Graven Images by Diamondback

It was over, Chris thought and rubbed at his eyes as he staggered toward the chicken coop, a rusty tin can of grain in one hand. He´d stayed in town through the removal of Ella´s body from the gallows, until the crowds had cleared out. All of the restaurants filled up. Apparently, watching a hanging worked up a lot of appetites. When he´d felt enough sympathetic and unwelcome pats on the back, he slipped out of town without a word to any of the other regulators and headed back to his little plot for some real peace. Josiah already had instructions on burying Ella, so Chris wouldn´t have to see her ever again. The next time he went into town, things would almost be back to normal. In the meantime, he´d just rest it out.

Evening was fast approaching now, the sun just a warm smear on the horizon, and already owls were hooting in the trees. It was a cool evening capping off a perfectly warm day.

His hands were shaking as he fumbled the coop door open and the chickens all came strutting his way. He held out the can of grain and gave a toss, scattering half of it. He made to toss the rest and his weak hand lost its grip. The can slipped free, Chris hissed a curse, and CLANK, the can came down in the middle of the gathering. The chickens squawked and scattered in forty directions, overrunning the pussy whipped rooster, and bounded off the wire walls, churning up the dry smell of feathers and dust.

Chris fought back a sneeze and stood staring absently down at the can. It didn´t take long for the hens to return and gobble up the grain; the rooster fought his way through the brood to peck up as much as he could as fast as he could. Greedy little bitches. He turned, feet feeling heavy, and slipped back out. The hinges creaked as he elbowed the door shut and forgot to lock it.

A breeze stirred his hair, tingled on his face, and dispersed the smell of wood smoke from the cabin chimney. Chris closed his eyes, felt the caress as if it were that of a lover long lost, long forgotten, but somehow always present. He opened his eyes and looked toward the hill and the oak.

The sky was dark now.

He couldn´t help himself. No matter that his body objected to the distance, he began to wander toward the gave site, taking deeper breaths as he went. His heart pounded painfully, hollow and heavy inside him, just a cold moving lump of muscle. He had to reach the grave. . . wanted to be there. . . wanted to wait. . . right. . . there. . .

Chris toppled just shy of the yard and lay belly down in the grass. After a moment´s rest, he forced his neck to raise his head, and looked up slope. He drew in a long breath of relief when he swore he saw a shadow move beneath the oak. The slightest smile touched his lips, then everything went dark.

-7-7-7-

“Alright, now this is ridiculous, I´m going out there.” Buck continued to pace before Josiah at the front of the church aisle. Three days it had been. Three days. He had given Chris all the space he thought his friend needed, but Chris had not come into town on the slightest errand.

It wasn´t adding up: that creepy grin on Chris´ face as he had watched Ella reduced to begging for her life. Maybe that was what Chris had wanted. No doubt Sarah had begged for her own life and the life of Adam when Ella´s henchman Fowler had stood over them. Maybe making Ella do the same, to no avail, was part of the ugly revenge. Vin, on the other hand, had never had a chance in hell to beg for anything.

“I mean. . . did you SEE that look on his face?” He waved his hands before him as he paced and spoke. “I can´t get it out of my head. It was like. . . I dunno. I´ve seen Chris look mean as snake spit, but this. . .” He broke off, ran nervous fingers through his hair and his voice dropped into a gruff tone of greater concern. “I know he´s hurt over this a long time, and I know he wanted Ella brought to justice, but I can´t believe he´d enjoy watching her die.”

Josiah rubbed the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “I did see it, and I heard what he said to her.”

“I think everyone heard that.” Just thinking about it put a sour taste in Buck´s mouth. He recalled how the last time he´d seen Mary Travis that day, she was fast retreating through the crowd, face blanched. The report she wrote up for the Clarion the next day detailed the hanging, with exception to Chris´ remark to Ella. There was some grace in that, Buck had thought. He sat down on the pew beside the preacher and propped on his knees, staring at the floor. “I´m afraid something´s snapping in that head of his. He hadn´t been looking so good those last two days either.”

“All right,” Josiah finally agreed. “Let´s go out there. Maybe take some food.”

“Yep.” Buck gave it some consideration. “Pretend we´re there to stock up his pantry.” Chris certainly had plenty of chickens, and maybe some flour. He was probably living on eggs and Sarah´s chicken dumplings, the one recipe he knew like the back of his hand. Buck stood again. “I´ll get over to Potter´s real quick and pick up some bread and butter and such. You head to the livery and get the horses ready.”

“Will do.” Josiah stood and stretched. “I´ll pass word to the others.”

Some thirty minutes later, Buck had a burlap sack filled with a couple different breads and a block of cheese, some smoked bacon, and some onions. Josiah had the horses out in front of the Gem ready to go, and the two remaining regulators in town had been notified.

Buck wished he´d talked Josiah into riding out sooner, but he´d fought with the decision so much himself. Likely, they´d ride out and find Chris well and dandy and just trying to keep some peace and quiet for a while. On the other hand, he might not be there at all. He could have ridden down to Purgatorio to spend time with the little dove he had visited regularly in the past. However, it had been quite some time since Chris had crossed the border, as far as Buck knew, and so he prepared himself to barge in on his friend and receive a less than kind greeting. Fine. Whatever it took to see that Chris was okay.

The sun had made its full climb and had started to dip toward afternoon when they approached. Buck rode sitting up as tall as possible to see ahead, where white and gray fluffs were wandering the main yard, clucking and scratching. Here and there were a few scattered feathers. The chickens were out – not a good sign – and worse there seemed to be quite few of them left. The cabin stood dark, no smoke wafting from its chimney, and Pony and Peso approached the edge of the corral fence, craned their heads far over sniffing the air as the visitors approached. A few birds sang, and some persistent horny insect trilled loudly in the distance, but that was it.

“Chris!” Buck called.

Josiah echoed him with a more booming call. “Chris! It´s Buck and Josiah!” They rode on toward the cabin, and reined to a stop at the edge of the porch. Josiah dismounted and went to look at the horses. Both great heads leaned hard toward him, and velvety noses nipped at his shirt front. “I don´t think they´ve been fed.”

Buck tensed, sapphire eyes scanning across the yard, past the coop, where he saw the door hanging open. “Chris?” He turned and looked toward the windows. No movement from within. . . nothing. . . just rippled reflections of landscape on the panes. Urgency stabbed at his guts and he hurried up onto the porch and opened the door. “Chris. . .” His eyes focused on the dim interior, roamed over the little table by the window in the corner that Chris called a kitchen with its little pot belly stove, to the hook on the wall where Chris hung his hat and coat, and then finally to the bed.

The bed was empty, but the blankets were disheveled, lumpy and wrinkled under the gray light that came in through the adjacent window. The narrow area of floor next to the bed, however was deeply shadowed, and from out of those shadows extended a slender, pale hand.

Buck was already moving toward it when he shouted over his shoulder, “Josiah!” He dropped to his knees, focused past the glare from the window and there found Chris lying on his belly, naked, that one hand out, the other against his side as if he´d tried to climb out of bed and fallen. Heart pounding, Buck rolled him over, one part of his brain praying – oh, God, don´t take another friend from me – the other checking for life signs. He cradled the limp body in his arms, awkwardly pulling Chris´ lips up close to his ear to listen. “Come on, tell me you´re breathin´.” Heavy foot falls announced Josiah´s arrival as he came up the porch steps and over the threshold, saw the two men on the floor, then hurried to kneel. Focusing past Josiah´s entry, Buck finally heard the faintest whisper of breath. “Chris,” he said loud and clear and patted the unconscious man on the cheek. “Chris, you in there? Wake up, buddy. Come on, lemme know you hear me.”

A tiny groan answered him, and as he pulled Chris´ face up to the light, the green eyes opened just a crack. . . clouded. . . lost. His head tilted to the side, just so, and Buck frowned to look down at what appeared to be a series of little puncture marks on the neck just below the ear.

“What the hell is this?” Buck examined the wounds, gently prodding at them. They were scabbed and dark. As he looked, his attention followed the sinewy drape of Chris´ arm, down to the nook of his elbow. There were more of the punctures there, and still more at the wrist. “What the. . .” Buck examined the other arm. More of them.

“It looks like something´s been. . . biting him.” Josiah reached over to help cradle Chris´ head while they both looked over his body. They found more bite marks to the inside of his thigh, below his flaccid penis.

“These aren´t some kinda. . . snake bites. . . are they?” Buck whispered as a chill slithered up his spine. “We have to get him back to Nathan.”

The big preacher helped pull Chris up, an uncooperative mass of sagging limbs, and carefully deposit him on the bed. Buck looked around and came up with a crumpled pair of Chris´ trousers and a shirt. They worked the clothes on, fighting with the bend in a knee or the slack spread of fingers, noticing with some relief when Chris moaned and his brow furrowed slightly indicating he didn´t like being jarred around.

“Someone´s got to take care of the horses,” Josiah said as he helped Buck saddle up and hefted Chris up toward him. With great difficulty they got their friend situated, his head back on Buck´s shoulder. “I´ll feed them and bring them both back into town.”

Buck nodded as he took up the reins in one hand and squeezed Chris´ shoulder tight with the other. “Be careful. No tellin´ if what did this to him is still here.”

Josiah´s gaze drifted to Chris and the puncture dots just visible above his rumpled collar. “I will.”

Buck veered his horse around and with a whip of the reins, shouted, “Yah!” and tore off through the trees and down to the road.

