Blackthorne (The Brotherhood of the Gate Book 1) (8 page)

“Are you sure there’s no drunken one night stand you want to tell me about from your days of dealing blackjack and poker on the mighty Mississippi?
That
would bump you up a few notches on my wild child scale.”

“Believe me, if I had met
that
guy before, I’d remember him.” She wrapped her arms around her body and looked away. “And you’re right…he was
hot
. But he gives me the willies, Pam. That was the second time tonight I almost began the trip to meet my maker. He has a bad habit of being around for these little accidents.”

Pam sobered up immediately and grabbed Rhi by the arm, heading for the bar. “There is more to this than is dreamed of in my philosophy, my friend, to paraphrase that bard guy,” she said. “I think we should do the sensible thing: drink heavily and discuss the invisible men attacking you while someone giggles in the background and the incredibly hot ones save you.”

“Honestly Pam, did you and your ex ever have sex? Because you act like you haven’t ever gotten any. What am I going to do? I am freaking out a bit here.”

They stood before the battered pine door of the bar and Pam turned to her. “My ex? It wasn’t quantity, but the quality I found lacking, sweetie. And what are we going to do? I don’t think the cops have a form for ‘attack of snickering entities’ in their files. We need to talk to the freaky people in town…and most of them are usually in this bar.”

The interior of the Dancing Elk
was the cliché mountain bar. Pine paneling covered the walls and the tables were fashioned from old barrels. Mismatched chairs and stools were scattered about the cavernous space. It was hopping for a weeknight, but Monday and Tuesday substituted for weekends in the gaming world, since most casino employees worked during the actual weekend. There was an abundance of cowboy hats, flannel, and worn skiwear. The bar was smoke free, so all patrons who were smokers stayed bundled up in their parkas on the back patio near the dubious warmth of the outdoor fireplace. The air inside was thick with the odor of secondhand smoke from the patio, food, beer, several gallons of Kentucky bourbon, and cactus juice. Most of the pollution emanated from the tables toward the back, which Pam determinedly made her way toward, dragging Rhi along behind her. Two very large men, dressed in the western-themed uniforms of one of the Pearl’s
competitors, were arguing as the women passed them by. “I told you, Earl…gremlins. Little bastards stalked me for two miles through the woods until I got to my truck…popping up in and out of nowhere. They could have gotten me at any time…I think they were playing with me. Think they’re some kind of experiment that got loose from Fort Carson?”

The other man looked around nervously, “Clay…I think this is one you might want to keep to yourself for now.”

Pam turned to wiggle her eyebrows at her friend, having also heard the entire conversation. She plunked down in a scarred wooden chair next to a worn bearded man of middling age, his blond hair covered with a black Stetson, which had not seen better days in a few decades. His was a face that showed evidence of once being brash and handsome. But the blue eyes were faded with memory and the arrogance of youth replaced with a cynical amusement.

Waving Rhi to the chair beside her, Pam ordered two Fat Tire beers from the waitress and turned to face the older man, who observed her and Rhi with an amused look on his weathered features.

“Miss Brennan, Miss Douglas. What’s up, ladies?” He then addressed Rhi directly, “And how did the wild child of Horse Thief Gulch get you out and about this evening, princess? You are a bit more conservative than your friend here. I see her every week.
You
I see only every other week, which is downright prudish in this town.”

“Rhi likes to haunt the library and Da Vinci’s Bookstore on her nights off and then sticks her nose in a book or practices Kung Fu moves on her deck the rest of the time accompanied by that horse she calls a dog, Houston.” Pam lowered her voice, trying to sound mysterious. “It is probably safer. She seems to be being stalked today. By something…weird.”

Houston’s caterpillar eyebrows rose a few millimeters but he gave no other sign of interest other than to cross his arms across his faded plaid shirt and nod as if telling Pam to proceed.

