different from a typical human. The Archaics had lived for many thousands of years, and had outlived species from the earliest times. She knew that there were other races, like her own people, other beings outside the realm of humanity. The wolf people, for example. The Gnazy of the Eastern European lowlands, the ones the humans called gypsies, who could conjure powerful spells, magic that could prevent even an Archaic from killing or destroying them if they were adept enough.
All of these races and beings existed on the fringes of the human world. Humans, though physically weak in comparison to some of these other races, had grown clever and prospered, coming together and forming tribes and societies and civilizations, while the others mostly hunted and fought amongst themselves and with others. Now the humans were far too many. And unlike Malachi, she did not believe they could be destroyed. Terrorized, killed in large volume perhaps, but it was a simple question of numbers. With the weapons they had invented, and their mastery of the elementals, human society was too advanced to conquer. For the Archaics to survive, she had to find Malachi and stop him before he caused the utter destruction of her people.
Discovering the soldier here in Denver last night had raised her hopes. If he was here, knowing the way he had fought for his life and his men those years before, then he was a determined man. And she hoped his determination would lead her to Malachi. But because of this man Chee, he knew of her existence now. He would be watching and it would become more difficult to shadow Hollister.
Finally she reached the corner where she had taken a room at a small hotel on a quiet street far from the center of town. It was near the train station but far enough away that it did not attract a “higher class” of clientele. Her advantage was that near the train station, people were constantly coming and going, leaving and departing every time a train arrived. It made it easier for her to blend in and less likely to be noticed.
Shaniah entered through the side door and hurried up the stairs to her room, closing and latching the door. Chee had unnerved her. It had been hundreds of years since any human had made her feel cautious. Like he might have an advantage over her that she had yet to discover. He had studied her for a long time and she had found when most humans looked at her for too long, they grew restless and ultimately fearful. Instinct kicked in and in some part of their brain, they recognized her as a predator. But Chee had not behaved this way.
She tried to recall his scent, the way he stood in the street outside the hotel, guarding Hollister, silent and unmoving but obviously observing everything around him. Was he Gnazy? Was he a witch? The faintest scent of power had drifted off him.
She went to the window and pulled the curtains back just enough to peek out to the street below. In this part of town, only a few pedestrians passed by, this time of day. Two horses were tied in front of a saloon, three blocks up. When Chee stepped around the corner by the saloon and started walking toward the hotel, she nearly shrieked, dodging back out of sight and letting the curtain fall into place.
Her back against the wall, she peered out again, and saw Chee standing in the street, looking at the buildings on each side, his eyes covering every inch of the sidewalks, windows, doors, even the roofs. He stood there a few seconds more, then disappeared down a side street. She watched for several more minutes but he never reappeared.
She sat on the bed, her mind racing. This man Hollister had found a witch. There was a legend among the Archaics-a story so old most discounted it as a myth. From a time long ago, it was said a small group of humans had known about the Archaics, the wolf people, and the Gnazy. They had learned the secrets of the elementals and passed down this knowledge from generation to generation. Was Chee one of these men? Did he know about the things that could kill or injure one of her kind: silver, wood, and holy water?
Hollister was Shaniah’s best hope of finding Malachi before it was too late. Though she avoided taking human lives, this man Chee was a complication. She could not allow complications.
He would have to be dealt with.
Michael P. Spradlin
Blood Riders
Chapter Nineteen
S later was confused. The senator had left the hotel that morning, after telling him that he wanted this Hollister character killed. Slater knew the senator wanted him to wait, to let Hollister do the work, then step in and silence him. Clean it up like he always did.
Hollister was different though. Hollister was not scared of Slater. He had been in the war, in prison, fought in the Indian wars and he’d seen enough to believe Slater was nothing special. He might not yet know that Slater was a man with no soul. But Hollister would know Slater couldn’t be reasoned with, or bought off, or talked out of killing him when the time came. He wouldn’t beg or moan or piss his pants like most of the weaklings Slater had ended.
It would come down to who made the first move. Hollister was one of the few men Slater had ever met who would have no qualms about acting first. He would put Slater down if he had the chance.
Killing someone was harder than most people thought. Some men were easier to kill than others. The ranchers-the piss-poor, dirt-eating farmers he’d shot in the back of the head so Declan could buy up their land in an estate sale, those were easy. They tried to reason, they begged, tried buying him off, or made promises that couldn’t be kept, but in the end they got a bullet. Hollister wouldn’t go down like that.
And then there was this Sergeant Chee. Not many men unnerved Slater, but Hollister’s second did. He stood outside the window and never took his eyes off him, but at the same time, Slater knew Chee was watching everything around him. Leaning against the porch post in front of the hotel, so still Slater wondered if he was even breathing.
He needed to know more, so he left the hotel and followed them, giving Hollister and Chee a good head start. Not because he wanted to know where they were going, he was sure they were either heading back to the train yard or to the senator’s house to speak to James, but because he wanted to study them both. They were prey and he was the hunter, and before he moved in for the kill, he needed to learn their habits.
Keeping fifty to sixty yards between himself and them, he followed them as they strolled along the Denver streets like they didn’t have a care in the world. After about fifteen minutes the two men split up: Hollister heading right, Chee to the left. But before he disappeared from sight, Chee turned around, his eyes focusing directly on Slater, giving him no time to even make an effort to hide.
He pointed his fingers at Slater like they were a gun and mimed pulling the trigger. Then he touched the forefinger of his right hand to his hat brim, and disappeared around the corner. Slater fumed, angry with himself for being so obvious.
By the time he reached the corner and looked down the street, both Chee and Hollister were gone.
Chapter Twenty
Pinkerton was seated at the foldout desk in the main car when Hollister and Chee returned to the train. There were offices and sleeping rooms available in the warehouse headquarters, but Pinkerton still used the train. His briefcase was open, papers covered the surface, and he furiously scribbled away in a journal.
“Gentlemen,” he said, as they walked in. “I trust you enjoyed your meeting with the senator?”
“Enormously entertaining,” Hollister said. “Are you always going to be sitting there?”
“Sitting where?” Pinkerton asked, not looking up from his paperwork.
“At the desk, on this train? I just wondered if every time we came back here, we’d find you, is all. Maybe one of Dr. Van Helsing’s traps around the windows and doors is holding you here?” Hollister asked.
Pinkerton looked up, studying Hollister to see if he was serious. He couldn’t tell.
“What did the senator have to say?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Not much. His son is apparently a weakling, the camp was attacked by Utes, not vampires, and he doesn’t like jokesters or people who aren’t ‘punctual,’ ” Hollister said. “I’m pretty sure he gave his man Slater the order to have me killed after I left.”
