Demon Hunt (13 page)

Shadows trailed them, hidden from the pools of light cast by the gaslight lamps that lined the brick sidewalk. Few gamblers were on the street and both women kept up a hurried pace. Banners advertising the upcoming Winter Festival snapped in the winter wind.

A scurrying sound, like giant rodents slithering in the darkness between the buildings, made both women skid to a stop. Pam reached into her carryall and drew out a bigger version of what Rhi had put in the glove compartment of her SUV earlier in the day. Rhi felt a surge of weapon envy.

Rhi examined the gigantic chunk of destruction in her friend’s hand. “A gun? You strolled into the casino with a gun? Or is that a cannon?”

Pam checked the gun and clicked off the safety. “What Stephen, your girly pit boss, doesn’t know won’t make me hurt him,” she muttered and did a 360-degree turn with the gun up and cocked before facing Rhi again.

“
What are your feelings on gun control?”

The taller woman brandished the weapon, oblivious to the fact they were standing on a public street. “Sure I believe in gun control. She who has the gun has the control.”

“
Mine’s in the truck,” Rhi admitted.

Pam looked shocked. “You have a gun? In your truck? Do you have a gun license?”

“
No, the gun was my dad’s but I’ll get one and yes,” she replied. “I do know how to use it.”

“
Well, the thing will do a fat lot of good locked in your glove compartment, girlfriend. Maybe we can get the bad guys to chase us in that direction and wait while you unlock the truck, get the gun out, and see if it’s loaded. You
did
load it didn’t you?”

“
Uh … I don’t remember. Okay, you do the shooting and I’ll do the sweet-talking. Deal?”

A voice from the shadows of the alley near the restaurant almost made Rhi’s heart stop. Pam reacted, pointing the gun at the dark center of the form that arose before them.

“
Girls with guns. Notify the town fathers we can all sleep in peace tonight.” Blackthorne stepped forward into the light, as irritable as ever. He was dressed for the darkness in black jeans, black cashmere turtleneck, and a heavy black leather blazer. If the man turned sideways, he would disappear completely into the shadows.

In spite of the Goth wardrobe, Rhi decided, her happy parts had begun to melt when he appeared. No man should look so first-rate in a pair of jeans.

She brushed past him. “Why would there be a problem sleeping tonight? Do you know something that we don’t?”

A large hand fell on her arm to stop her and then slid down to wrap itself around her wrist. He fell into step with her as she tried to break away from his grip. Pam stalked behind the pair, stuffing her weapon back into the purse.

The shadows whispered again before he answered her question, their voices sibilant in her mind, calling. His eyebrow raised a notch and his hold tightened. He could hear them too.

“
My, this is so sudden, Mr. Blackthorne. Do you think I could have my arm back?” She gave the limb a little shake. “I mean, I don’t even know you.”

“
You know more than you want to admit,” he replied, not releasing her arm as they approached the lighted doorway of the cantina. There was an odd comfort in his touch instead of the impulse she should be having, which was to run shrieking into the street.

A white sign taped to the door of the restaurant announced in black Gothic script that the night’s Alien Abductees Club meeting would be held in the back room of the
Casa de Oro
. Pam rolled her eyes at her companions and stepped through the door Blackthorne held. “I don’t want to know who belongs to
that
club.”

Rhi examined the sign, still ignoring Blackthorne, who released her. He seemed determined to crash the party and somehow she didn’t think he would pay attention if she told him to buzz off. “I read that they think Pike’s Peak is some kind of beacon for aliens – that explains the number of sightings in this area,” she pointed out.

Pam wiggled her eyebrows and grinned at Blackthorne. “Trust Rhi to have an explanation. I don’t think it’s the Peak. I think it’s the amount of booze and the variety of pharmaceuticals ingested at high altitude by the aliens’ victims
.”

“
This area attracts a lot of things not explained by books,” the big man noted.

The deep tones of her stalker rang through Rhi’s head and the fine hairs on her neck rustled. Panic swirled in her stomach. She wanted him. Bad. Darn it, she had kind of hoped that particular body part was permanently numb. Shaken, she regained her composure by searching the cantina for Houston. The little man was enthroned alone, as was his habit, in the back of the room at a large table.