Rhi sucked her beer down in a few gulps as Pam related the tale. Houston didn’t blink once or voice any kind of skepticism. After waving to the harried but cheerful waitress for another round, Rhi warily gazed at the patrons leaning against the graffiti covered pine walls of the bar. Nobody looked threatening. The crowd was, for the most part, merrily inebriated. And a bit smelly. She felt ridiculous, looking about for an enemy who might be a figment of her imagination. Nor were any of the bar patrons dressed in period costume, a factor for which she was profoundly grateful. She might have to approach each costumed figure and poke them with a stick to see if they were real if this kept up. For a moment she thought of the loud knock on her truck on her New Year’s Eve drive home. Was that something she should have gotten out of the truck and poked at? She placed her hand on her neck where her shirt hid bruises from the “moment” at the casino and looked down at the dirt on her jeans from being dragged out of the street by…Blackthorne? What kind of name was Blackthorne? Wasn’t the rich, overly dressed guy living in the place called the “castle” that everyone gossiped about constantly named Black-something?

“Rhi…hello, Rhi. Quit checking out the guys and look at us.” Pam’s voice invaded her thoughts with its usual potency that resembled a railroad spike being driven into her temple. She concentrated on her friend’s face again, her friend who didn’t think she needed to be fitted for a stylish straight jacket, and then looked at Houston. He didn’t seem in the least surprised by the tale Pam had related. Rhi wasn’t sure if his reaction was a good or bad thing.

She’d met Houston twice and had the impression he was the unofficial guru of Cripple Creek. Retired from the Air Force, he puttered around his cabin outside of town, reading and writing an occasional article for the Cripple Creek Crusher. He knew everybody and saw everything. And there was nothing he didn’t know about the town’s history.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer you immediately, Pam, but I was asking for more booze and
checking out the room for assassins.
Or anyone who’s having a good chuckle. Or some of those ghosts you seem to be so comfortable with. Do I seem to have bad luck lately? And if it’s bad mojo, how come some guy I’ve never met before has shown up to rescue me twice? And I maybe see dead people in the street.”

The crow’s feet surrounding Houston’s concerned dark eyes deepened as the older man spoke up. “In this part of the Rockies you cannot let anything surprise you, young lady. The Indians held this land as holy—they don’t see any place as special unless it
is
special. And Manitou Springs, down Ute Pass, has been considered holy since recorded memory. Cripple Creek, of course, was considered something else entirely, being located in an extinct volcano…the gates of Hell itself are rumored to be located here somewhere. The unexplained in Teller County isn’t an infrequent visitor…it’s a daily occurrence. Haven’t you seen a face in a crowd or passed someone on the street here that looks a little…off? Been in a room alone and heard your name spoken softly in your ear? Sat in a bar and have a hand laid on your shoulder…turn and no one is there? These things happen in this town all of the time. We have gotten a little jaded about it these days. But
this
occurrence, since whatever is floating around town
this
time is trying to hurt someone, might need looking into. Along with a few other things I am checking on.”

“Like what?” Pam asked as she peeled at the label of her beer bottle with a polished chipped nail.

At the same moment Rhi interjected, “
This time?
What do you mean this time?”

“If I were a Jedi Knight right now I would say that there has been a disturbance in the force. But since we are small town schmucks…” Houston broke off to examine his beer bottle for a moment. He looked up and grinned. “And in the late 1800s, this town was
super
supernatural. And the streets were a war zone.”

Pam waved again for the waitress who hadn’t returned and expectantly sat up to demand more information from Houston. “Well?”

The man sighed. “The recent rash of ‘rabid’ animals and people being ‘possessed’ by invisible hands which choke them is a repeat of something that has happened in this town before. Let’s be honest. Animals don’t become rabid in zero degree weather. It’s not the season for it. And the whole possession thing…”

Rhi felt a frozen chill go up her spine. “Happened in this town before
when
?”

“A 120 years ago,” Houston replied. “By the way, Rhi, what’s your name short for?”

Her face colored. This was one of her least favorite subjects and she would never understand what possessed her conservative father and mother to give her such an odd moniker.

“It’s short for Rhiannon. And yes, I know she was a famous witch, you don’t have to tell me her history.” The Scottish witch who died at the stake in the 1600s was well-known to Rhi, who had been told the origins of her name by a helpful teacher when she was in elementary school. The teacher had no idea Rhi was trying to suppress her own supernatural abilities at the time…and the discovery that even her name led back to magic disturbed her even more.

