Desa Kincaid- Bounty Hunter Page 2

  Desa stepped into the light with her head down, sighing softly. “What did you do to these people, Morley?” she wondered aloud. “What-”

  Her ears picked up a crunching sound.

  Shadows on an intersecting street resolved into Ducane, who came into the light with a hand on his pistol. The other two were right behind him, both sneering, especially Mr. Broken-Nose. That one seemed to be itching for a little violence.

  “Well now,” Ducane said. “I believe we have a score to settle.”

  Desa shut her eyes and tried to remain calm. “I have no time for this.” Her voice was ice. “Leave me to my business, and I'll be gone by noon tomorrow. You can go back to lording over this small town and thank your Almighty that I have larger concerns.”

  The grin on Ducane's face promised pain. He chuckled, no doubt convinced that he had control of this situation, and shook his head. “I made you a promise, Missy,” he said. “What kind of man would I be if I didn't keep it?”

  “A wiser man than most.”

  “No one embarrasses me like that, Missy.”

  What to do? The man was about two seconds away from drawing his gun, and if he got too close, he would certainly want to pummel her. Why kill a woman when you could just put her in her place? More satisfying when you could force her to acknowledge your superiority. Perhaps the time had come to drive her point home.

  With a thought, Desa ordered the stone on her necklace to drain light energy. The lantern above McGregor's went out, as did the glow in every nearby window. In truth, all of those fires were still burning, but they would provide no illumination so long as Desa's necklace was nearby.

  With so little light to take, they were left in total darkness. Even the crescent moon had vanished from the sky. It was still there, of course, but someone would have to get at least a hundred paces away from Desa to see it.

  “What the-” Ducane spluttered.

  The man was incredibly loud, stomping around with feet scuffing in the dirt, giving away his position with every step. His two lackeys were no better, both shuffling about. One drew his pistol with the distinctive click of a hammer being cocked.

  Desa moved silently through the darkness, pacing a circle around the group. “You will leave this place now.” Her voice spooked them, and one jumped, startled to find that she was no longer where she had been. “You will not trouble me again. And if you do...I will turn you into a toad.”

  She had no such power, but the superstitions of backward-thinking men were often more useful tools than any feat she might actually produce.

  She ordered her necklace to stop feasting on light.

  The lantern above McGregor's door flared to life once again, revealing three men standing with their backs to the saloon, all frantic and looking about as if they expected a demon to leap from every shadow.

  Desa stood in the intersecting street with fists on her hips, her chin thrust out as she watched them scramble. “Have I made my point?” she asked. “Or must I do something even more...drastic?”

  The two lackeys bolted down the street without looking back. Any loyalty they had for Ducane would only last until they encountered someone more frightening than he was. That was the price of employing such men.

  Ducane, however, was not cowed. His face reddened, and he yanked his pistol free of its holster. “Witch!” he shouted. “Witch!” In the blink of an eye, he had the gun aimed at her, his thumb pulling back the hammer.

  Desa raised her left arm up to shield herself, her bracelet feasting on kinetic energy just before the gun went off with a CRACK! CRACK! Two bullets jerked to a halt right in front of her and hovered there, the bracelet holding them suspended in midair.

  She let her arm drop.

  The bullets fell with it, landing at her feet an instant before she stepped over them. “I did warn you,” she said, beginning a slow, inexorable march toward Ducane. “But that was attempted murder. I only wanted to pass through this village without incident. I was even willing to turn a blind eye to your destructive tendencies. I'm afraid that is no longer an option.”

  Ducane stumbled backward, lifting the gun in a shaky hand.

  Once again, the street went dark, and Desa stepped aside to get out of the line of fire. Her bracelet might stop a third bullet, but not a fourth. Not until she replenished its power. Thankfully, Ducane did not shoot.

  He did shuffle about, making noise, breathing hard as though he feared for his life. “Where are you?” he shouted into the darkness. “Show yourself, witch!”

