Hunter
Hunter dressed in an old pair of denim trousers and frayed shirt for the excursion into the swamp with Minister Tremble. He pulled on tall brown-stained boots, pushed his old felt hat onto his head, and chose three glass vials with cork stoppers from his leather satchel.
Once downstairs, he paused long enough for a quick breakfast in the common room. While he sipped his coffee, an unexpected surge of compassion filled Hunter’s chest, and he shook his head. If it hadn’t been for his grand-mère, he might have been put out on the street, or forced to live hand-to-mouth along the bayou, much like Minister Tremble.
When he finished his meal, he selected a large biscuit from the tray and wrapped it in a cloth napkin. He nodded to the desk clerk as he left the dining area and stepped outside. The sun had just risen and already the cloudless hazy white sky pressed its heat upon the city.
On the far side of the porch, Minister Tremble perched on the edge of a bench. When the door clapped shut behind Hunter, Tremble lifted his head and stood, bony hands fluttered beside his dark, discolored robes.
Hunter crossed to Tremble and offered him the linen-wrapped biscuit.
The old man narrowed his eyes. “What's this?” He glared at the white cloth in Hunter’s hand and raised his reluctant gaze to Hunter’s.
“It’s a biscuit.” Hunter opened the cloth to display the flaky golden crust. “I thought you might like to eat before we head out.”
Minister Tremble licked his lips. “I don't take charity.”
Hunter tipped his head to one side and studied the elderly man. “But you do take donations, do you not?” Hunter lifted the biscuit again. “Consider this a donation, mon ami. Go on. Take it.”
The minister snatched the offering from Hunter's hand and took two quick bites before both the biscuit and the napkin disappeared inside his dirty robes.
“It’s this way.” Minister Tremble turned, stepped off the porch, and scurried down the street.
Hunter watched the old man for a moment and shook his head.
Mon Dieu! What a strange person.
He confirmed his knives were secure before he followed the minister away from the river.
After several long blocks, Tremble stopped at a small public dock beside a canal. He glanced back at Hunter then stepped into one of the shallow flat-bottomed boats tied to a low rail. He knelt in the bow of the small vessel, knees wide, and sat back on his heels. He looked over his shoulder at Hunter. “Get in and untie us.” He jutted his narrow chin toward the rail and picked up one of the paddles.
Hunter raised an eyebrow. He checked the vials in his coat pocket to make sure they would remain secure should the vessel capsize. No stranger to this type of boat, he stepped down, slipped the rope from the rail, and lowered himself to his knees. He sat on his boot heels and picked up the other wooden paddle.
“We will follow the current to my home.” The minister spoke over his shoulder. “It will be harder work when we return.”
Hunter put his paddle in the water opposite the minister, and they pulled away from the dock. The canal ran straight through the city, then turned sharply into the bayou and headed northeast toward Lake Pontchartrain. They were almost an hour on the water when Tremble pointed toward the shoreline, thick with moss-covered trees. They turned the canoe onto land.
The spry old man jumped from the boat and held the craft stable as Hunter walked forward and stepped from the canoe onto the soft soil. Tremble pulled the light boat ashore and covered it with netting concealed with moss. Satisfied with his work, the minister moved onto a narrow path through the trees. “This way, it ain’t too far.”
Not ten feet past the first bend in the path, Hunter spotted the shack. Set off the trail, it looked to have grown from the hanging moss and foliage. The front door stood open, the interior dark.
As they approached, Tremble grabbed his stringy hair. “Oh no! Oh no!” He broke into a run toward the cabin.
Unsure of what had upset the man, Hunter slowed his pace and kept a sharp eye on the foliage and brush along the trail. He touched the knife beneath his jacket and moved between the trees toward the shelter.
The minister stopped in the doorway, his hands covered his mouth, as he turned his head from side to side. “She's gone.” He glanced back at Hunter. “They took her—one of those... those... abominations took her.”
Hunter stood behind the distraught minister and studied the shack’s interior. Dim light from a dirty window left the room in shadow. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air. “Whew! The smell alone will bring predators.” He stepped from the door and surveyed the ground beside the hovel. “It looks as though an alligator or three have been here.”
The minister disappeared inside, and a flicker of light illuminated the shack.
Hunter stepped to the doorway and peered inside. A hard-packed dirt floor supported a tall cabinet beside the entrance. Along the left wall, an old cot tilted on two legs beneath a small, mud-streaked window. Across from the cot lay the remnants of a foot and leg, torn from the body below the knee, and chained by the ankle to a stake. The rotting appendage lay in a muddy pool of blood.
Hunter drew back in revulsion. “Mon Dieu! What have you done?” The stench of rotting meat was overwhelming. He turned to the madman and swallowed the bile in his throat. “You kept a woman chained in here?”