Casa de Oro
had few dinner patrons but the bar crowd was lively. Through a wide doorway, Rhi could see the filled-to-capacity back room. The Alien Abductees Club meeting was in full swing, the crowd proof that a large number of the population of Cripple Creek believed little green men took them at some point to the great beyond.

The group shut the doors upon the arrival of the strange little woman known locally as Batty Betty. The newest arrival wore a buckskin ensemble, complete with a beaded eagle on the front of an honest-to-God Indian princess, calfskin dress. She looked like an eighty-year-old Pocahontas dressed in cheap Indian chic. Before Betty passed through the doors to the meeting she paused beside Rhi and Blackthorne.

“
Hang on to her tight, Blackie. He’s closer than you think!” she rasped at Blackthorne before turning to flounce towards her meeting, leaving both Rhi and Blackthorne gaping.

“
Met Betty, have you, Blackthorne? Bit of a trip, isn’t she?” Pam shot back as she made her way in front of them, obviously assuming that Blackthorne was now a part of the group. Rhi gritted her teeth and followed with the big man in tow. If she didn’t stop gritting her teeth soon, they would be worn down to the gum with frustration. The adobe walls of
Casa de Oro,
along with the required roaring fireplace, darkened pine furniture and overhead beams, gave the restaurant the feel of a pueblo out of the 1600’s. The only thing the room needed for true authenticity was an Indian attack.

Blackthorne moved to hold her chair as she slid into it. His hand brushed her arm as she sat, making her shiver, and he took a seat next to her. He was irritating, arrogant, and touchy-feely. The biggest problem was, however, that Rhi wanted his touch more than chocolate. Or designer luggage.

Houston grinned at everyone over a micro-brewed beer and soggy nachos. He hefted an untidy stack of papers and photos out of his lap onto the table. “Howdy, Mr. Blackthorne. I figured you might accompany the ladies this evening,” he said, greeting and accepting the stranger.

Rhi grimaced, wondering how the man already knew about her stalker. Blackthorne nodded and studied the parrot plumage colored menu.

“
How do ya’all know each other, Houston?” Rhi asked as she removed her coat and reached for the El Patron margarita placed in front of her.

“
Mr. Blackthorne spoke with me last night after you girls left and voiced an interest in the goings-on our little group will be discussing this evening. In spite of my suspicions involving his origins, I had a good feeling about him so I agreed to let him attend our summit.” Houston spoke around the edges of the giant nacho chip encrusted with jalapenos he was stuffing in his mouth.

Pam and Rhi eyeballed each other at the mention of Blackthorne’s relatives. Houston ignored them and plowed along.

“
Besides, it’s time you climbed out of the hole you’ve dug yourself into up on Pam’s mountain, young lady. Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be alone.”

Face flaming, Rhi hid behind her menu.

“
I told her it was gonna rust shut,” Pam announced.

Blackthorne made choking sounds behind his menu as Rhi almost snorted half her drink up her nose. She glared at her friend and, helpless against this onslaught, she laughed along with the table, relieved that the intimidating man had a sense of humor. His eyes twinkled at her and the crinkles appearing at the corners when he laughed made him more handsome than ever.

Don’t want him. Don’t want him. Don’t want him.
She silently repeated
. Maybe I should take Pam’s advice and buy some, ahem, machinery to get rid of my urges. Who am I kidding … there is no machine with hands or a butt like him! Argh!

Blackthorne laughed harder than ever.

The waiter arrived to take their orders and Blackthorne ordered an enchilada plate and a beer, like a normal human being. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was not quite normal but his preference for hot enchiladas and cold beer gave her some reassurance. She resolved to be civil to him - if she could quit thinking of him with his shirt off.

After the waiter left, Pam plowed into her food and into the conversation, addressing Houston with her mouth full to the brim. “I’ve waited all day and we can safely say I’m not the most patient of souls.
What
has happened in Cripple Creek before and why is a ghost trying to strangle Rhi?”