  Desa moved slowly, deliberately, closing the distance with barely any sound. Years of training had given her the instincts of a huntress. She could be as quiet as a spider on the ceiling when she wanted to be. Ducane panted. When the light finally returned, Desa was right next to him.

  Ducane rounded on her.

  Desa kicked the gun out of his hand. She spun and back-kicked, her boot slamming into the man's chest, driving him backward. A wheeze exploded from Ducane as he lost his balance and fell against the side of a log house.

  The man drew his knife and held it with the tip pointed at Desa's heart. He watched her over the length of a trembling arm. “I'll send you back to the Inferno, witch! Tell your demon masters that you failed. You won't take my soul!”

  He rushed her, intending to drive the blade through her chest.

  Stepping aside, Desa twirled on the spot and seized the man's arm as he passed. She forced Ducane to bend double, then brought her knee up to strike his nose. That knocked the fight out of him.

  When she released him, he collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain. Idiot. There were days when she regretted her decision to leave Aladar in pursuit of Bendarian. The people out here were savages.

  Desa squatted down next to him, shaking her head. “Had enough?” she asked. “Are you ready to come with me to the sheriff's station?”

  Ducane groaned.

  “Yes, I imagine it is quite painful.” Grabbing a clump of his hair, Desa pulled his head back to reveal a bloody nose. “I abhor violence, but I will not suffer a murderer to go free. On your feet, sir!”

  There were faces in nearby windows, watching her. Some of them would have seen the lights of their lamps go out. Her necklace would drain light from any source that was close enough; walls were no impediment to its power.

  Desa mopped a hand over her sweat-slick face, then blinked several times. “Get up, Ducane,” she growled. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”

  With the barrel of her pistol pressed against Ducane's back, Desa nudged the man through the door to the sheriff's office. Inside, she found a simple room of wooden walls, illuminated by a paraffin lantern on the desk.

  The young man who sat behind that desk – a deputy, by his badge – stood up and flinched when he saw them. “What's all this?” He was lean and slim with a pale face and short blonde hair that he parted to one side. “Bringing Mr. Ducane in? Who are you?”

  Ducane spared her the trouble of answering.

  The man turned his head to show clenched teeth and hissed at Desa. “A witch,” he rasped. “She used her magic on me.”

  “Men in these parts are a superstitious lot,” Desa said. “Weren't no magic at play. I'm just a bounty hunter passin' through, and this one tried to kill me. You'll find plenty of witnesses as can testify to the gunshots.”

  “I shot at her!” Ducane shouted. “She made the bullets stop!”

  Closing her eyes, Desa touched two fingers to her forehead. “Aye, he shot at me all right,” she agreed. “Though, I can't be blamed if he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn at ten paces. A smart-lookin' fella like you don't believe in magic, do ya?”

  The young deputy gripped his belt in both hands, then looked down at his feet. “No, ma'am, I do not.” When he leveled his gaze on her, his face was stern. “Mr. Ducane has a reputation for causing trouble.”

  “Lenny,” Ducane said. “You know me.”

  “Aye, I do,” Lenny replied. “And I know you're as like t
o start a fight as you are to drink every drop in McGregor's storehouse. Many have warned you that it would bring you to a bad end, Charles.”

  Snatching up a ring of keys from the corner of the desk, Lenny moved to a door in the wall to Desa's left. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning at them. “I'd just as soon have you in a cell until this matter is sorted,” he added. “But ma'am, I'll have to ask that you remain in town to testify before a magistrate.”

  “Won't be possible, sir,” Desa said. “A girl has to earn her living.”

  “That's as may be, but the law is the law.”

  Once again, Desa found herself regretting the decision to come to this benighted little town. How much time would she lose waiting for a magistrate to arrive? How far away would Morley get? She had lost the man's trail several times over the last five years; sniffing him out again had felt like a miracle.

  But what could she do? She was the only one who could testify against Ducane, and if she left, the man would go free to terrorize some other young woman. There were days when she hated her lot in life.

