It was the most satisfying blood I’d spilled in my long life.

Old Pete did not die at once. The leer slipped from his face, and he grabbed at his chest. His expression settled into ambivalence; I guess he knew he would not be teaching me a lesson that day.

He coughed. A spray of blood shot out of his mouth, and patterned my skirt, and though I took a step back, I remained impassive. As he collapsed forward onto his knees, he clutched at the blue cotton, smearing the fresh droplets into a dark red stain. Falling to his side, his hand slid down my leg in one final act of lasciviousness, before plucking at the white cotton petticoat that protruded from the skirt hem.

It was too much, I shook him off. He gave one final gasp, and announced his passing with a death rattle.

The girls had heard the shot, and now gathered around us, Violet too, with one arm draped over the shoulder of another girl. No one flinched at the sight of the blood which now puddled around Old Pete’s body.

“What will we do without him?” Violet squinted through the slits of her swollen eyes.

I looked around at each of them. There was no sympathy for him in any of their faces. But there was fear. Concern for their own survival. I did not blame them. Despite the abuse we’d all suffered at Old Pete’s hands, he’d kept a roof over our heads, and food in our bellies.

“We’ll be fine. We’ll run the place ourselves.” I spoke on the fly, wanting to offer some words of comfort. These events had not been in the plan John and I had discussed. “No one needs to know. We’ll bury his body, and say he’s gone back east for a while. As long as things stay the same for our customers, no one will notice. We’re just warm bodies. They won’t care.”

The girls nodded, and some even smiled. Could this turn of events mean freedom for us?

As I continued, talking of splitting our earnings equally in true democratic style, it appeared the decision was made. Two of the women hauled Old Pete’s body away without me bidding them. They pulled it out through the back door where it could be buried without scrutiny. Others got to work scrubbing the floorboards.

While they labored, I walked out onto the porch. I had not forgotten my primary problem, John and the baby. For a moment, one crisis had replaced another but now, the seriousness of losing them slammed into me. If I’d lost them for good, I’d lost my daughter, too. I leaned over the railing and vomited.

Wiping my mouth I looked toward the horizon. In the distance, a cloud of dust hung in the air; most probably Trader’s foot soldiers and cavalry, returning to wherever it was they’d arrived from. I wouldn’t be able to catch up with them now, so I resolved to wait until the sun began to set, and follow their tracks.

My enchantments worked better at dusk and dawn; something in the patterns of light and shadow made my deceptions more convincing. To get close to John and the boy, I’d need to use all the weapons at my disposal.

Violet came and stood beside me, alone this time. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I slid an arm about her waist.

“You’re going after them, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I must. We have a deal to help each other. But I will be back, Violet. Be sure of that.”

* * *

I set out as the final rays of the sun slipped behind the northern mountain range, walking in the protection of the long red shadows the peaks cast on the ground.

I felt an affiliation with the earth, and as I weaved my way through the landscape, I ran my hands over the smooth faces of the rocks, connecting to the energies inside, sending love to each entity that possessed them, asking them to guard my travels.

For three hundred years, I’d lived within the key stone of the gateway, before it was destroyed and scattered. The rocks, the soil, the sand, all felt part of me, as though we had a shared lineage and affection.

At the end of the pass, not five miles from my starting point, a group of three demon shades sat in a semi-circle around a campfire, facing me. The flames would not warm them; they were beyond such sensory delights. It was most probably lit as a signal fire. In the distance, I could see others. Another shade, replete with a bottle of whiskey and a rifle, sat with his back to me atop the wagon, talking with his colleagues.

The demons had unhitched the two horses, and left them loosely tied behind them. There was no shelter, just bedding rolls laid out on the ground. The soldiers sat on them in a gray huddle.

No one else was in view, but I could feel my wolf. His heart sang a slow and painful dirge which did not match the quickened beat of my own.

I crept closer, keeping my feet light and silent, and peered under the wagon. John was tied to the front wheel, set furthest from the fire. He sat slumped to one side, his head fallen forward, chin on his chest. The silver handcuffs fastened his wrists in front. A rope secured him to the wheel. There was a blue tinge to his skin from the silver.

The soldier on the wagon spoke, “He’ll be trading the pup, no doubt. The human soul is lost, but a werewolf? Not the same, but he’ll still make a packet. Make a good slave for someone. And I hear those English lords like to keep them as pleasure pets if you get my meaning.” He laughed, and took a swig from the bottle.

“What about the man? What’ll be done with him?” His colleague added a few more pieces of wood to the fire. He held his hands close over the flames. Perhaps, an old half-remembered habit from human days? But he’d never be able to shake the cold chill of death, now. Once they were glowing bright orange, he withdrew them, and wiped a smattering of black ash on his breeches as though removing baby powder. His skin shone translucent gray again in the light.