-7-7-7-

It was the most awkward ride, keeping Chris in his lap, and guiding the horse as fast as he could without managing to dump both his precious cargo and himself onto the road. He´d done this before, only his cargo had been J.D., smaller and somewhat easier to transport, while Chris was just lanky enough to make the handling more difficult. “Nathan!” The church and the livery came into view, and he shouted desperately now as he had then. “Nathan! It´s Chris!”

The young black man appeared on the clinic balcony, took only a moment to identify who was calling him, where it was coming from, and why, then he spun around, raced down the stairs and out into the livery yard to meet Buck.

Buck carefully eased a groaning, no doubt sore-bottomed, Chris down into the healer´s waiting arms as Ezra and J.D. came running. The commotion was attracting other attention, but the onlookers didn´t crowd in and were easily ignored

“Found him in his shack,” Buck said as he dismounted. “Has to have been that way a couple days.”

Already Tiny had come out of the livery and with complete understanding, the little grizzle-bearded man took the reins from Buck, instantly relieving him of his horse. Buck turned to take up Chris´ legs while Nathan carried the front half. Ezra readily slipped in and added support to Chris´ torso, while J.D. ran ahead, up the steps, and got the clinic door open.

In little time they´d gotten Chris up the steps, though not without a fair spell of curses and awkward avoidance of railing corners, and laid him out on the clinic bed.

“He was like this when you found him?” Nathan asked, prying one of Chris´ eyes open and examining the milky residue that covered it.

“He was out cold, and look at this.” Buck pulled back Chris´ collar, revealing the little sets of punctures on his throat. “They´re more on his arms and. . .” Buck didn´t bother to say where else. Nathan could figure that out on his own.

Ezra was just situating Chris´ feet on the bed when he looked up in time to see the marks. Nathan´s fingers were tracing over the dots, his dark skin a stark contrast to Chris´ insipid pallor.

“Holy Christ,” the gambler suddenly spit out, gaping as he backed up a step.

“What?” Buck looked up and frowned. “Ezra? Do you know what these are?”

“They look sorta like snake bites,” J.D. offered uncertainly.

Ezra´s jade gaze darted from the marks to Buck, then to Nathan, who was also looking for a possible answer. “I, uh. . . Well. . .” Ezra swallowed so hard, Buck could see his Adam´s apple jerk up in his throat and bob down again. “I´m likely wrong, but if that is what I think it is. . . Gentlemen, we have a very serious problem on our hands.”

-7-7-7-

There wasn´t much Nathan could do to confidently stabilize Chris. Ezra was skittish on telling them his theory on what inflicted the strange little wounds – apparently afraid he would sound like an idiot – but as to their result he was spot on: blood loss. Chris´ complexion also gave away as much. They could only try to make him comfortable, and Buck helped in swabbing down his body with warm wet cloths, hoping that the massage to his extremities stimulated the flow of what blood he had left.

The patient mumbled incoherently, with the exception of a fairly firm, “Leave me alone,” spoken when Nathan tried to get him conscious enough to drink from a cup of tepid beef stock enriched with dandelion root. It was a good sign that Chris took at least two big gulps before he looked like he would gag. Little bits at a time, Nathan declared, would do him just as good or better than forcing him to guzzle down the entire pot of broth.

Tucked in and cleaned off, Chris occasionally moved, turning his head on the pillow, or his eyes rolled open, staring in a haze before the effort proved to be quite hard and he would drift into unconsciousness again.

While all were concerned about Chris, it did little good for everyone to hover, jittering around looking for some way to be helpful. Ezra, still wary regarding the cause of the punctures, indicated that he would stay handy in his room at the Gem just across the way. J.D. went back to man the jail. Josiah arrived leading Pony and Peso, whom he turned over to Tiny to groom and feed some more (the poor beasts had already gobbled down some grain and hay, and had apparently tried to eat every tender shrub they encountered along the road) and then the preacher went back to his church. Nathan had some last rounds to do for the day out in the closest mining camp, so he left Buck to play nursemaid.

The sun was setting beyond the clinic windows when Chris stirred slightly enough that Buck got out of his watch chair and hustled to sit at the side of the bed where he turned the wick up on one of the oil lamps, casting warm glow on a bloodless shoulder. He waited, watching the dozy man´s long blond lashes flutter slightly, threaten to lay to again, then open completely.

“Hey, y´ole war dawg,” Buck said gently and reached over to the bedside to pick up the cup of broth. “Ready to give it another go?”

Chris frowned, his lips parted slightly, and he appeared ready to cooperate. The rim of the cup was almost to his lips when he blurted out with sandy gruffness, “Buck? How´d I get here? The hell. . .” He tried to get a better look at his surroundings.

“You´re in the clinic.” Buck leaned closer over him and gave him a severe frown. “You want to tell me how you lost so much blood? Or why something´s been gnawing on you? Hey!”

Chris´ hand swept up, not quite controlled, and knocked into the cup. A flicker of tin and an arc of gleaming broth sailed through the air. “I gotta go home,” he half bellowed like a mad bull trapped in a mud ditch.

“No!” Buck pressed down on Chris´ shoulders, surprised to find the man had gained some strength. “Chris, you´re sick.”

“I have to get back. . .” Chris craned his head off the pillow, made to grab Buck´s hands away and free his shoulders. Buck leaned in harder, feeling how cold Chris´ skin was. No fever, but plenty of delirium. Then the strangest thing came out, sadly desperate as Chris put forth one last effort to throw Buck off of him.

“He needs me.”

At that his strength gave out and he collapsed into the pillows, head turned away, eyes clenched shut like he wanted to squeeze out tears but had none to give. His lips peeled back, baring his teeth in complete anguish.

Buck stared, wanting to deny what he´d just heard. It confirmed that Chris was going off the deep end, but then to dismiss it would only make it worse. Chris had to be reasoned with somehow. “Who needs you?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Vin? Are you talking about Vin?”

Chris´ nostrils flared and he sucked in little sharp breaths like a winded dog, refusing to face the man holding him down, friend or not.

“Vin´s dead, Chris,” Buck persisted. “You know that.”

Chris didn´t answer him. He continued to face away, until finally the lines in his forehead smoothed, the frustration and remorse faded from his face, and he drifted off again.

“Jesus,” Buck muttered as he eased back and watched Chris´ chest rise and fall in the lamp light, such shallow breath, and the man had already used up a great deal of energy on nothing but struggling when he needed to stay still. Buck cocked an ear to the sound of footsteps coming up the side of the building and then onto the balcony. He recognized the pace.

A moment later Nathan came in. The door swung inward, knocking against the cup on the floor with a gentle clank. The healer looked down at it, then up at Buck, then to Chris, eyes wide with concern.

Buck sighed, propped forward, elbow on knee and shook his head, indicated the cup and the pool of broth gradually leaking into the cracks between the floorboards. “Might say we had a little. . . accident. . . there.”

-7-7-7-

Ezra stood at the window in his room looking up street adjacent to the Gem, able to see lights in the clinic windows even from here. He knew Buck and Nathan were still over there, so Chris was in good hands, as far as he could be. He wasn´t sure but it looked like the door was open, just a crack, letting out a thin line of light; they were probably trying to get a little fresh air into the room. It had been dark now for several hours, and a glance at his pocket watch confirmed the time to be edging up to three o´clock. The street was only populated with the odd cricket and most of the fires had dimmed to pools of glowing embers.

But the bite marks continued to trouble Ezra. He hadn´t been able to enjoy his dinner or get any sleep after seeing them, and that they had appeared on Chris was even more alarming. It wasn´t the first time he´d seen such things, but the last time, he´d been very young. Age tended to play tricks on the latent memories of youth sometimes, so he wasn´t even sure if what he´d witnessed back then had happened the way he remembered it. He did remember, however, being so afraid, because all of the adults around him were afraid, and – to his young mind – when adults were shaking in their boots, something must be very wrong. Monsters from fairy tales could become quite real when the adults who denied them suddenly believed.

On that note, Ezra perked up. Belief in monsters. . . that was the real issue here. He fingered his chin and wandered a few steps, on the verge of pacing. Ella had been the primary concern of late, the one thing on all their minds. Now that she was gone, he could begin to think back again, and the Han family suddenly jumped to mind. All those months ago. . . Yes, that was it. Ezra had understood the strange ritual they´d carried out in the cemetery. It was an old custom, rarely performed, except in very special cases. Make that VERY special cases.

Ezra went back to the window, frowning as the clinic lights dimmed slightly and flickered as if an oil lamp had been moved from one surface to another.

The thing that had been draining Chris´ blood had obviously not been in town because no one else had reported such bites or blood loss. That meant it had been there with him on the farm, at home.

Merciful God. . . Ezra´s heart jumped into a sickening race. Buck and Josiah HAD left something behind when they brought Chris back to the clinic, and it was highly likely that something was going to come looking for him. He spun about, seeking his coat. He didn´t bother with his hat but found his belt and holster, checked his Remington – even knowing it would be useless if they were dealing with what he thought they were dealing with – and then buckled it on as he headed for the door.

-7-7-7-

They managed to rouse Chris enough to get more broth into him before they were too tired and needed some rest for themselves. Buck curled up on the spare bunk in the corner behind the door, while Nathan settled into his bed in the very back room which was normally hidden by a curtain, but Nathan had swept it back so he could easily see into the main room. They left one lamp burning just close enough to the bed that they could be sure Chris was still breathing, but not so close that he might find a new burst of strength and knock it over.

For the longest time, Buck lay watching, and then he closed his eyes and listened to the slight hush and flow of faint breath. After a time it lulled him. His mind grew at ease that there was a definite rhythm that said Chris wasn´t planning on expiring. Finally Buck let go and consciousness slipped. It only felt like a few seconds before he jarred awake, but there was a greater silence in the air that told him the saloons had long since wound down, there were no more odd riders coming in, no sounds of distant voices conversing, and the sky beyond the windows was illuminated by a giant pearl of a moon. Buck listened for breathing.

