Authors: Theresa Meyers

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Fantasy, #Romance, #Paranormal

The Slayer (7 page)

Winn crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder into the doorjamb. “And now you're my wet nurse?” His gaze deliberately dipped lower to her well-rounded bosom.

She lifted her brow, her gaze raking over him in equal measure. “Hardly.” She folded her hands together, her giddy excitement replaced by detached coolness. “Where is Sir Turlock?”

“He'll be along shortly.” Winn twisted his head and yelled over his shoulder. “Hey, Sir Marley. You got a visitor.” Winn tensed, not knowing if Marley was going to come running with his pike pole or his manners.

As he turned his body, Alexa thought she noticed the distinct outline of an Amanarath crossbow on Mr. Jackson's back. Her ichor chilled. Those only had one purposeâto kill Darkin outright with the first shot. Was that what he'd come to do: collect weapons strong enough to kill her and her crew?

The quick shuffling footsteps behind the hulking Hunter drew her attention. A man much shorter than Mr. Jackson appeared from behind him. He looked slightly different from the ambrotype she'd seen of Sir Turlock. Then his hair had been thick and dark, not shockingly white. But the face and the intelligence in those brown eyes could not be mistaken. This was indeed Sir Turlock.

She dipped low into a curtsey worthy of the highest vampire court. He hesitated, then responded by bowing at the waist in the traditional fashion, which made the enormous multi-lensed goggles perched on his forehead bob precariously. Mr. Jackson seemed slightly stunned.

“My Lady Drossenburg, I presume,” Marley murmured, his voice tight.

“
Da.
And you are Sir Turlock, world-class inventor. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am a great admirer of your work.”

His intelligent brown eyes flecked with gold narrowed, as his hand came to rest on the special weapon at his hip. “But you are a vampire.”

“And an amateur inventor, sir. One does not have to be favored by the inventions to appreciate their genius.”

Marley's chest lifted slightly, the worried crease between his enormous eyes easing. “You are escorting Winchester to His Imperial Majesty?”

She inclined her head. “
Da
, the honor is mine.”

Mr. Jackson pushed off the wall and rolled his shoulders, suddenly anxious. “In fact, we really should be on our way.”

“Did you get everything you needed?” she asked, determination keeping her voice smooth and even. And her gaze away from the formidable weapon he carried so casually across his back.

“Enough.”

She settled her gaze on Sir Turlock. “Would you mind if I wrote to you? I have so many questions I would love to ask you.”

Sir Turlock fidgeted. “IâI suppose. If they are scientific inquiries.”

Mr. Jackson started walking toward the door and gently gripped her upper arm as he walked by, wheeling her around. “Say your good-byes. We've got one more stop to make.”

She resisted his tug and turned back to the shy inventor. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Sir Turlock. Thank you.”

He gave her a nod, but she heard the thoughts flicker through his headâ
Polite for a vampire ... oddest day of my life ... who would have thought they were really the Chosen ... but if the vampires believe it, then surely ...

Mr. Jackson's grip about her upper arm was firm and no-nonsense, and she had to practically trot to keep up with him. They headed out the door to stand next to a monstrous machine stationed outside Sir Turlock's home.

“Are you always so discourteous?” she snapped.

He dropped his hold on her arm as if burned. “Only when we've got a time limit and have to get somewhere in a hurry. I got to get this horse loaded and take it down to my brother in Tombstone before we can leave.”

“May I ask what the rush is that I couldn't spend a few minutes talking to Sir Turlock?”

“We've got three weeks. Actually less than that now.”

“Until what?”

“Until the dark moon. That's when Marley and Colt think Rathe will attempt to open the Gates of Nyx.”

If Alexa had possessed any blood in her system, it would have all drained out of her face. The Gates of Nyx were the largest portal between the human realm and the Darkin one. If Darkin came pouring in and took over, eliminating humans and subjugating them, without a source for new vampires and food to sustain themselves, the reign of the vampire would come to a swift end. Her ichor cooled to a sluggish consistency that made her feel suddenly weak. “Are you certain?”

“You think I'd make up something like that?” The hard planes of his face and the determination like white-hot blue flame in his eyes left no room for doubt. He meant every word. If they didn't retrieve the second part of the Book and reunite the pieces, they would be doomed. All of them.

Chapter 5

The heat waves in the air outside made the plants in Marley's yard appear to dance. Even the mechanical cacti she'd spied here and there cleverly hidden amongst the real prickly native plants seemed to sway.

Behind Alexa and Mr. Jackson the door to Marley's home creaked open. They turned in unison to look at him. The inventor threw Alexa a pointed look, clearly still not comfortable in her presence. “Winchester, might I have one more word with you?”