“The succubus had to remain until the prophecy was spoken.” Tremble continued to pull at his stringy hair. “She’s been taken. The body has been defiled.”
Hunter turned away in disgust. “We must be quick. Grab what you wish to take and let's go.” He withdrew one of the vials from his inside pocket and stepped to the remains of the woman's leg. The blood pooled beneath the foot was fouled and sticky. He had never used blood from spoiled flesh, and the thought sickened him. Teeth clenched, he held the container steady and milked a tiny amount of blood from the woman's severed leg.
The results may be uncertain, or perhaps, not work at all.
Cabinet doors opened and slammed behind him, and Hunter glanced back at Tremble, unwilling to trust his back to the man.
Whoever this madman searches for needs to be warned.
Hunter placed a stopper in the vial of dark fluid, wrapped the glass in a soft cloth, and returned the it to his jacket. He stood and watched as the minister counted his money.
“Here.” Tremble offered a jumble of paper bills to Hunter and stuffed the rest back in the metal box. “I’ll pay the rest once you show proof the witches are dead.”
Hunter took the bills, folded the wad and shoved them deep into his trouser pocket. “You should not return to this place. You’ll never be free of your—abominations. Your seer will forever dwell in this place and call to the scavengers for your blood.”
Hunter turned from the wide-eyed lunatic, stepped outside and studied the area around the shack. Long strands of moss hung from trees and obscured his view. He edged away from the cabin just as movement to his right captured his attention. A quick scan to the left showed a clear path back to the boat.
Clear for now.
He took a step down the boat trail and pulled the long knife from its sheath beneath his coat. “Time to go. We’re about to have company.”
The minister hurried from his shack with a burlap bag of items and the tin box clutched in his arms. He paused at the sight of the large alligator, quickened his step past Hunter, and scurried along the path toward the canoe.
Hunter followed more slowly to be sure they had not caught the ’gator’s eye, but the big fellow entered the cabin to retrieve a final meal.
At the boat, Tremble stood waiting. His arms clasped around his belongings. He tipped his head toward the netting. “Set the boat in the water. Hold it still for me.”
Hunter stared at him for a moment, then slid his knife into its sheath. He uncovered the light canoe and set the bow on the water.
Minister Tremble placed his items in the center of the craft, then took his place at the front of the vessel.
Hunter stepped into the craft, picked up the wooden pole in the bottom of the boat, and with feet braced apart, pushed them away from the shore and into the bayou.
They fought the current on their return, but Hunter’s strength pushed them steadily forward. He could not shake the memory of the delicate ankle chained and rotting on the shack’s dirt floor. He kept his thoughts to himself and used his anger and disgust against the water as he rowed. When they reached the public dock, Hunter climbed from the boat and turned his angry regard to the crazy man. “You're not getting out?”
Tremble shook his head. “When should I expect you to return?”
Hunter clenched his jaw and lifted one shoulder. “I don't know who I'm looking for or where to find them. I wouldn't get too anxious if I were you. This could take some time.”
“I must remind you the matter is urgent. The Lord's work is laid before you. The demon has been called forth.”
“Evil disguises itself in many ways, Minister Tremble.” Hunter stared down at the scrawny man in the canoe. “Ask at the boarding house in a few weeks. If I learn anything, I will send a wire, and have it delivered there.”
The minister nodded and pushed his canoe away from the dock with the paddle.
Hunter watched him glide away along the canal for a moment then turned and made his way back to the boarding house.
The clerk at the front desk looked up as he entered. “Welcome back, sir.”
Hunter stepped to the desk. “I’ll need laundry service, today if possible, and I’ll need my boots cleaned.”
The clerk leaned away from Hunter. “At once, sir. If you would place your soiled laundry in the hemp bag and the boots in the hallway beside your door, I’ll send Wanda up to fetch them. They will be returned by morning, at the latest.”
Hunter shook his head. “I’ll need them tonight.”
“It will cost extra.”
Hunter grinned at the clerk. “Might you have a train schedule available?”
“Of course, sir.” The clerk handed Hunter a leaflet with departure times, destinations, connections, and pricing.
“Thank you.” Hunter took the schedule and made his way to the stairs. He noticed Sam Kline and his woman having lunch in the dining area, but Hunter continued up the stairs to his room. The shack’s rank odor lingered on his clothing and he didn’t want to spoil her meal.
Once in his room, he removed the vial of dark fluid from his jacket and laid it on the bedside table. He placed the money in his long wallet, stripped himself of his clothing, and followed the clerk’s instructions for laundry service. Then he closed and secured the door.
He stood naked as he made quick use of the room's water and clean smelling soap, even washing the rancid smell from his hair. He draped a towel around his neck to catch the chilled droplets from his wet hair as he turned his attention to his work.