There it was, along with another soft sound, like Chris had just gently smacked his lips in his sleep. Buck smiled to himself at the little noise and then realized there was a damp chill in the air. He lifted his head to fully take in the room and realized the door was ajar. The hell had that happened? Rubbing the back of his neck, he sat up and started to go to close it, but that sound distracted him before he touched the knob. He turned back into the room and frowned, sure he had seen a shadow of movement on the other side of the bed where Chris lay. The noise persisted, a gentle supping sound. In the light he could see Chris´ profile, eyes closed peacefully, but Chris wasn´t moving his mouth, or licking his lips. Buck frowned and picked up the lamp. The oil in the glass reservoir had burned down to less than an inch, but he turned up the wick, fueling the flame.

As the light oozed over the bed and cast upon Chris´ bare chest and his other shoulder, Buck halted, heart leaping as he saw the form kneeling on the other side of the bed, a head of golden brown hair bowed, mouth pressed into the nook of Chris´ elbow. Chris´ free hand lay across his belly, fingers threading into that hair.

“Swwwwweet Mary,” Buck gasped. The head lifted then, and Buck stood frozen, not believing his eyes. “N. . . N. . . Nathan?” he squeaked.

“Huh?” a gruff voice replied from the darkness of the back room.

“G-g-g-get in here.”

The eyes staring solidly at Buck were pale blue, their pupils thin pin points of black, set in a face all too familiar and smooth as polished marble except for a few smears of dirt. Dry pale lips parted, lined with remnants of blood. . . Chris´ blood. The apparition still wore his burial clothes, though his shirt was torn and dirty, white skin peaking through the rips and the collar that had lost several buttons.

“What´s the matter, Buck?” Vin whispered and a true look of confusion washed over his face and through those haunting eyes. It was such a genuine look. And good God, those eyes. They had been so crystalline and alive once, and while they were still blue, this shade was cold, drained. As he spoke, Buck could see that there was something different about his teeth. His canines looked a little longer than before, more pointed.

“NATHAN!” Buck hollered.

Nathan stumbled into view in the far doorway, rubbing his tired eyes. He focused, eyes drifting to the intruder. “What the. . .”

Then whatever trace of Vin that Buck had thought he recognized was gone. The lips curled back into a snarl, revealing in full those sharp threatening teeth. A little noise like the growl of an angry wolf issued from low in his throat, and he lunged across the bed.

Buck yelled, thrust out his hands in automatic defense of the attack, and dropped the lamp. The reservoir shattered, scattering a pool of oil, that instantly caught on fire. Buck stumbled backwards, pushing back into Vin´s chest. The breath that gusted against Buck´s face smelled coppery with blood, and Vin himself smelled of fresh earth and mold.

Nathan shouted when he saw the flames erupt, and hustled to rip the blankets that covered Chris away from the bed. His main concern became getting the flames out as he threw the blankets across them and stomped on the small fire, keeping it contained, while Buck and Vin tumbled towards the door, Buck shouting, Vin snarling with unearthly menace. The room plunged into darkness all but for the moonlight through the windows and the opening in the door.

Buck was still swimming in a state of denial all the while he fought to keep his attacker off. This wasn´t Vin; this was some THING wearing Vin´s face. The open mouth, bearing those teeth, came close to biting him on the face, but he jammed a forearm up under the chin and pressed back, gritting his own teeth. “You´re some demon,” he spat, not believing his own choice of words as he fell flat on his back in the doorway, directly under the moon. He coughed to get his breath back and stared up as Vin stopped going for him and simply sat straddling him, perched upon his chest like a cougar goading a ground squirrel. The disheveled hair looked like it had grown fuller, and cascaded around Vin´s shoulders, moonlight casting on what looked more like silvery gray streaks than golden brown.

“I only came for Chris,” Vin said in that raspy shade of a voice. “Not you.”

There was the briefest pause as the weight of the words settled on Buck, and then Vin let out another angry wolfish shout as Nathan grabbed him from behind to haul him up. Nathan´s arm wrapped tightly around Vin´s neck, squeezing, distraction enough that the creature tried to pry it free, long fingernails clawing and tearing into Nathan´s forearm.

Buck hurried forward, grabbed Vin´s wrists, shuddered at the feel of cold, dry skin in his palms. Vin hissed at him and kicked out.

“Whoa!” Nathan shouted as Vin twisted, throwing his shoulders forward, and the healer tumbled over, ass over tea kettle, and came down hard on the balcony.

Somewhere up the street, a dog barked as the struggle with Vin made its way completely outside the clinic. He dove once more at Buck, long fingernails going for the gunslinger´s throat. Buck dodged, tried to throw a punch, overshot his target, and suddenly found Vin locked onto him, trying once more to bite at him. His shouts clashed with Vin´s growls, and as he was swept around suddenly, he found they were both crashing into the railing. They hit it so hard, the wood gave with a crack.

“Buck!” Nathan´s voice cried out as they tumbled over.

It was only a one story fall, but making the drop with his body angled horizontally was never something Buck had in mind. He felt Vin´s body hit the ground beneath him, giving some cushion to the fall. A splintered piece of the railing landed nearby. He heard a hollow, sickening thud and bones cracking, before he was thrown clear and rolled away, coming down wrong on his shoulder. It dislocated with a brutal stabbing pain that shot down his whole arm.

For seconds he lay stunned before he lifted his head and saw that Vin lay still, that wild hair flung around and framing his face, empty bled-out eyes staring at the sky. Had the fall killed him? Killed him for real? Buck shuddered, tried to get his legs under him, his arm hanging like a piece of meat from its socket. A wave of nausea consumed him, kept him down on his knees.

That was Vin there. . . dead again. . . or not dead. . . what the fuck?

Buck threw back his head, looked at a moon-bathed sky faint with stars, and then saw Nathan at the balcony railing.

“Buck!” the healer called down.

With another shudder, Buck tried to answer, but his eyes were burning, tearing up. He coughed, fought the urge to dry heave. Then movement caught his attention, and he found that Vin was getting up as if completely unscathed by the fall. He assumed a crouch, his face hidden in shadow from which came that low predatory growl.

Buck barely noticed that the livery door was open, and from within came the rustlings, hoof clomps, and snorts of disturbed horses as if they sensed the creature outside. “Vin,” he uttered pleadingly, knowing that the next time the creature moved, it would tear into his throat, and he wouldn´t be able to stop it.

Then there was more movement, as the livery door swung wider, and Ezra suddenly emerged, a lantern in hand casting golden light on one side of his face, while the moon cast silver on the other. He raised his free hand into the air, clenched in a fist.

“Hey!” the gambler shouted sternly, his focus on Vin.

The creature spun, got to his feet, shoulders coiled, and glared at the newcomer, preparing to strike.

A trail of grain slid fluidly down from inside Ezra´s hand and rained on the ground near Vin´s feet, scattering amid dirt and straw.

Vin´s gaze followed the cascade as if fascinated, the fight forgotten. The whole while, Ezra didn´t take his eyes off Vin, remaining cool, collected. The gambler watched as Vin eased down to his knees, and curious fingers roamed out to pinch up one of the grains, then another, and another. . . The whole world was seemingly forgotten as he gathered them carefully, one at a time.

Ezra casually dusted off his hand on his hip and appeared quite pleased with himself to have tamed the beast so easily.

Still sickened by the pain in his shoulder, and his own disbelief, Buck settled back onto his ass, staring. “Ezra. . . what did you do?”

The gambler started to speak, but Nathan came veering around the corner of the livery and skidded to a halt to see that somehow the situation had been contained.

Ezra knelt, head tilted as he examined Vin, who was so compelled by the grains that he didn´t look up. It was almost like watching a child play a game of marbles, completely absorbed and entertained; so strange how the vicious snarling thing had so easily been diverted.

“Vampires, gentlemen,” he said, “are fascinated by counting grain.”

-7-7-7-

It seemed ludicrous, Buck thought, the way they got Vin to come back up the steps into the clinic. It didn´t seem wise, either, to lead Vin back into the room with the very man he had been slowly yet gently killing, but they had to get him indoors and out of sight. So Ezra ran more grains around the side of the building, and up the steps, enough to keep their subject well enthralled while Nathan set Buck´s shoulder and fixed a sling.

Vin was still below and at his task when Nathan was finished. Buck went out to stand at the broken railing and look over, needing all the fresh air he could get. So far, the trick did seem to be working, and Buck wondered what on earth could be going on in the mind of such a creature that it should be obsessed with gathering grains of horse feed. He guessed that must go for anything grainy from rice to corn to beans, but as to a reason why, he had nothing. Only Vin could tell him, and Buck didn´t exactly feel like asking.

He recalled seeing a Chinese funeral once, in which a young woman in the procession threw out hundreds of little squares of red paper with holes punched in it. Josiah had explained that the belief behind the practice was that the devil wanted the soul of the deceased, but he had to pass through all the holes in the papers first, and by the time he finished, the dead would be safely buried with his soul in tact. It was an interesting parallel but still lent no comfort to the fact a good friend had somehow or other returned from the dead.

Inside the clinic, Ezra and Nathan now worked to get Chris out of the front bed and into the back, furthering Buck´s chances to ponder. It was all so absurd in so many ways, he thought, that their friend had somehow turned into this thing. Vampire? He wasn´t sure he really knew the word except maybe from some penny dreadful J.D. might have been reading. Easing his way along the balcony, he watched as the figure below disappeared into the shadows. A moment later Vin was at the foot of the steps, still gathering. One hand was clenched, full of the grains. He was climbing now, a step at a time, so focused and silent the entire time.