“
Why do you guys talk of ghosts in this town in the same tone you would use to discuss the weather?” Rhi asked as she carefully sipped at the cereal bowl-sized glass.

Houston took a swig of beer, his gaze not meeting Rhi’s. Instead he glanced at Blackthorne, who sat in a relaxed pose and sipped on his own beer. “Well, you can’t swing a dead cat by the tail in this town and not hit a ghost sometimes. Hell, I can’t go into my bathroom without finding that Mary, my poltergeist, has turned all of the shampoo and medicine bottles upside down and balanced them along the edge of the bathtub. I think she’s showing off. But there are some presences in this town that are not as benevolent as my Irish lass. This area was holy ground to the Indians. The gold rush hit and the miners founded Cripple Creek. The settlement became one of the wildest, most violent towns in the country. The rich folks lived in Colorado Springs and spent the gold from the mines. Manitou Springs, on the way up the Ute Pass, was a spa town for people suffering from tuberculosis. The high mortality rate of the citizens of Manitou Springs made the spirituality movement of the 1800’s pretty popular there and the town attracted mystics and witches of all shapes and sizes and still does today …”

“
But what does this have to do with us right now, here in Cripple Creek?” Rhi interrupted, breaking his spell.

“
I’ll get to it, give a man a second. In 1896, Cripple Creek had a run of bad luck. Rabid animals were all over the place and it wasn’t the right time of the year. Plus rabies burns itself out, but the animals weren’t dying off. They attacked livestock and people everywhere. Then the Old Testament stuff started. The weather went nuts. A hailstorm mixed up with a meteor shower showed up, balls of flame mixed with hail. Some people showed signs of demon possession, which was explained away as epileptic fits. But after reading about it and hearing about Rhi at work, I tend to think something else was going on, especially in so many people. Folks said that the miners had dug too deep, that they woke up the Tommy Knockers. Then they found the first girl.”

Chapter Thirteen

Controlling her urge to stare at the man beside her, Rhi concentrated on her food and the conversation. Her skin prickled at Houston’s statement. “The first girl?” She asked.

Houston looked grim. “Understand that in those days they didn’t
have
serial killers. People weren’t used to the idea like we are. That’s the reason people were so fascinated by Jack the Ripper back then. That kind of killing was something new. This town had its own Ripper, but they kept the story quiet. A crib girl was one of the most used-up hookers on Myers Avenue. They found the body of one of these creatures with her heart cut out in a ditch on Shelf Road. A few weeks later they found another victim staked out behind the tent that held the offices of
The Daily Miner
, one of the newspapers. The authorities ignored the murders at first, because after all, low rent whores were considered worthless. But after a few more girls, things heated up. The killer liked to leave his victims on display. He could have buried them in the woods – but he wanted everyone to see what he’d done. The local madam, Pearl DeVere, got fed up with the police half-assing the investigation. She hired some psychics (they called them witches in those days) from Manitou Springs to search the void for the answers.”

The table had gone silent and not even the sound of chewing interrupted the momentum Houston built. Rhi noticed that Blackthorne wasn’t mesmerized by the story. Instead, his blue eyes were focused on her, assessing
her
reactions. She resisted the urge to sneer at him and took a swig of margarita.

“
The most powerful of the witches of Manitou was a sickly woman with tuberculosis. But she made the trip up the mountain to Cripple Creek, to stay in the Imperial Hotel for a few days and perform a séance to discover who had committed the murders. That night, before the séance, the witch disappeared from her room. A rumor circulated in the saloons that the millionaire who lived in the Castle at the time was the murderer and held the witch prisoner. Of course, they decided to get up a lynch mob. A good hanging was considered kind of party in those days. Everyone joined in, including Pearl, and the group headed to the Castle looking for an opportunity to hang someone. But when they got to the house, the mansion had been destroyed … a battleground with no bodies, the floors and walls bloodstained. Pearl and some of her crew showed up back in town with the girl, who was raving about a crystal skull.” Houston paused for effect.