Alexa resisted the urge to huff like a commoner and instead lifted her chin with as much regal air as she could muster. “I shall inform the captain to lower the dirigible enough for us to load your machine,” she said, her voice cool.

Intrigued by the mechanical horse sitting close to the door, she considered walking up to the machine and running her hands over every inch of it while the men talked. It was clearly a Turlock original.

But to do so might be seen as an insult to Sir Turlock. Inventors didn't like having their work touched without issuing an invitation. She promised herself she'd inspect it thoroughly in the privacy of her ship; for now she had to make do with observing it from a distance.

The man was a genius, and while she'd love to spend hours questioning him, Alexa knew time and his obvious distrust made that happy event impossible. She thought, rather wistfully, that in another time and place they might have been friends of a sort.

But this was here and now.

“If wishes were mechanical horses ...” she murmured with a small regretful smile.

While she waited for Mr. Jackson's return, Alexa gave orders. If Mr. Jackson was as confident as he seemed about their deadline, then every moment spent not traveling was a clock ticking toward their demise.

She reached out to His Majesty's envoy.
Enric. Ready the ship for our next destination. There is no time to lose.

What is the matter, my lady?
The concern in his voice echoed in her head.

Vlad has been deceived. This is not merely a mission to recover the missing piece of the Book. The time for the Chosen to act will soon be upon us. We need to help Mr. Jackson load one of Sir Turlock's inventions onto the ship as quickly as possible. Instruct the captain to bring the ship down to ground level.

Yes, my lady.

The port valves gave off a loud hiss of steam as the dirigible descended toward the edge of the bluff, like a ship coming in to dock at port. The crew worked efficiently, lowering the gangplank to connect the ground with the back end of the ship's cargo hold by the time Mr. Jackson had come outside to join her. He was alone.

“At least he didn't shoot me,” she said dryly, as Mr. Jackson came up beside her. Each time she was with him she was surprised at his great physical presence. Not just his impressive height, but the breadth of his shoulders, and the way he carried himself. Assured. Confident. And handsome, gods help her. Her physical reaction to Winchester Jackson was palpable.

“We'll leave as soon as Sir Turlock's invention is loaded,” she said crisply.

He eyed her critically, but a sly smile curved his mouth. “How'd you know Marley made it?”

Alexa made a derisive noise. “Even an amateur inventor can tell the hallmarks of a master craftsman. Is it the only one of its kind or are there others?”

“That's the only oneâso far.”

“Walk it across the gangplank. Enric will be waiting inside to guide you to where you may secure it.” She indicated the back of the dirigible. “Ask him and the crew for whatever you require to secure it properly. We do not want it damaged in flight.”

He touched the brim of his hat with his finger, then turned and walked back to the mechanical horse. He mounted it, turning the backward-facing ear forward. The whirr of gears and click of clockwork coming from the mechanical horse intrigued her even more.

How had Sir Turlock engineered it? Were there pistons inside? Springs activated with clockwork mechanisms? Alexa couldn't wait to get on board where she'd have the time and privacy to inspect it minutely.

She crossed the dusty yard to follow Mr. Jackson. He certainly made a fine specimen atop a horse, especially a mechanical Turlock original, but he was still a far cry from the European Hunters who had taken so many of her kind over the centuries.

For a moment she doubted Vlad's plan. Perhaps the Chosen weren't up to the task of recovering the lost pieces of the Book of Legend.

Winn hadn't missed the wistful edge to her voice. She liked Tempus. Most Darkin wouldn't, since it was a machine they could neither manipulate nor control with their powers, but she apparently had some penchant for Marley and his machines.

He trotted Tempus right up to the edge of the gangplank and took a long second look at the drop off the edge of the bluff on either side and kept going up the gangplank.

Marley, who'd designed the beast for Colt, said the GGDâor, as he'd originally called it, the Giddyup God Dammit switchâwas a double precaution against horse thieves. Unless a person knew to flip the ear to forward facing, the pressure plate beneath the saddle wasn't enough to engage the clockwork mechanics of the beast. It took both the switch and the weight of a rider depressing the pressure plate to get the machine to move.

The contessa's second-in-command, Enric, waited at the top of the gangplank. The sun gilded his blond hair, and his fine aristocratic features made him appear more angel than vampire. Ha. That was laughable. Winn didn't doubt for a moment every vampire on the ship was capable of killing. Winn tipped up the edge of his Stetson. “Where do you want me to park this thing?”