“Good God,” Buck said under his breath. “How did this happen to you?”

The dog that had been barking earlier sounded off again, distant but annoying.

Vin´s face lifted to the moonlight, and Buck could see that it appeared so neutral, the face they had all always known, except for the eyes, which from here appeared to be opalescent, white orbs. It seemed Vin listened for a moment, an ear cocked to the lingering night. Buck couldn´t suppress the concern that at any moment the spell would break, and the growling, snarling thing he had fought would return to the surface and come charging up the steps. Instead, Vin only looked down again, pinched up another grain between his fingers and added it to the lot in his hand. Buck still didn´t breathe any better.

Ezra stepped back out onto the balcony, took a long deep breath, and turned on his heel to walk toward Buck and stand with him, watching the slow progress. “How is our preoccupied revenant doing?” he asked dryly.

“It´s sad,” Buck husked. Then he turned harsh eyes on the gambler. “All right, Ezra, explain. Now.”

Ezra took a moment, his eyes on Vin, before he began. “I was a boy of nine. My mother left me in New Orleans with relatives who had every variety of neighbor, including a well-to-do Slavic family.” Buck frowned, wondering where this was going. It seemed important enough to Ezra to not only explain what he knew about vampires but how he had gained that knowledge. He noticed a tiny fret line in the gambler´s forehead, indicating how he was organizing his thoughts before continuing with the tale. “There was a young man, Pavel. He had fallen in love with a young lady from the Irish Channel, but he wasn´t allowed to marry her. Something to do with a family curse. The lovers resisted and met anyway, until they were caught and separated. Pavel´s family locked him away, but not so soundly that he couldn´t find a pistol and shoot himself.”

“Suicide over the girl?”

“Indeed.” Ezra paused to notice Vin was not so far away now. He glanced over the trap of grains and took a step back, indicating that Buck should too, keeping the pathway into the clinic clear. “Weeks after his burial, the girl´s health began to decline. She was pale, weak, and puncture marks like those on Chris were seen around her neck. It was said. . .” he turned a dour look upon Buck, “that Pavel had begun to visit her in the night.”

“Just like Vin has been with Chris?”

“I´d say so.”

Just then Nathan came back out onto the balcony. “Chris is still holding on,” he said with a tone of both relief and great fatigue, emotional as well as physical. “I wrapped his arm where Vin bit him again, but after this last time, I´m afraid he´s going to need more blood.”

The words felt like a knife in Buck´s gut, the nervy stabbing pain moving up into his heart and filling him with dizzying concern.

“A transfusion?” Ezra asked, frowning at the implications. “I admit to knowing little on the procedure, but isn´t it the general word that that´s dangerous?”

“There´d be plenty of risk,” Nathan replied. “I heard of cases where the body rejects the new blood. He could die either way, but his chances of making it are greater if we at least try. But best to take from only one of us.”

“Then use my blood,” Buck immediately volunteered.

Ezra shook his head. “No, Mr. Wilmington, you´ve got a wound to worry about.” He looked at Nathan, eyes so serious as if to say the debate would go no further. “And Mr. Jackson here needs all of his faculties for the task ahead. I´ll do it.”

To not be the one to help Chris nagged at Buck. That was HIS long time friend in there. But rationale caught up with him. Ezra had a point.

Nathan considered it, then nodded and looked at the culprit below, sitting on one step, picking up grains on another. “What happens next? We supposed to keep him counting all the time?”

Buck almost laughed dryly but the effort jarred him and hurt too damned much. “He collects all of those, we´ll graduate him to pick up sticks,” he grumped. It really wasn´t funny. He wanted to cry. For Vin. . . for Chris. “So then what happened?” he asked Ezra.

“One day the Slavs dug up the young man´s body, they found it whole and fresh. There were no signs of decomposition. They drove a wooden stake through the heart and cut off his head. They said. . .” He turned away, a greater look of agitation washing over his normally stolid features.

“What?” Nathan insisted. “Ezra, you gotta tell us all you know.”

The gambler took a breath and paced as if he had to be moving to keep speaking. “They said it was the only way to be sure he wouldn´t rise again. They did the same with the girl. I don´t know anymore than that on the procedure.”

Buck reached out with his good hand and gripped the gambler´s arm. “You mean we´ll have to do this to Vin? We´ll have to kill him. . . again? There ain´t no way to some how save him?”

Jaw setting, Ezra looked like he´d already dealt with it more than he wanted to. “I´m not saying that. . . I. . . I don´t know if there is a ‘cure´ per se.” To Buck´s bitter scowl he said with growing frustration, “Look, that may not even be Vin anymore, Buck. At least not the Vin we know.”

“That remains to be seen, don´t it? He might have a hang up with countin´ shit, but he talked to me. I don´t think he wanted to kill me. He said he´d only come for Chris.” On that note, he remembered their patient inside. “And then what are we supposed to do about Chris? He could turn, too, if he dies, couldn´t he?”

“He could, yes. It´s like a disease that way.”

Buck leaned slightly over the gambler, finding his temper rising. Wide, serious eyes stared back at him as if to say “it´s not my fault” and well it wasn´t. If anyone was at fault, that would be Ella. He grimaced as a nerve in his busted shoulder throbbed and he let go of the gambler´s arm.

Ezra backed away slightly. “It´s like there are people naturally born with this curse, and others who acquire it through contact with them. The Pavel boy was supposedly born with teeth, that was the first indicator, but add that he committed suicide, it was double damnation.”

“But how the hell did Vin get cursed?” Buck demanded.

“It must have had something to do with Saul Han,” Ezra suggested. “He and Vin were working together constantly. Surely there was something about him or his family wouldn´t have shown up to attend his body the way they did.”

Nathan´s eyes suddenly widened to saucers. “I treated him for an injury.”

“Yeah?” Buck grew anxious. In all, if they could talk this out, trace it back to a source, maybe it would lead to some way to help Vin and Chris.

“He had a tail. It was a birth defect.”

Ezra grunted indignantly and returned an even glare. “Well, thank you for that valuable input, Mr. Jackson. That´s our sign right there.”

“I promised him I wouldn´t tell anyone.” Nathan glared back.

“Okay, so hold on, let´s get this straight,” Buck interrupted them before they could start hen pecking at each other. Considering none of them had had much sleep, it was a wonder they had sorted it all out thus far. “Saul was born cursed. Then he and Vin got to being right good friends before he died. He could have had at least one night to crawl out of his grave and drink from Vin before his family came along and did. . . whatever that was they did to stop him.”

Ezra nodded, eyes narrowed in deep thought. “Likely they staked and beheaded him. They were just refined enough about it to keep the rest of us from seeing.”

“Kind of sounds like they´ve had to do it before, don´t it?” Buck said. That was an alarming thought.

“Indeed.” Ezra paced a little, fingering his chin. “Mary said the Hans were from over in Watsonville. Maybe they could help us, if we can get them to talk to us.” He paced again, pondering it, and gave a muted, “Hmmmmm.” Buck wanted to stick out a foot and trip him if he didn´t stop. Ezra had just opened his mouth to continue when he looked back down toward the steps and his brows shot up. “Vin?” The name came out so naturally and with concern as if he were still talking to his old friend.

Buck and Nathan looked too, surprised to find that Vin was no longer quietly collecting grains. He had stretched out on the steps, half sitting on one, half laying against those above him. His cheek rested on the crook of his arm as if he´d suddenly decided to take a nap, and his hand had loosened the grains to let them spill back down. None of the others had noticed that during their debate, the gray light of morning had crept up, and to the east, the sun had just begun to peak the mountains.

Nathan hurried down the steps and carefully angled Vin´s face up, finding the eyes closed smoothly, the lips parted just so to reveal the deadly little points on his canines. “It´s just like he´s dead,” he said in amazement. “Ain´t no breath, no pulse.”

Ezra gestured toward the sunrise. “I think that would be our reason there, gentlemen. Mr. Tanner is well away from his grave, with no where else to go.”

“Let´s get him inside then.”

Ezra trod down the steps and knelt to join the healer. Buck followed down the first couple steps, curious to watch, wanting a better look at the sleeping vampire´s countenance now, though his injury prevented him from helping them haul Vin up the steps.

Nathan stepped down to get Vin´s legs, while Ezra reached for his head and shoulders. They were about to lift when Ezra hesitated, took that moment to stare at the youngish face, appearing shaken.

“What is it?” the healer asked.

“Nothing, I just. . .” Ezra sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, collected his bearing. “I was holding his head when he died.”

For that, Nathan and Buck gave him a moment longer, and then they all knew they absolutely had to get the body up and indoors before the town started waking up and Tiny came into the livery to groom and feed the horses.

Buck skirted around them, mentally chewing on what he knew already. They all had more talking to do, and also needed Josiah and J.D. to join them. He looked to the dawn´s light while he listened to his companions hauling the “corpse” into the clinic, bumping against corners, boots scuffling over the floor. So, that was the way of it. The vampire fell into a sort of death sleep at dawn and then came out at night. That explained why only Chris had seen him until this point. The insistence to spend so many nights on the farm – he wanted to be near Vin, and then it had turned into being there FOR Vin. Buck considered Chris´ delirium driven comment: “He needs me.” Holy shit, Buck thought and felt himself blanch with the realization. Vin hadn´t just been taking Chris´ blood. Chris had been volunteering it.

Sunlight was starting to crawl up Main Street along the buildings that most directly faced east. He assumed Vin would stir again after sunset. If they were to find out anything today, before nightfall, they had to get started. Buck turned and went back into the clinic.

