know, don't you?” the voice asked. ”What does it feel like to drive a hammer into a man's skull, to feel that terrible weight bury itself in flesh and brain and bone? Would you like me to share the ecstasy of that first splash of warm blood, the smell of copper and salt, the thrill of squas.h.i.+ng a human life as you would squash a bug in your hand?”
My left fist was clenched tightly in front of me.
”Of course, you would,” the voice said.
The smile changed to a leer. My hands cupped my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and then went down my sides to my hips.
”This body-so like mine was. You find it pleasing, no?”
n.o.body answered.
”Cowards,” the voice taunted.
The feet carried me to the edge of the stage.
”You!”
My finger jabbed at the cowboy with the auburn curls. ”'Come here and touch this body and connect with my soul. Feel what men have died for. Die yourself, in the fire of my embrace. '”
The cowboy didn't move.
”Fool,” the voice sneered. ”I offer you the chance to commit one great unholy act, to be consumed by a pa.s.sion you did not know existed, to have your name writ large beside mine in the nightmares of mortals, and you sit with your hands crossed over your member like a frightened schoolboy.”
My finger admonished all of them, trailing a bit of flame from the tip.
”You are nothing,” the voice said. ”All of you-nothing. In a few short years, you will be in the ground. In a few years after that, everyone who knew you will lie in silent graves as well. Who will remember any of you? It will be as if you never existed. But in a hundred years, the name 'Kate Bender' will still burn on living tongues!”
The candle flame shuddered and went out. Then my eyes rolled back to show only whites, my body shook, and I collapsed on the stage.
22.
Sitting cross-legged on my uncomfortable bed in the Dodge House, I was feeling very sorry for myself. I looked at my aura-less image in the mirror above the dresser. Never had I looked older. There were dark circles under my eyes, wrinkles, and crow's-feet. My complexion was even more pale than usual. The image that stared back at me was not that of a twenty-eight-year-old woman but that of a crone.
Save for my image, the mirror was empty.
Not even Horrible Hank was interested.
Silent tears stained my cheeks.
I didn't know if I had really become a channel for the d.a.m.ned Kate Bender, or whether the loss of my aura had made me susceptible to some meddlesome spirit, or whether I was just sinking ever deeper into insanity.
It all made me want to drink a barrel of mezcal.
Sometimes, I just wanted someone to talk to.
Then came a knock on the door.
”Just a moment,” I called, wiping away my tears with a handkerchief embroidered with Jonathan's initials.
”Well, Eddie,” I said quietly. ”It seems that I am coming apart. You might be wise to find a new mistress, or there might not be any more bread crumbs or raisins or treats of beef jerky for you. What do you think of that?”
Eddie s.h.i.+fted his head to look at me with first one eye and then the other, but he voiced no opinion.
”All right,” I said. ”We'll play this one straight, just for once.”
I climbed down from the bed and didn't even bother to arrange myself before opening the door. There stood Dog Kelley and Hoodoo Brown. Kelley appeared to be dressed in the same foxhunting getup he had worn the other day, and three hounds serpentined underfoot.
”Professor,” Kelley said, removing his top hat with a sweeping gesture as if he were addressing a d.u.c.h.ess. ”We have come at the appointed hour. I trust we are expected?”
”Of course, Mayor,” I said. ”But I beg you to leave your dogs in the hall or, better yet, downstairs. Dogs make my raven nervous, and it would not be conducive to a good session.”
”But I go everywhere with the hounds.”
”Please,” I said. ”There can be no seance with canine tumult.”
”Very well,” he said, and sulked. ”Hoodoo, would you take the boys downstairs and have the night man watch after them?”