Of Grave Concern Part 16

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 shirttail 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 squashing 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 shifted 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?"

Brown knelt down, petted each dog on the head and around the ears, and then took off down the hall, with the dogs bounding after him.

"Come in," I said.

"You have the best rooms in the city."

"That is sad," I said. "The wind blows the dust through the walls."

"One becomes used to it."

"Not this one," I said tiredly.

We walked over to a round table in the corner, not far from Eddie's cage, and I motioned for Kelley to sit. He did, and then removed fifty dollars in gold from his vest pocket. He placed the coins on the table.

I picked up the money and felt its weight.

"Is there any charity in Dodge City?" I asked.

"Of the biblical kind, madam?"

"I mean of the widows-and-orphans kind," I said. "Has there been a fund established to help the less fortunate, or to feed the hungry, or to do any other kind of work to relieve human suffering?"

Kelley thought a moment.

"There's the sanitary committee," he said. "Doctors McCarty and Galland head it up. They are always harping on the need to establish a hospital here in town, rather than being required to send the desperately ill five miles out to the infirmary at Fort Dodge."

"Then I want to be an anonymous donor to that committee," I said, and pushed the money back to him. "See that Doc McCarty receives it for the purpose stated. And, Mayor, I expect to read about that donation in the next edition of the Times."

"Of course," he said, scooping up the coins. "I will deliver it to Doctor McCarty the first thing in the morning."

I had left the door ajar and Hoodoo Brown walked in, followed by Timothy, my polite tramp.

"You're late," I told Timothy.

He put his hands together beneath his chin, begging forgiveness. Then he made a motion as if dealing cards.

"You'll lose all your money," I told him, and he gave me a look that said, Well, hey, I don't need money. I'm a tramp.

Brown and Timothy took their seats at the table.

I went around the room, blowing out the lamps, and came back with a lit white candle in a bra.s.s holder. I placed the candle in the center of the table and took a deep breath; then I looked at the faces of the men around me. It had been a long time since I had conducted a session in earnest.

"Does anyone have the time?"

Brown opened his pocket watch.

"Five minutes after midnight."

I nodded.

"It is Sunday, the Thirteenth of May," I said. "We will attempt two spirit communications this morning. The first will be to contact the ghost of the girl who walks the railroad right-of-way. In the second, we will endeavor to contact the spirit of Jonathan Wylde, my forever-young husband, killed on this day, thirteen years ago."

Kelley and Brown made some small sympathetic remarks, which I ignored.

"Now there are a few rules to discuss," I said. "Once we touch hands, we cannot let go, no matter what happens. To do so is to break the bond of trust we have established. If an apparition appears, you may ask questions, but expect the answers to be circular or nonsensical, as ghosts are obsessed with their own unfinished business. Understood?"

The men nodded their understanding.

"Let us join hands."

We clasped each other's hands. This was unpleasant for me, with Dog Kelley on one side and Hoodoo Brown on the other. As I've told you, I don't like to be touched. Kelley's hand was soft and sweaty, but Brown's was rough, like burlap.

We concentrated on the candle flame.

By and by, everything became very still, and even Eddie stopped fidgeting around in his cage.

"This is Ophelia Wylde," I said in a soothing voice. "I am here with some earnest men from Dodge City who wish to contact the spirit of the girl slain on the meridian marker. Can you show us some sign that you are with us?"

The candle flame rippled, as if we might have some success.

But then, nothing.

For another half hour, we tried. I kept up the appeals to the spirit of the dead girl, but nothing came through. Finally, admitting defeat, I brought the first portion of the session to a close.

"Let us take a short break," I said.

We unclasped our hands and rubbed them to restore circulation.

"That was disappointing," Kelley said.

"It often is," I said. "But the spirits choose their own time and place to appear. Are we ready for the second half?"

We clasped hands again, and this time we spent a longer time staring into the candle flame. I was reluctant to begin, knowing that this was the last time I would attempt to contact my lost husband.

"Jonathan," I said at last. "It's me, Ophelia."

The flame did not waver.

"Today is the thirteenth anniversary of your death, and I so would like to make contact with you. Do you remember what you used to tell me, that love survives death? I'm asking now, for the last time, for you to send proof from the other side. We had a secret message. Do you remember? Could you communicate that to one of these men?"

Silence in the room.

Cowboys howled along Front Street.

Coyotes cried at the edge of town.