Nathan and Ezra had gotten Vin situated on the bed, and Nathan was checking on Chris, talking from the back room. “I don´t think they should both be in here at the same time.”

“Damned straight,” Buck said and couldn´t help thinking back to the sight of Vin crouched beside Chris and drinking from his arm, and how Chris´ fingers had been slightly tangled in his visitor´s hair. New chills coursed through him. “We´ll get Josiah and the kid up here and make plans, then get Chris into his own room.” He turned to Ezra and gave a gesture at Vin. “Any idea how we keep him settled without making him count beans and stuff?” He didn´t know why the counting thing bothered him so much; maybe because it was such a single minded and base thing for the vampire to do, when Buck needed to feel that there was still something in there worth saving, that Vin´s soul had not departed and left only a blood-drinking animated shell that could, on the right occasion, find cause to speak.

“We need some shackles,” Ezra said from where he sat on the bedside.

“I´ll get some of the irons from the jail, then we´ll have ourselves a full on pow wow. Anything else?”

“Garlic,” Ezra stated, arranging Vin´s head on the pillow. “See if Mrs. Potter has a few bulbs in stock.”

Buck´s brows shot up. “Garlic?”

“Ah, Buck, don´t ask me, I didn´t make up the rules. It repels vampires. I figured we could barrier the room with it. Get a sprig off of that rose bush in the cemetery, too.” To Buck´s further incredulous look he added, “It doesn´t hurt to be thorough now, does it?” He stood, removed his vest, consigned it to the back of Nathan´s desk chair, and then un-cuffed and began to roll up his sleeve, looking at Nathan as the healer stepped from the back room. “I´m ready when you are, Mr. Jackson. Probably best not to let Chris go much longer without.”

Nathan nodded and looked at Buck. “We´ll do this, then try to move him when you get back with the others.”

“All right, garlic, irons, and a rose bush.” Buck turned around and strolled to the door where he lifted his hat from the hook and settled it on his head. “I´ll be back soon.” He made sure the CLOSED sign was up as he left, and in his departure, Nathan shut all of the curtains so no one could look inside.

His first trip was by the church, where he roused a groggy Josiah who, despite his nearness to the livery, had not heard so much as a shout from the struggle that had happened just a few short hours ago. He stared at the sling around Buck´s shoulder and from his expression remembered it hadn´t been there the evening before. “Yeah, I´ll explain later,” Buck said. “Use the secret knock to get into the clinic and don´t swear too loud when you see what´s layin´ on the bed.”

“Uh, all right.”

“And Nathan needs you to bring some cuts from that rose bush.”

Now Josiah looked at him like he had prairie dogs hanging off his ears.

Buck grinned. For now he could make a little humor out of it all – good self defense, humor. It helped blunt the looming possibility that there was no hope for Vin, and therefore none for Chris. Underneath it all, he felt like he could cry every possible profanity to the sky, as he couldn´t help remembering that right now Chris was being transfused with Ezra´s blood and whether it would help or harm was in question. It would do no good to keep fretting; he had to stay focused, so he let Josiah wonder what the rose clippings had to do with anything and somewhat wished he could be at the clinic when the preacher walked in, just to see the older man´s expression.

He would have to wait for Potter´s store to open, so he went on to the jail and let himself in to find J.D. asleep behind the desk. He slammed the door particularly hard, watched the kid jump and nearly fall off his chair. “Rise and shine, kid. We´ve got a long day ahead.”

J.D. rubbed his eyes, readjusted in his chair, and grunted at the early aches and pains –penitence for falling asleep on the job. “Mornin´ Buck.” His voice grated.

Buck went over to the upright wooden locker where supplies for prisoner transport and spare weapons were kept.

“Hey, what happened to your arm?” J.D. asked.

Buck used his good hand to lift out a set of leg irons and two sets of chain cuffs. They were heavy as hell to grip in one hand, the muscles from one shoulder to the other compensating and pulling, giving him a twinge to which he winced. He remembered that Vin had seemed quite strong in their struggle, as well as survived the drop to the ground with Buck falling on top of him. Thank Vin for breaking his fall, he figured and with a shiver recalled the body crunching beneath his. Grimacing, he tried to give the irons a heave. They clanked against each other and he thought that if they wouldn´t hold a vampire down, nothing would. “We have a, uh, situation,” he finally said as he turned. “Help me with these.”

J.D. got up, stretched with a big yawn, and went over to the locker. “What do we need these for?” He took the chain cuffs out of Buck´s grip and held them, one in each hand, staring at them.

Buck briefly realized that one set of them had been used to restrain Ella´s wrists on her way to the gallows. Then, knowing real and thorough explanations were coming soon enough, he cut to the chase, though not as delicately as Ezra would have. “Vin´s, uh.” He looked down at J.D.´s wide curious eyes that were already asking the question “what about Vin?” Buck slapped on the most serious face he could muster at the moment.

“Vin´s at the clinic.” He turned for the door, the leg irons in hand. “Come on. We have a meetin´.”

-7-7-7-

The clinic only had one hypodermic syringe for Nathan to work with, so he had to make four passes between Ezra and Chris, sterilizing the needle in hot water between each pass so the gleaming sharp tip burned, as well as stung, every time it pierced Ezra´s skin.

The gambler now sat back with a dry cloth pressed into the crook of his left arm. A capful of alcohol had been poured over the series of punctures allowing for some minor free bleeding before he was instructed by Nathan to keep pressure on the area. He watched quietly as Nathan fed the last syringe of blood into Chris´ arm. An oil lamp burning on the side table cast a spark of ruby light on the fluid as the plunger pushed it sluggishly down through the glass cylinder into the needle until all vanished, taken into Chris´ body, hopefully to be accepted.

Compelling and strange. . . how a man´s life depended on that sanguine flow. Ezra remained sitting, head tilted back, slightly dizzy, and let out a long, tired but tense breath. He thought he saw the slightest crease of distress in Chris´ brow as Nathan withdrew the needle, then the look settled out again. Ezra wondered what was going on in the unconscious man´s mind. Dreams, perhaps? Dreams of meeting his undead lover in the night, of feeling his life drain into the revenant´s mouth and down into its core, making him forever a part of the late Vin Tanner? It seemed the darkest, most primordial form of fucking Ezra could possibly imagine.

“I´ll make some tea with sugar,” Nathan said. “It´ll help steady you.”

“Thank you.” He continued to sit watching Chris.

Nathan pressed another cloth into the crook of Chris´ arm. “Hold that there.”

Ezra eased forward, reached out with his free arm, and pinched the cloth in place. Nathan took the syringe into the other room and lowered the needle end into the little iron crock to be cleaned out later. He put on a kettle for more hot water and came back, sat on the bedside, and examined Chris´ condition now.

“Well then?” Ezra said as he once more sat back, knowing that despite the lightheadedness he felt, he´d have to push on for the day. There was too much to be done, too much at risk.

“Now we wait,” Nathan said.

-7-7-7-

The primary shock was over now for J.D., and for Josiah. Upon their first seeing Vin, Nathan had gently prodded up the lifeless, dry lips and pointed out the slightly lengthened and sharp canines as a means to show them what they were really dealing with, that if this was Vin, then he was greatly altered from the man they had known before. Long after they reached something of an understanding of it all, it was hard for them not to catch each other staring at the subject of their incredulity.

Ezra repeated the entire explanation: that Vin had somehow, most likely, been “cursed” by Saul Han to resurrect after his death which had been prematurely brought about by Ella; that he might appear dead now but he would awaken at night thirsting for blood, and the blood he desired most was that of Chris Larabee, who – should he die – might return as a vampire as well. At this point, there was a greater chance of saving Chris, but if the possibility remotely existed that they could also recover Vin, restore him not only to human but to the land of the living, then they were going to damned well try.

Under Ezra´s guidance, they undertook the task of making sure their vampire was bound. They clamped Vin´s wrists into the cuffs and drew his arms – which moved and flexed with eerily subtle ease – above his head, fastening each to a corner of the headboard. His ankles were bound to the foot board. The thorny vines Josiah had brought were draped across his middle. Vin didn´t move during the entire procedure – not a breath, not a finger or eye twitch, not a murmur; it was as Nathan had said, he appeared for all intents and purposes to be dead despite that his body was so supple and whole.

Last but not least, Ezra took the one pitiful garlic bulb Buck had gotten from Mrs. Potter and broke it up to distribute the cloves on the window sill above the bed and on the side tables; it wasn´t much but occasionally the sweat-like oniony smell would waft, and Ezra could understand indeed why a vampire would find the stuff so revolting.

J.D. now knelt beside the bed and stared in morbid fascination at the dead man´s face which, under normal circumstances, should have been decaying. The skin looked like carved and polished ivory, the hair a full mane that was lightly streaked with grays that had not been there in life. Unable to contain his further curiosity, he reached up to touch Vin´s stretched-out arm. The skin gave under the pressure of his fingertips. Immediately he jerked his hand back with a revolted, shivering motion and shook it as if he´d been bitten. “Eeeeeeew!”

“J.D., stop that,” Buck snapped. He was sitting on the corner of the spare bunk, starting to look the worse for wear with his arm in the sling and the loss of sleep.

“He´s just so. . . cold,” J.D. replied defensively. His brows were in a permanent knit, giving him an even more vulnerable look than he generally sported.

Josiah had been keeping some distance from the bed, and Ezra wondered what facet of the preacher´s beliefs he was deeply questioning this time. That death could be defied? That demons actually did roam the earth, and the proof lay right here before them all?