“Now isn’t that interesting. And the name Brennan is a Celtic name…meaning raven.” The older man glanced around the bar, looking uncomfortable for the first time that evening. “Let’s meet someplace a little quieter tomorrow for dinner and I’ll tell you everything.”

Rhi and Pam both opened their mouths to protest, but Houston halted them quickly.

“That’ll give me time to look up a few things and to ask a few questions. In the meantime, it’s time for you girls to get home safely for the evening. Stay here, I’m going to arrange an escort to your vehicles,” Houston said firmly, and then looked at them both with stern eyes that implied he was accustomed to having his orders followed. “You both go straight home and follow each other. Don’t stop. Don’t go out once you get home. Period.”

He rose from the table to speak with the some large, flannel-covered gold miners who were playing pool nearby. Pam looked down at her leather pants and sighed.

“I can’t believe I am even thinking about obeying that guy. He has such a ‘Daddy’ vibe for me, though. So much for burning the town down,” she said sadly and drained her beer. “I need to get some nachos to go at least before I hit the road.”

“You never know, Pam, you might get a chance to do some burning yet,” Rhi replied as she stretched her legs out and examined the ceiling beams. She should be freaking out more, she guessed. But she could handle herself, more than most people realized. The martial arts defense courses she had been going to for most of her adult life gave her some sense of confidence. “Maybe I
should
have a few more weapons about the house,” she mused as she examined the colorful label depicting an old-fashioned bicycle on her beer.

“Oh no you don’t. You have too much of a motive to use it on someone right now if you figure out that someone flesh and blood is actually screwing with you right now. Call me if anyone shows up and gets past my house without me seeing him. I can shoot and say I’m crazy. Everyone’ll buy that,” Pam said mockingly as she signed the credit card slip for the nachos that magically appeared in a Styrofoam container on the table.

“I most certainly will,” Houston said, having returned with his miner friends who crowded around the girls’ table like a mountain range of testosterone filled flannel and denim.

»»•««

The group that left the warmth and light of the Dancing Elk was carefully monitored by Blackthorne, who perched in the darkness on the roof of a casino nearby. Rhi’s ink black hair shone in the moonlight. He closed his eyes and could almost feel the strands of silk fall through his fingers. He forced himself to gaze at her again. She suddenly glanced in his direction, the only person all evening who had bothered to look up at the roofline. He shrank back into the shadows of the false front of the building. She shook her head and climbed into her Blazer to follow her friend home, waving goodbye to the group of huge men who had escorted the women out to the parking lot. He watched the headlights of the two cars as they made their way out of town and up Teller One and kept watching long after they faded into the night. His face was inscrutable but his hands convulsively clenched as if trying to hold something that had already slipped out of his grasp. Then he stood and walked to the edge of the roof and stepped off the three-story building into thin air.

Rhi obediently drove home behind Pam as per Houston’s instructions. Any indignant emotions she might have harbored about being ordered around were washed away by the monstrous fear the night brought as she drove home. Shadows seemed to swoop through the sky over the two trucks as they barreled through the snowdrifts up to Horse Thief Gulch, chilling her blood and bringing on a headache that hit Rhi right between the eyes. The spirits that disturbed her soul sped away as if burned when the women made the turn up their hill. Rhi felt the urge to hurry as she approached the refuge of Horse Thief Gulch. She saw to it that Pam got into her own house and then made her way to her A-frame. It still felt like a haven but also, now, seemed like a prison, or better yet, a gigantic bull’s-eye, with her strapped naked and affixed to its center. She started violently when she pulled up to her home. The silhouette of a tall man holding a rifle in the crook of his arm stood in the pool of light on her deck. Rhi relaxed when she realized it was her neighbor, Bobby Wayne, with the large gold shadow of Ellie Mae at his side.

She clambered out of the Blazer and broke through the crusty snow to approach her new “acquaintance” on the hill. “How is my baby doggie?” she called as she approached the deck. “Has she been a good girl?”