Hunter pulled his travel bag from under the bed and opened it. He withdrew his leather folder, tossed it on the bed, and set the bag aside. He untied the folder, retrieved a white satin pouch, and dumped the rest of the contents onto the bed. Five sackcloth sandbags along with a dozen maps slid from the folder. Most of those were small area maps of different locations which he had drawn himself. He pulled the largest from the stack and unfolded the heavy paper. Not knowing where to begin his search, he would have to cast a wide net.
He spread the map across his bed and placed bags of sand on each corner to hold it flat. The chart had been painstakingly drawn over the last ten years, as he traveled the country and northern territories, collecting bounties. Many sections showed only rivers or boundaries and were marked with a number that corresponded with one of the smaller maps.
Hunter opened the small window and hoped the light breeze would disperse the noxious odor from the vial once he uncorked it. He picked up the white satin sack and measured its weight in his hand. With a short prayer, he withdrew his pendulum from the bag.
He had crafted the instrument at age sixteen. An arrowhead that once belonged to his great-grandfather. A pink rose quartz from his beloved grand-mère. Both items attached with wire to a watch chain that had belonged to his father. No one touched the pendulum except Hunter, and it never failed him.
He uncorked the vial and tipped it to allow only one drop of blood to touch the arrowhead. The thick bead of rancid blood set for a moment on the stone, then hissed as it dissolved into the arrowhead. He recapped the glass flask and set it aside.
Hunter took a deep breath to calm his mind. Then another. He positioned himself before the map and held the quartz portion of the pendulum. The arrowhead swung free at the end of the chain. He held the apparatus as still as possible over the center of the map and closed his eyes.
Seeress, I seek the ones you spoke of in the prophecy.
He allowed his urgency to build in his mind. Spirit voices whispered to him—warning him of danger—but he already knew. He’d always known the risk inherent in this magic. His grand-mère had taught him of the dangers long ago. It didn’t matter. The innocent had to be warned of the minister’s deadly intent.
Help me, Seeress. By your own blood, I beseech you.
Anxiety grew in his chest, and he imagined it flowed into the pendulum. “Where are they?” He spoke aloud to both the instrument and the blood of the woman who had died, chained to a dirt floor shack.
The pendulum began to circle the map and Hunter opened his eyes. He held a steady hand as the arrowhead’s swing became oblong, then a line, from the northeast to the center of the country. Those he searched for were in more than one location. This would make warning them much harder.
He reached down and folded the map in half, adjusting the sandbags to hold it flat. Only the Western half of the country lay revealed, from the furthest tip of Texas to the Canadian border. Again, he let the pendulum swing and watched its movements. At first, the arrowhead circled in a counterclockwise direction. Soon, its wide circumference decreased, and the spiral swung slower and tighter. Hunter moved the pendulum in one direction, then the other until the spiral motion stopped. He dropped the tip to the map.
Denver.
He flipped the map over and repeated the divination for the east coast. This time the pendulum did not stop, but moved in a line between the southern end of Lake Ontario to the Boston area.
Hunter cleaned the arrowhead meticulously and slid his pendulum into the satin bag. He folded his map and returned all the items he used for divination to the leather folder, then placed it in his travel bag.
He sat on the bed, still naked, and picked up the train schedule. A train leaving for Dallas would depart late this evening. From Dallas, he could take another train on the same line to Kansas City. Once there, he would have to change lines and board the Union Pacific straight into Denver. He considered Boston and Toronto but felt Denver to be the wiser choice. There could be two individuals on the east coast, or one person who traveled between two points. No, the best and closest target appeared to be in Denver.
His head came up at a knock on his door. He wrapped the towel around his waist and unbolted the door.
The laundress held his bag in one hand and his boots in the other. Her eyes traveled up from his bare feet to the towel, then to his broad, muscular chest, with an appreciative smile. The smile faded, however, when she saw the scar on his face.
“You need these back tonight, sir?” Her eyes never strayed from the scar that ran from his left eye to his chin.
“Yes, thank you. I will need them no later than seven this evening.”
“There will be an extra fee for the rush order.”
“There always is.”
She bobbed her head. “By seven.”
“Thank you,” Hunter replied and closed the door.
He dressed and reviewed all that needed to be accomplished this evening. His first stop would be the train station to buy his ticket. He checked his wallet and slipped it into his vest. On the way back, he would stop at the livery. The owner needed to understand Hunter’s expectations—feed, exercise, and care for Roulette as though she were his own. He already regretted leaving la belle Roulette behind. This time, however, it would be best to travel by boat or rail. Time was of the essence.
After visiting the stable, he would return to the boarding house and pick up his cleaned clothing. The room was his for a monthly fee. He need only tell the clerk he intended to travel on business. Then he would return to the station for the 8:15 train. His final destination—Denver.