Ezra sipped from the sweet cup of tea Nathan had given him, long since gone lukewarm. “Well, gentlemen, there´s little more to figure out here. A couple of us will have to ride to Watsonville and find the Han family.” Tired though he was from the long night and the donation of his blood, he was already figuring that he should be the one to handle that little adventure as well. A man knowledgeable on the lore of the vampire might better speak to a family likewise as savvy on the means of handling such a creature. “Josiah, care to accompany me?”

Haunted blue eyes, shaded by that heavy graying brow, fell on him. “Yeah, I´ll go.”

“Good, then my advice to you is to dress the part of a preacher as much as possible.” Ezra took another sip of tea. It did help him feel better. “I´d expect they might be more trusting if they see a holy man.”

-7-7-7-

The clinic was locked up, leaving J.D. and Ezra to watch Vin, while Josiah and Nathan took Chris´ stretcher up the back way to the hotel across from the Clarion News. It was a smooth haul most of the way, with Buck playing lookout, diverting anyone who approached to ask what the problem was with Mr. Larabee that he was being transported horizontal. Buck kept giving the same story: that Chris had drunk too much the night before, gotten himself sick, and just needed a lot of rest and no disturbances now.

And then they turned that corner into the alleyway that brought them up along side the Clarion. Buck could swear he felt Mary Travis´ eyes on them before she even emerged from the front door and hurried over.

“Buck,” she called and stepped down off of the boardwalk, her lilac dress a cool contrast to the paint-flecked weather worn buildings of Main Street.

“Well, hello there, Mary,” he played it casual, stepping into her way as she approached the stretcher.

“It´s all right, now, Mrs. Travis,” Nathan said to her as he stepped up toward the hotel doorway with his end of the stretcher. Chris´ head rested at that end, angled sideways, eyes squinting slightly as the sun glared on him. It was a conscious reaction, a good sign that he was still holding on strongly to life.

“What on earth is wrong with Chris?” Mary asked, stepping sideways to peer at the patient.

Buck side stepped into her way. She stepped again, so did he. “Why, you dance divinely, Mary.”

“Buck?”

“Ah, don´t worry about him.” Buck shot a glance over his shoulder as Josiah´s back disappeared into the hotel, bearing the foot end of the stretcher. “He´ll be okay.” Then, looking at her pale blue-green eyes and the earnest look of concern on her brow, some part of him felt compelled to give her a piece of the truth. “All right,” he lowered his voice. “He´s not been eatin´ right, ‘cept for a liquid diet, if you know what I mean. We found him like that out in his shack.”

“Oh, my God,” she gasped.

“He spent the night at the clinic, but Nathan thinks he´ll be all right, just needs a lot of rest. We´re going to rotate sitting with him, maybe get him to eat when he comes around again.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Her eyes darted from the hotel entrance to Buck´s face.

He put on his warmest smile. “Maybe later.” He picked up her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Nathan´ll let you know when he can take some visitors.” He could imagine her trying to go up to the room, genuinely concerned but also nosing around. “Just let him be right now, Mrs. Travis. We´ve got the ole rooster covered.” With a wink, he let her hand go. It seemed like enough, and she gradually turned and went back to her newspaper.

It was late morning when Ezra pulled himself up into the saddle and steadied himself, while Josiah climbed onto his own horse. The preacher was now dressed for show in an impressive black coat and shirt, giving his favored necklace of pony prayer beads and large brass Ethiopian cross a solid background against which to stand out. The ride itself, at a decent pace, would run around four hours, and then there would be the task of locating the Hans and appealing to them. Somehow Buck feared the gambler and the preacher had a hard task ahead. Hopefully they would be back no later than the next day, which meant that a long night was in store. Buck and J.D. stood together, watching them ride off.

“What happens if they can´t find a cure?” the kid asked lowly, eyes on the riders as they grew smaller and smaller with the distance until they disappeared around the far bend.

The urge to scold him for asking such a question bubbled up. Buck uneasily scratched at the back of his neck under his collar and suppressed his irritation. J.D. had a right to ask. “We´ll have to kill Vin,” he said hollowly.

“What about Chris?”

Buck didn´t answer that one.

-7-7-7-

It was pretty much determined that Vin would not be stirring any time soon, at least not until sun down, so the clinic was left locked up. Nathan took a few house calls, always returning afterwards to Chris´ bedside. Buck and J.D. ran a patrol to keep some semblance of normalcy, and while no one else in town seemed to notice that anything was out of place, the remaining regulators were all certain Mary Travis´s curiosity about Chris was churning. Nathan caught her looking toward the hotel as he headed over there now, a covered box in his arms. He´d put in a special order at the restaurant for a cut of beef cooked only on the outside, biscuits and green beans cooked in fat back.

Now to get Chris awake and eating, even if just a little at a time. Then something occurred to him as he was climbing the steps up to Chris´ room: if they were able to save not only Chris, but Vin too, then there would be a lot of explaining to do to the town. Too many people had seen Vin die, so it wasn´t like he could just miraculously return and waltz around town, freshly resurrected, and not be questioned for it. But that was neither here nor there. Vin had to be restored first; if that happened, then Nathan figured they´d leave the explaining to Ezra. The gambler´s cunning would surely come up with a story that would suit the citizens of Four Corners. Hell, he´d already proven to know a great deal about Vin´s condition when anyone else would be left to discover – and probably with fatal results – such characteristics on their own.

Nathan let one worry go and focused on another as he eased the door open into Chris´ room. The door creaked on its hinges, and he was relieved to see Chris´ head angle sideways on the pillow in response to the noise. “Ah, now that´s what I was hoping to see.”

Chris blinked crusty eyes at him and said nothing, the covers up to his chest, the collar of his night shirt opened and rumpled because Buck had had a hard time getting the seldom used garment onto him to add a layer of warmth. Filtered sunlight fell on one side of his face, and he looked incredibly uncomfortable confined to its rays.

Nathan sat down in the chair he´d already situated by the bed and balanced the box in his lap. “I got you some food, and I don´t want any arguing, you´re going to eat this, you hear? You gotta get strong again.”

“I´m not hungry,” Chris said hoarsely.

“Uhn-uh,” Nathan replied stubbornly as he uncovered the plate. “I´m not hearing that nonsense. You´re going to eat to build your blood back up.”

When Chris turned his head and looked up at the ceiling as if he´d transformed himself into a statue, Nathan grew immediately impatient. He sat the plate down on the side table along with the silverware and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Looking down into the drained and set face, he glared. “You gotta eat, Chris or you could die.” His gaze danced over the puncture marks on the side of Chris´ neck. “All right, you won´t do it for yourself, what about for Vin?”

Watery eyes shifted and looked up at him, a frown line creased Chris´ brow. “What do you know about it?”

It wouldn´t serve anything to lie. Chris probably thought they still didn´t know about Vin; he´d been so out of it, he probably didn´t remember last night´s attack. Nathan angled his head to further capture the other man´s gaze. “We know plenty,” he said. “He came last night, do you remember?”

Chris only continued to frown, his upper lip just on the verge of cocking up into that sneer he often pulled before a fight. Some three to four days of whisker growth had shadowed his face along with little veins of grime that had gotten into his skin; they stood out like a map against his pallor.

“Buck caught him drinking from you again, liked to could´a killed you this time.”

“Should have let him.”

Nathan clenched his teeth. “Why? So you could join him? Do you have any idea what´s happened to him? What´s happening to you?”

Chris drew in a breath, slow, rustling, and let it out. “I brought Ella to him, I might as well have killed him myself.”

Now that was the most ridiculous thing Nathan had ever heard, and one of the last things he´d ever have expected to hear from Chris Larabee. The man never took the blame for anything, and Nathan wasn´t about to let him start now, not over this. “Bullshit.”

Chris´ gaze softened with surprise to hear the healer speak thus.

“You couldn´t help that Ella was crazy. Even if you´d left town a long time ago, nothing´s to say she wouldn´t have come back and still hurt Vin, or any of us, just to get at you. She´s gone now, Chris. Forget her.” The argument seemed to have already sapped what energy Chris had to speak. Nathan could see how he already started to fade again, eyes clouding, the would-be snarl relaxing out of his lips. Nathan bowed his head a moment, recollected his thoughts. “Look, we´ve got Vin. He´s at the clinic now, asleep. . . dead. . . I don´t know what he is. Somewhere in between.” He watched for a response and found Chris managed to turn his head curiously on the pillow. “Ezra called him a vampire.” He straightened up again to examine whether there was any response to this. Chris only stared back, but he was definitely still listening. Nathan felt a little tug that he should continue explaining what his patient had been missing out on. “He´s bound so he can´t hurt you anymore, but Ezra knows some things about this.”

“Ezra?” Chris´ voice crackled with disbelief and his look reflected the same. Of all people. . . Ezra?

“Yeah, he says Vin returned because he was somehow cursed, started with Saul Han. He and Josiah are on their way to Watsonville to try to find Saul´s family. He thinks there may be a cure.”

“The hell are you talking about, Nathan?” A wash of glaring denial swept over the tired man´s face, pulling in all of those dirty little veins a little deeper. Had he enough blood in his body, he might have flushed.

Nathan got to the point. “We might be able to save Vin. There might be a way to bring him back, make him human again. Now, for all of this shit you´re putting yourself through, isn´t that worth something?” He waited, staring down, watching what looked like a tiny spark of hope glint in Chris´ eyes. It wasn´t much to go by, but he thought maybe he´d finally reached the stubborn, bull-headed fool. “Do you see?” he asked after a moment. “You gotta eat, Chris. You gotta eat so you can get well.”

Slowly, stiffly. . . as though he were still fighting denial. . . Chris finally nodded.