  Lenny jiggled the keys several times and finally forced the door open. “This way,” he said. “And make no trouble, mind.”

  Desa poked Ducane with her gun.

  Reluctantly, he started forward, passing through the door to a narrow corridor of white bricks with cells in both walls. They were all empty except for one at the very end where two young men sat side by side.

  One on the left, in tan pants and a blue shirt, had his hands on his knees as he stared into his lap. By the look of him, he might have been Lenny's twin. In fact, Desa was quite certain that he was.

  The other one had thick black hair that he wore parted in the middle and pale skin that was marked by a single blemish on his cheek. A three-pointed star from a branding iron. It must have been done recently because the flesh was still raw and red.

  “You're selling him into slavery?”

  Lenny shrugged. “His choice. It was that or the gallows.”

  Whirling around to face the young deputy, Desa looked up to stare into his eyes. “What was his crime?” she inquired. “Something monstrous, I would hope, to merit such punishment.”

  Lenny flinched at the change in her voice – she had let her accent slip – then shook his head and recovered his wits. “Fornication.” His mouth twisted as if speaking the word left a bad taste. “With each other. My brother was man enough to choose the noose.”

  Before Desa could offer a scathing reply, yet another man appeared in the doorway. This one was tall with gray hair and a sheriff's star on his barrel chest. “What's going on here, Lenny?” he demanded. “I heard gunshots in the night.”

  “That would be Mr. Ducane's doing,”

  Twisting around to shove a finger in Desa's face, Ducane backed up until he almost hit the cell at the end of the corridor. “She's a witch!” he cried out. “She used her magics. No wonder young Tommy and Sebastian here have turned to sin. With degenerates like this woman in our town...”

  “Enough!” the sheriff snapped. “You finally gone and stepped over that line you been skirtin' eh, Charles? Throw him in a cell, Lenny.”

  The deputy did as he was ordered, turning his back, sliding a key into the lock and pulling the barred door open. Ducane shuffled through without protest and dropped onto the wooden bench inside. Once he was safely tucked away behind bars, Desa holstered her weapon.

  Lenny slammed the door shut with a clang.

  “Now,” the sheriff said, blocking the exit with his arms crossed, frowning as he looked Desa up and down. “Who might you be, and what exactly happened between you and Mr. Ducane?”

  Ignoring him, Desa turned her back and went to the cell at the end of the corridor. The two men inside both looked up. Like frightened animals. It sickened her to see that brand on the dark-haired boy's face.

  Desa licked her lips, took a deep breath and nodded once. “Sheriff, you will release these two men immediately,” she said. “What they've done is no crime, and slavery is an affront to all that is good and decent in this world.”

  “Release them?” the sheriff spluttered. “On whose authority?”

  “On the authority of Desa nin Leean,” she said. “Prime Field Binder of Aladar. If you are so eager to be rid of these young men, then I will happily take them away. They can come with me to Aladar and live in peace.”

  “Witch,” Ducane muttered from behind the bars of his cell.

  The sheriff blinked, surprised by her declaration, and stepped back to brace a hand against the door-frame. Lenny positioned himself between Desa and the other man with his hands raised defensively. “Wait, hold on!” he said. “I don't want to see my brother die, but the Almighty's laws are clear.”

  “Not everyone believes in your Almighty, sir.”

  Lenny narrowed his eyes, trying to stare through her. “Ducane was right,” he said, nodding. “You are a witch. Sheriff Cromwell, maybe we should be arresting her as well. Before she corrupts the townsfolk.”

  “Lenny,” the sheriff said. “Enough. And you, madame. I thank you for bringing a known troublemaker in, but I do believe it's time that you be on your way.”

  “Not without Tommy and Sebastian,” Desa insisted.

  Lenny drew his revolver, thrust his arm out and aimed for Desa's chest. His thumb rested on the hammer, but he didn't cock it. “Shut your mouth, witch,” he whispered. “Be thankful that Sheriff Cromwell is willing to let you go.”