“Trader will strike some bargain with him. A wolf is strong. Good muscle to have around. No doubt there’ll be something the greedy dog wants. The whore maybe, the one we saw him with. She’d be fun for all of us…” He took another deep swig.

By the fire the second demon settled back. “I’m gonna get some shuteye while you keep watch.” Within seconds he was snoring, along with his other companions lying beside him.

This could be my only chance.

I sauntered to the side of the wagon, already reaching out with the magic that was my stock in trade. I conjured it to flow ahead of me, to snake its way into his auric field. “Hey there, soldier. Did I hear you say you wanted company?”

The shade jumped off the wagon, whiskey bottle in hand. He grinned a drunken smile at me. “Well, hello, little lady. Where did you come from?”

“Strolling. It’s a beautiful night, is it not?” I saw his eyes change as he looked at me. The gray darkened, and glazed over, his pupils dilating.

“I s’pose…”

I walked closer, just an arm’s length away, and held out my hand. “Do you wanna share, soldier?”

“Huh?” His arms had dropped to his sides, and he gazed at me with a little smile. “You look like my sister. She had golden locks just like yours.”

I flicked my black hair and got closer to him, so I was just a few inches away, “Will you share the whiskey?”

“Oh, sure…” He handed the bottle to me.

I took a long draft ensuring I left a trail of my slick wet lips on the top, and handed it back. “Drink up, soldier.”

He did as I asked, and the magic on my lips transferred to his heart. With the connection made, I too could see his sister.

The two of them were children, playing in a cornfield outside a clapboard farmhouse. It looked to be another place to this, maybe the Dutch colonies somewhere. The heat of a strong sun warmed my face, as she turned and said, “Brother, shall we run inside for the cake mother has baked?” As she spoke, the words were on my lips too, and in my mind, she ran, a blue ribbon sailing out behind her, loosened from her golden hair.

“That’s all I have left of her, her ribbon.” The soldier reached into his pocket, and pulled out a soiled bleached rag, hardly more than string. Peppered with blood spots, it looked as though it had seen many days in battle. “I used to tie it to my wrist for luck when we were fighting.”

His heart felt so heavy, it sucked the air from my lungs, and I gasped. My magic reached further forward to feel what would bring him perfect happiness, his heart’s desire, and found it lurking in the memory of the ribbon. He had a simple wish. “You want it back as good as new—to look like it did when you picked it up? To smell of her again? To remind you of home?”

“Oh yes!” He reached a hand toward me, and I let him stroke my face. “Such a lot of freckles on your skin, my sister. You’ve been playing in the sun again!”

To him, the transformation was complete.

“All right, brother. I can give you the ribbon, to stay with you forever this time, in that dark place you now call home. But you must do one thing for me in return.”

“Anything, mijn kleine zusje.” He grinned at me, his broken teeth see-through in the moonlight.

“I want you to give me the key to the silver handcuffs on the wolf. Do you have them?”

“Yes, I have them.” He reached into his pocket without a pause, and pulled the key free.

“That’s good. Now give them to me, and I will give you my ribbon. Then, you will curl up, and go to sleep. You will have beautiful dreams of our home. You will eat lots of cake, and mother will tell us stories in the kitchen as she used to. After you have the ribbon, you will sleep a deep sleep until the sun rises.”

“I will.”

“Give me the key.” He didn’t hesitate, and stretched out his hand.

I took the key from his palm, leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead.

I handed him back the bleached out tattered piece of satin. But, for him, it wasn’t me. He still felt his sister’s lips on his skin, and laughed with joy when she gave him back a new blue ribbon, smelling of homemade cake and the scent of her golden hair.

Wrapping the ribbon around his hand, and sighing the deepest sigh, he settled himself beside John and closed his eyes. Within moments, I heard his shallow snores.

I crouched beside John, and raised his head with my hands. His eyelids fluttered as if he battled with a deep sleep. I pulled out my pocketknife and cut the ropes tying him to the wheel.

The skin around his wrists was covered in violet bruises, they spread over his hands, and when I pushed up his shirt sleeves the marks continued all the way up to his elbows. The effects of the silver. Around the cuffs themselves, deep welts had developed, and in some places, blood seeped from the skin in tiny pinpricks.

Quickly, I removed the cuffs, and threw them to the other side of the cart, as far away from John as I could.

He groaned, and his eyes flickered open. “Sowilo?”

“Yes, it’s me. Be quiet. They are sleeping.”

John looked around, and as his eyes focused he noticed the shade beside him. His eyes shot wide open, and he tried to scrabble away. Still weak, he got no further than a few inches.

“It’s all right, John. He is enchanted. He will not wake up until morning. But the others by the fire are just sleeping. We have to be quiet.” I stroked his hair, and used my skirt to mop up the blue-tinged sweat which gleamed on his forehead.

Starting to find his strength, John focused on me, and grabbed my arm. “Sowilo. They took the boy to the graveyard, there is an entrance to the DeadLands there. We have to go after him!”