-7-7-7-

“My son,” Josiah said, lowering his voice as if it didn´t already boom enough when he spoke normally, “if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding. . .”

Ezra cringed and looked across from his mount to his companion´s. They had been riding at a decent pace for the expected four hours – with rest and water stops – and were now coming upon their destination. The sun had made its noon arc and now hung midway down on the horizon. Watsonville was a much smaller burg than Four Corners with its buildings set wider apart and its main street less than a block long, so there was no problem finding the sheriff´s office.

“. . . and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding,” the preacher continued, waving a finger in the air while his other hand kept hold of the reins.

“All right, Josiah—“

“. . . and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God.”

Ezra´s brow furrowed under the rim of his hat and he shook his head. “That´s enough of that.”

Josiah smirked back, amused by the irritation he was causing.

“You don´t have to bury yourself in the part,” Ezra quipped as he dismounted.

Josiah reined up and threw his leg over, straightened his coat, and tethered his horse next to Ezra´s. “The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on Him sincerely.” He chuckled as Ezra tossed one more irritated look and then stepped up onto the porch outside the office. “Ezra, now what kind of holy man would I be if I couldn´t readily speak from the good book?”

Ezra couldn´t suppress his own smirk. They´d gotten looks on the trail from the few other travelers they´d passed – he´d worn black just the same as the preacher, but the cut of his coat, as well as the cravat at his throat and his hat, greatly contrasted; in all, they were a strange match of sinner and saint riding together. Josiah hadn´t really preached the whole time. Occasionally he belted out another proverb just to toy with his companion, but for the most part they discussed the tact they would use interviewing the sheriff on where to locate the Hans, and then how they would deal with the family once they found them. Ezra anticipated the family would harbor a lot of secrecy. He´d gotten that sense from them months ago when they attended their deceased relative´s grave.

“Ready?” he asked.

Josiah nodded and headed for the office door.

-7-7-7-

“How is he?” Buck asked as he slipped quietly into Chris´ room and laid a hand on Nathan´s shoulder. The healer´s head suddenly bobbed up, he blinked wide eyes, and Buck realized he´d fallen asleep in the chair. To the side of the bed sat an almost empty plate. A few vegetables still soaked in reddish juice. “Hey, did you get him to eat?”

Nathan rubbed his eyes, looked at the sleeping patient, and nodded. “We did real good,” he said softly. “I think he´s gonna make it, but still no promises.”

The distant clop of hooves and the grate of wagon wheels on Main Street filtered through the walls, a constant and somehow comforting sound that reminded one there was a world beyond those wall. The sun had passed over the hotel, well away from the window, so only gray light fell in now, doing little to liven up the ashen hue of Chris´ skin, but the news of his eating was something. “Think he´ll be ready for more soon?” Some naïve part of him felt that if they could keep Chris eating, he´d fully recover. That was hogwash—he knew it—but it didn´t hurt to put the theory to work, did it?

“Maybe another couple hours.” Nathan sat up, stretched his arms. “I´m really needing some rest, Buck.”

“I can see that. Why don´t you use my room and catch some real winks. Sittin´ up here sleepin´ll make you a cripple.” He gave another squeeze to the healer´s shoulder. “I´ll sit with him a while.”

“What do you want to do about tonight?”

“You mean about Vin?”

Nathan nodded, eyes cool with renewed concern.

“I´ll sit with him,” Buck said bluntly, “but I don´t want J.D. in there. I think it´s best he keep to his rounds.” He looked at Chris, paused to observe the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “He can sit with Chris a while, and maybe Mary can help, too. . . maybe bring up some more food. . . ought ta help cool that woman´s curiosity.” He realized he was mumbling and shut up.

“What about you? Don´t you need some rest, too?”

“Nah, I got a little already, but with this shoulder giving me the twinge, and all that´s going on. . .” Buck sighed, shrugged with his good arm. “Besides, I want to try to talk to him,” he admitted.

“What he said the first time still bothering you?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. . . yeah, I guess so.” He sat down when Nathan got up and leaned back hard in the chair, propped his feet against the side of the bed. “Look, I´ll just stay here a while, then head on over to the clinic. You got the key?”

“Sure,” Nathan fished the instrument from his pocket and handed it over in exchange for the key to Buck´s room, before he returned the pat on the shoulder, making sure he got the right one. “I´ll look for J.D. before I go rest, give him the plan.” He picked up the plate and cutlery.

Buck nodded. Pitiful plan, he thought. There weren´t enough of them at the moment, with Ezra and Josiah away, but they´d just have to make due. Buck angled his head back and closed his eyes, took a breath, and gave a short prayer: And please let those two come back with good news.

-7-7-7-

Not too long after their adventure into the sheriff´s office, Ezra and Josiah were back on their horses and heading out of Watsonville and toward a stretch of country road that had obviously been well traveled on wagon, but it wound deep into the hills amid little more view than slopes of dried grasses, gnarled oak trees, and the odd prickly pear.

Their story to Sheriff Cody Regan had been simple and to the point: they had a sick friend who had known the Hans and the family might actually know of a remedy for said illness. It worked, and the sheriff had been as helpful as he possibly could by telling them where to go, and how the road was marked: there was a tall wooden cross erected by the road on the end of the Hans´ property where a small stream ran, fed by a natural spring hidden back in the hillside. Crossing the stream was, apparently, a huge deal to the Hans.

“They´s right strange folk though, so tread carefully.” Words Ezra would have preferred not to hear, but they didn´t exactly surprise him.

Discussion on the way to the ranch was sparse and Josiah had tempered down reciting proverbs and phrases for the sake of purely getting Ezra´s hackles up. Ezra appreciated such sweet mercy, but found his curiosity rising regarding how Josiah had stared at Vin´s body in the bed, keeping the slightest bit of distance. A glance behind him and he noticed Josiah was barely paying attention to the road as he stared more toward the ground, his hand absently fingering the great cross at the front of his shirt. Ah, so even now he was pondering. Ezra let him be, lost in thought, the clip-clop of the hooves below them an easy lull along with the low, warm angle of the sun.

It wasn´t long before they were in shade, entering into a pass between clutches of forest, until up ahead they saw the cross they were seeking. It was painted white and stood out against the crackly dried landscape. Below it, the stream bed Sheriff Regan had mentioned flowed with a soft, weak gurgle, winding out of the shade along side the main road, while the turn off toward the Han ranch dipped so that the water could run across it. Some people might have built a small bridge, but obviously not the Hans.

Ezra reined to a stop and scanned past the stream and down the road where it vanished amid more shade trees. “Well, there´s little to mistake here. We must be in the right. . .” He happened to glance up past the cross and realized that one of the tree branches was adorned with the bodies of five crows, all strung upside down so that their wings had spread and stiffened. “. . . place.”

“Crows,” Josiah said dimly.

“Crows,” Ezra echoed. But what warning the dead birds served, he had no idea. They stank, that was for damned sure. A slight breeze disturbed the alignment, rustling a few loose feathers. He remembered Josiah´s tendency toward omen where crows were concerned. At the moment, he himself felt a little eerie twinge. “I guess we´re supposed to cross this branch as proof we´re not otherworldly,” he remarked dryly. He steered on, angling with the horse as the animal leaned down slightly then up again getting onto the far bank, hooves splashing lightly and spraying water about.

Josiah followed and joined up beside him, now obviously alert as they looked ahead. In the distance, they could see what looked to be the corner of a farm house as well as an opening to the shade where the more brilliant day light shown on a possible meadow. As they approached, the house came into view tucked within a circle of ancient oaks, and the pasture beyond wide with a smaller fenced in section where six horses and a mule roamed nipping lazily at the grass.

“Hello?” Ezra called toward the house as he reined his horse as close as he dared. The place looked to be a cabin that had been expanded in sections, one addition completely separate but connected by a breezeway. There were rocking chairs on the front porch and a wind chime that looked like it was made of chips of bone and shell pieces that clattered gently against each other with a peaceful and yet disturbing hollowness. It was the only answer Ezra received.

Josiah sat up straighter and looked around. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

The firm KA-CHICK sound of a shotgun cocking answered this time.

Both men turned their heads toward the sound which came from slightly behind. The young man who stood with the gun to his shoulder and aimed at them looked to be in his twenties, dusty and tousled from a day of work. Dark eyes glared at them with intent.

“What business you got here?” The voice bore a harsh accent that was both guttural and rolling.

Ezra craned his head to see further over his shoulder another male figure, around the same height as the first, holding a pitch fork in his hands. “Well, Sirs, my companion and I have come from Four Corners, where, I believe, a member of your family happens to be buried.”

There was gnawing silence as the two men looked at each other, brows furrowing deeper, their dark eyes growing more shaded with suspicion.

“This is the Han stead, isn´t it?” Josiah asked.

A creak sounded from the porch as the front door swung lazily open and heavy boot heels clomped on the boards. The visitors turned their attention to the new sounds and found a much older man, likely in his sixties, sauntering toward the railing where he propped on his hands casually and gazed back evenly.

We´re being sized up, Ezra thought and tipped his hat. “Good day, Sir.” Now he recognized the dark, weathered face as belonging to one of the family that had come to Saul Han´s grave that day months ago.

“Da,” the man replied and tipped his own hat. “I´m Alexi Han.” His accent was even thicker than the two youths keeping a watch behind the horses. His eyes roamed to Josiah, examining his dark clothing and the cross hanging at the front of his coat. Recognition crinkled around the edges of his eyes. “You´re that preacher.”

“Yes, Sir,” Josiah replied and bowed his head quickly in a greeting nod. “We wondered if we might have a word with you and your family concerning your son´s death.”