  Desa stretched a hand out, the knuckles of her closed fist mere inches from Lenny's nose, and then her ring began to glow with a brief flare of light. The young man squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling back in shock.

  Desa kicked him in the belly, forcing the lad to double over. She punched Lenny's face with one fist, then the other, a ferocious pair of blows that knocked the wits right out of him. He bent low, practically touching his forehead to the floor.

  Desa reacted without thought, one hand deftly pulling a throwing knife from her belt and hurling it over the young man's back. It tumbled end over end toward the sheriff, who drew his gun just in time for Desa's knife to nick his hand.

  His fingers uncurled.

  The pistol fell to the floor.

  With a growl, Desa jumped and rolled across Lenny's exposed back, popping up to land just behind him. She rushed the sheriff before the man could recover from his shock.

  Cromwell looked up at her with wide eyes.

  Desa leaped and kicked high, slamming her boot into the man's chest, driving him backward into the small office that fronted the building. He staggered across the wooden floor, hit the wall and collapsed.

  Nimble as a cat, Desa landed right in front of the desk, then whirled around to find Lenny on his knees in the middle of the cell-block. The young man snatched up his fallen pistol, stood on shaky legs and cocked the hammer as he turned.

  Desa pulled another throwing knife.

  Her hand came up, the knife flying from her fingertips, tumbling end over end on course for its target. Lenny spun around just in time for the blade to sink half an inch into the soft skin of his thigh.

  He fell over backward, his arm flailing as he pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a roar like thunder, and chunks of wood rained down upon Lenny an instant after two bullets punched through the ceiling.

  Squatting down just inside the cell-block, Desa retrieved the sheriff's revolver and held it up in front of her face, the barrel pointed upward. “Now,” she said. “I assume you don't want any more trouble.”

  Lenny was clutching his wounded leg.

  A glance over her shoulder revealed Sheriff Cromwell leaning against the wall with a hand over his heart, his every breath a ragged gasp. “This was only a small taste of my power,” Desa assured them. “I'd rather not have to do anything drastic.”

  “Witch...” Ducane whispered in his cell.

  “We-” Cromwell puffed out a wheeze before he could finish that sentence. “We will release the young men to your care.”

/>   Moaning in pain, Lenny tried to sit up, but he had to steady himself with one hand on the floor. His head lolled. “Ducane was right...” he whispered. “You're an affront to all that's holy.”

  Desa cocked the hammer on the sheriff's pistol and pointed the weapon at Lenny. “Put your weapon down, son,” she pleaded. “Don't make me kill you.”

  Mercy be praised, the boy actually did as he was told, setting his gun down on the floor. Then he stood up woozily, turned around and shuffled to the cell and the end of the corridor. “You want my worthless brother?” he mumbled, shoving the key into the lock. The door swung open with a clang. “Take him.”

  Tommy and Sebastian stood side by side in the cell, both slack-jawed and staring at her like she was some kind of demon. Neither one moved. Maybe they didn't believe their own eyes.

  “Well?” Desa said. “Do you want to stay here and wait for the gallows, or do you want to come with me?”

  There was a long moment of silence in which both lads were still. Desa suddenly felt very nervous. If she had just gone to all this trouble to free a pair of lads who were determined to remain here and accept their fate, well...That would be embarrassing. And dangerous. She had made a few enemies tonight. It was likely she wouldn't ever be able to come back this way. To have done all that to save a pair of primitive boys who were so inculcated with this backward little culture that they would die before-

  Finally, Tommy stepped forward, cleared his throat and nodded to her. “Thank you, ma'am,” he said. “Let's be on our way.”

  It took Sebastian a few more seconds to decide that he would rather ride off with his lover than allow the lowlies of this town to sell him into slavery. Desa made a vexed sound. She would have to do something about that brand on his cheek. “I...” Sebastian began. “I want to go too.”

  “Hope you boys have horses,” Desa said, glancing back at the sheriff who would no doubt bring a mob of angry townsfolk down on her the very instant she let him out of her sight. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

  Chapter 2