Enric led him up another ramp to the cargo deck. Large metal rings were bolted into the wooden floor, and cargo nets crafted from thick, brownish hemp rope were draped over piles of wooden crates and oddly assorted items, including what looked like enormous folded canvas umbrellas with stiff metal framing, keeping them secure. “You can tie it up in here.” Enric indicated a space off to one side of the cargo hold beside what looked like doors in the bottom of the ship.

“Those lead anywhere?” Winn asked.

“Down,” Enric answered simply, but the humor in his voice was evident.

Winn reined Tempus into position, then flipped Tempus's GGD switch to the backward-facing spot that immobilized the horse, locking him into place. The ticking and whirring slowed and eventually stilled altogether as Tempus froze. Winn grabbed a set of rope cargo nets from the hooks along the wall and draped them over Tempus, using the rings in the floor to secure the nets tightly over the machine's broad back.

Standing back to review his work, Winn dusted off his hands, then crossed his arms. The ship gave a sudden jolt beneath his feet, making him stumble and his stomach pitch uncomfortably. He certainly hoped he'd get used to the sensation, or it was going to be one long, miserable flight to Transylvania.

The cargo doors closed with a clang, throwing the cargo bay into nearly pitch darkness, save for the small oil lamp Enric held. “The Lady Drossenburg has asked that you join her on the observation deck.” Winn followed Enric up the stairs in the middle of the ship to the topmost deck.

The contessa turned to him, beckoning him to join her with a crook of her finger. Winn bristled but joined her at the rail; his fingers dug in reflexively as the ship lifted away from the edge of the bluff.

“How long have you been friends with Sir Turlock?”

Just how much should he tell her? He certainly didn't trust her, and if his own instincts weren't enough, Marley had advised against giving her too much information. But as long as she stuck to small talk, he supposed it couldn't hurt. “Long as he's been around these parts.”

“How long has that been?”

Winn shrugged. “Can't really say. He was here before I moved to Bodie.”

She glanced at him briefly, then returned to gaze at Sir Turlock's home. “You ride a horse well.”

Mr. Jackson looked slightly taken aback by the compliment. “Don't everybody?”

She sniffed. “Not where I come from. Only those in higher society can afford to ride good horseflesh.”

“Guess you have to learn out here.”

She looked out over the desert and sighed. There was so much room, such freedom everywhere you looked. It was breathtaking after the crowded cities of Europe and the confines of the court.

“Your country is a large place. I guess I can understand why everyone would need the skill. My captain has informed me we shall reach Tombstone just after noon.”

“That mind-talk must come in real handy,” he mused.

It would have, if she could have read his mind. “Mr. Jackson, may I ask you a personal question?”

He stiffened slightly, but nodded.

“Most mortals are very open with their thoughts, allowing us to read them easily and conform to their deepest fantasies when we feed upon them.” He flinched at the words. “But you are different. I cannot read you, Mr. Jackson. Why is that?”

He brushed a finger over his dark mustache, letting it follow the curve at the end that intrigued her. “Maybe there's more to American Hunters than you think, my lady.”

Alexa caught a whiff of the cedar scent of male pride tainting the air. Even without being able to read his mind she could tell he was sensitive about his colonial roots. Peasant, nobleman, it wouldn't matter if Rathe got ahold of the Gates and opened them wide.

“I think perhaps, Mr. Jackson, it has more to do with you than with the Hunters of your country.” She inclined her head in a little bow, tucking behind her ear the strands of her hair that came loose in the wind as the dirigible lifted and picked up speed.

She turned away from him and looked down upon the odd house of Sir Turlock shrinking in the distance, a little pang of yearning squeezing her chest. She would have liked more time. Just a little. There were very few in the vampire court who would approve of her predilection to craft the ideas that swarmed about in her head. Even fewer who would understand it. For centuries she'd felt more of a butterfly among ravens, both capable of flight, but not at all alike.

“What are the Hunters in Europe like?”

The raw curiosity in his voice made her glance back at him. He was squinting hard now against the brightness of the light. “Here. Try these.” She held out her hand and focused, letting the power run and hum through her veins to call the particles together. A pair of dark-lensed brass goggles formed in her palm, and she handed them to him.

“Thank you.” He gently took the goggles from her hand and took off his hat. His dark hair was slicked back against his scalp, neat, and tightly under control just like the rest of him. He snapped the goggles into place, and they obscured his piercing blue eyes, making it easier for her to think.

“You didn't answer my question,” he said smoothly as he leaned against the rail and settled his hat back on his head.

Alexa stared back out at the brilliant blue sky, but she could feel the heat of his gaze still upon her as surely as if he'd reached out and touched her instead. “They are more ... reserved.” It was the best word she could think of. They simply didn't emit the raw, primal power he did.

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