Now the look of recognition faded to concern. He looked back to the two young men and after a long, and excruciatingly tense moment, said something in his native language. Ezra heard the name “Stefan” in the command, and realized the old man had told one of his boys to lower the gun. “You crossed the stream,” Alexi Han then said, addressing his visitors directly. “All right, you come inside.”

Ezra suppressed the sigh of relief that wanted to explode out of his chest.

-7-7-7-

They were not served any drinks, not even a glass of water, as they were brought into the house, the two Han boys at their backs. The lot of them wore dust-saturated coveralls, and Ezra noticed the one named Stefan did not step all the way inside. He lingered in the open doorway, the shotgun tucked in the crook of his arm, and allowed in a breeze and light that was most welcome in the darkness and stagnancy of the home. The central room had furnishings surrounding a fireplace with a mantel on which were arranged pottered bowls painted with simple flower designs that were colorful and added touches of charm along with the fur rugs scattered over the floor to reduce the creaking of the boards. Behind this gathering area was tucked a bed in which one of the sons likely slept.

Before the hearth sat the matron, whom both Ezra and Josiah recognized from the cemetery as well. She wore a full skirt of dark indigo and a yellowed white blouse decorated around the collar with flourishes similar to those on the pottery. Her hair was tucked neatly under a kerchief and a basket of knitting sat at her feet. She had put it away as the men came in and now sat staring at the visitors with narrowed eyes. Her hands clasped a small rosary. The place smelled of wood smoke and herbs, and Ezra thought he detected the vague scent of garlic. A quick glance around verified that as he saw strands of crispy bulbs hanging in the front windows. He and Josiah had definitely come to the right place.

“Madam Han?” Ezra stepped closer, only to have Alexi Han move in front of him and take a defensive stance near his wife. The unnamed Han boy stepped to the woman´s other side, but Stefan remained in the doorway, blocking any escape.

The woman´s gaze bored into Ezra and held the recognition of him that her husband had held of Josiah. “I know why you´re here,” she stated. The years had etched crow´s feet under her eyes, and deepened the crevices around her nose and the corners of her mouth, but Ezra could see that she had been a very attractive woman once upon a time. A great look of bitterness seemed to be her primary undoing. “We didn´t see to my son in time, did we?”

Josiah and Ezra had already agreed not to give out Vin´s or Chris´ names, so he kept identities vague. Josiah began explaining, “Well, Ma´am, see a friend of ours was good friends with your son, and recently—“

“He is cursed,” she said with a spit in her tone that completely unsettled Josiah.

“Well, Ma´am, it´s not totally like that. See, our friend, he died, and now another friend of ours has taken ill. Seeing as you know the nature of the matter, we were hoping you might offer us advice on how to deal with this. . . illness.”

The preacher was making a most valiant effort, but Ezra could see that the Han family matron had him backed into a corner with her stare alone. “Madam, I´ve seen similar events to the case of your son before. Our friend who is ill. . . he hasn´t yet passed. We are trying to save him. We hope to save them both.”

For a moment her eyes seemed to soften, turning from cold, hard onyx to chocolate, before the harsh glare returned. She appeared to consider it further, then shook her head. “Your friend who died, he is strigo. . . undead. . . there is no return for him and he has shared the curse with your other friend.”

Ezra nodded and mouthed the word “strigo” thinking he´d heard some variation of it before among the Slavs in New Orleans. Before he thought about it, he blurted out. “You could say we have both of them under wraps.”

Mrs. Han´s eyes widened, and her husband followed suit. “How?” she asked with cautionary surprise.

“Garlic, irons, rose vines.”

“Madness,” she hissed under her breath. “It is madness to try to contain strigoi and not finish the job.”

Ah, Ezra thought. That was it. Strigoi meant “vampires” in Romanian. “I subdued the one with grains, and now he is immobilized,” he elaborated, feeling it important to be sure this woman knew they were being very cautious. The last thing he and the others wanted was for the Han family to return to Four Corners and take matters into their own hands. “The other is simply ill.”

“Ma´am,” Josiah put in gently, “is there any way to save them? We had hoped you might have the knowledge of a cure from the Old Country.”

Slowly she began to shake her head. One hand came up to clasp her husband´s. “I am sorry. I´m afraid my son is the cause of this.” She gave a great sigh and a murmur that sounded like worry escaped with it. “We knew he was cursed from the moment he was born, yet we did not take the right precautions then. I will pray for your friend, but there is no hope for him to live. You must destroy the undead one, and seek to save the soul of the other. On his death, you must drive a stake through his heart, and cut off his head. Place it at the foot of his grave, and he will rest in peace.”

Ezra´s throat tightened at her immediately defeatist attitude. “Madam, please, there must be another way.”

“There is not.” She bowed her head and the hand still clasping the rosary clenched tighter, her thumb caressing the tiny feet on the Christ figure. The set line of her thin lips indicated she would say no more about it.

Ezra shook his head. “No, that can´t be the only answer. . .” He was jarred when Josiah took his elbow and gave a little squeeze.

“Ezra, back off.”

Taking a breath, Ezra blinked and looked away from all of them, his lower lip slightly thrust out as his jaw set.

“Ma´am,” Josiah said with a nod. “Thank you for your time. As you see, this news strikes my friend quite hard.”

“It can´t be the only answer,” Ezra insisted.

“They´re more experts than you are—“

He spun on the preacher, gritting his teeth. “I won´t do it. I can´t.”

Josiah´s eyes shaded as he stared hard into Ezra´s. “I´ll do it,” he said firmly. “I´ll take care of it.” His fingers played over the cross around his neck. “We´ve already discussed this.”

The Hans watched the exchange, their eyes darting from one to the other. Ezra sensed rather than saw them, noting how the one son to the matron´s side had his head bowed, and how Mr. Han gripped his wife´s hand tighter. He nodded and happened to glance toward the doorway, finding it empty. Stefan had managed to somehow slip away quietly, despite his own boot steps on the porch.

“All right,” he said in a hoarse whisper and threw little glances up at Mrs. Han. “Look, like I said. . . I´ve seen this before. I was just hoping there was some other way I hadn´t heard about.”

She nodded to him, and Ezra felt satisfied that she wouldn´t determine to send her husband or her brood to Four Corners to hunt down Vin or Chris. The regulators would handle this completely on their own, however they had to.

“Godspeed with you both,” Mr. Han said.

Josiah gave the old man a nod, and then a gesture for Ezra to head toward the door.

They stood close as they un-tethered their horses from the porch railing, and Ezra inclined his head toward Josiah´s ear. “Think they´ll interfere?” He hoped his act of being resigned to the situation had worked.

“Don´t worry, Brother Ezra,” Josiah spoke up loudly. “Our friends will be at peace.” He handed Ezra his reins and they turned the animals together and led them out into the yard before mounting up.

Ezra could feel eyes on them from the house but said no more until they´d cleared the trees that partially blocked the view. “That woman knows something more.”

“Yes, she does,” Josiah agreed, “but she´s already lost one son to this curse, no need to press her further.”

“She wouldn´t tell you anything,” a low, male voice spoke up from behind one of the trees as the horses passed.

Both men reined their animals to a grumbling halt and turned in their saddles to find young Mr. Stefan Han leaning up against the old oak, the shotgun still tucked under his arm. They were well out of sight of the house by now and could hear the stream near the main road.

“Ah, I wondered where you had gotten off to,” Ezra replied and eyed the shotgun. “Quite the stealthy exit you made.”

“Stefan, is it?” Josiah affirmed.

The young man nodded and stepped closer, threw a look back through the trees and adjusted one coverall strap on his shoulder. “My mother is bitter, I knew she would tell you nothing. To her the only cure is killing them.”

Ezra tilted his head curiously. “Are you saying that there are other options?”

“She made my brother´s life hell when he was at home, because he was born different from the rest of us.” He stepped even closer until he was beside the horse and looking directly up at Ezra. “There may be a cure, but I don´t know if it works.”

“Well now, at least it is something.” Ezra reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a coin.

“No,” Stefan waved the coin away. “You take this freely. Burn my brother´s body, what´s left of it. Mix the ashes in water and feed them to your friends. It should cure the one who is still alive, but the one who is full strigo. . . I don´t know.”

Ezra couldn´t help the dry sensation that mapped his tongue at the idea of having to eat ashes, or the little turn his stomach took to the idea of human ashes at that. “If it doesn´t work, we know what else to do.”

Stefan nodded sadly and gave the horse a gentle pat on the neck. “It isn´t just about the curse. Understand?” He eased closer and lowered his voice as he elaborated. “The dead have to have a reason for coming back. Could be revenge. Could be unfinished business. I heard it once that strigoi could be restored to human again. Maybe once the reason for coming back is satisfied, they can.” He shrugged at that, but obviously he´d given this thing far greater thought than the rest of his family.

Ezra stared back with elation as more pieces seemed to fall into place with that one explanation. He reached down his open hand. “I´m sorry about your brother.”

Stefan accepted the hand shake. “Go on, see to your friends.”

“It´s almost dark, but we have a full moon tonight,” Josiah said. “We get back in time, we´ll have partial cover of darkness to open Saul´s grave.”

Ezra nodded vacantly and stared down at Stefan, curious as to the young man´s predicament living in a family so withdrawn and feeling more sorry for Saul Han for having to grow up among such treatment over what seemed to the rest of the world a minor birth defect. He wondered if Saul´s curse had arisen more from mistreatment in life rather than the physical abnormality of the tail. “Thank you,” he said softly.

As they rode on, he glanced back, saw that Stefan still watched them go. At the next bend, he took one more look, but by then their secret informant had disappeared. Then both men heeled their mounts into a good, steady gallop for home.

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