Wolfen Secrets (The Western Werewolf Legend #3) (6 page)

“If I possess a talent, Nymph, it’s the good
fortune I have
you
in my life. Tis’ the only talent I lay
claim to in your arms. Yours, on the other hand, is a talent like
none I’ve ever known before. You hold the talent to cradle me in
bliss, the power to bring me to my knees in your embrace and drug
me with your kisses. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”
Giving her a wicked smile, he reached up, stroking one delectable
breast. “No, Nymph, I am the one who is rich, on that, you can
depend,” he assured her.

Chapter 3 - Wanted

There
came a light rapping on the room’s door. Sonja waited before
calling out, “Who is it?” The giggles which followed didn’t sound
like her. Since Tyler Loflin’s appearance in her life, little was
the same.

“It’s Smitty, Lieutenant. May I come in?”

At the sound of the seriousness in the
sergeant’s voice, Sonja rose, hastily gathering a towel and heading
for the dressing screen. For Smitty to come to their door at an odd
hour wasn’t normal. Something must be wrong.

“Just a minute, sergeant.” Ty tugged on his
trousers.

The look on the sergeant’s face filled Sonja
with concern. She dressed quickly. She wanted to hear what Smitty
had to say.

“We’ve scouted the area like you asked,
Lieutenant. There’s Union guard on almost every corner. Southern
sympathizers are mute. Union loyalists spouting rhetoric are
everywhere. I found out from the sheriff, there’s a wanted poster
out on one Tyler Loflin, Lieutenant in the Confederate Army.
There’s no picture with the poster, thank the blessed mother Mary.
It lists you as a traitorous outlaw against the United States of
America for breaking out seven Confederate prisoners of war from
Conner’s Breach.” His chin set in a scowl as he unrolled the poster
for Ty to read. “Don’t mention our names. Says there may be others
with us as we have headed this way.”

Ty scanned the poster before tossing it on
the bed. “Well, now, ‘pears I’m a
wanted
man.” The humor in
his smile never reached his eyes. “How much you want to bet, the
Yankee vampires are behind this?”

“All I got.” Smitty spat at the nearby
spittoon. “We better lie low until we cross the river.”

“Since we aren’t pictured on the poster,
they’re looking blind for some dumb bastard to stroll into town
using his rightful name and bam, they’ll have him.” Ty strolled to
the window overlooking the street below. “We’ll just have to take
up aliases until we get further west. In the meantime, we’ve got to
be careful.” He glanced at Sonja. “I think I need a haircut.”

They discussed plans to visit the riverfront
the next day and see about passage by boat to the other side.
Spanning a quarter mile at its most narrow point, the current in
the Mississippi this time of year was dangerous for crossing on
anything less than a full-sized paddle wheeler or a barge. Whatever
means they used would require stability in the form of weight to
make the crossing successfully. Besides, they’d need to look like
simple refugees from the war to make it safely to the other side
without much scrutiny. Ty and his men were going to need more help.
Perhaps a small diversion was necessary. Glancing at Sonja, he
considered how much of his plan he could keep from her. She wasn’t
easily fooled.

“Ty?” Her hand rested over his arm. “I
brought the deed to my land with me. I’ll prove who I am and where
I’m from, if you think the paper will help.”

“Let’s wait and see.” He patted her hand.
“Sergeant, see the men take up false names and get as many a new
set of clothing without benefit of Confederate insignias before we
visit the landing tomorrow. Remind them they need to keep quiet
while we’re down there. The less folks think of us as southerners,
the better off we’ll be.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”

“Smitty, this is the last time you can use
the military reference while we’re still in enemy territory,
understood?”

“Yes, sir…yes, Ty, I understand.” Flustered,
a red-faced Smitty shoved the cavalry hat atop his head, before
snatching it off again. “Guess I’ll have to throw the fool thing
away.”

Sonja went into Ty’s arms the minute the door
shut behind Smitty. “What are you thinking of doing tomorrow,
Lieutenant?”

Ty cut his eyes toward her. “You can’t call
me lieutenant anymore, Nymph. Although, I love the way you say it,
you can’t utter the title again. The walls have ears.”

She nodded. “I’m just worried is all.” Going
into his arms, she gripped him tight.

“I’d do anything to protect you, Ty. Please
take care of yourself tomorrow.”

Leaning in, he groaned as she shuddered in
his arms. Unable to resist, he lifted her chin. The kiss was pure
need mixed with an unspoken promise to return safely.

***

The Belle of St. Louis was a magnificent
1200-ton paddle wheeler. She boasted thirty-five passenger rooms,
four staterooms and two suites. Her hull could carry a full tally
sheet of cotton and fifty slaves. She touted the honor of hosting
presidents, statesmen, gamblers and soldiers as well as paying
passengers from both the north and the south. Her lineage was long
and colorful, her size impressive as was her captain. He was a
seasoned veteran with thirty trips logged on the Mississippi, not
to mention the Missouri. With the war, she traveled to New Orleans
carrying coal, kerosene, lumber and corn for the Union occupation
of the Crescent City. On this particular trip, she housed coffins,
rows and rows of coffins of northern soldiers who’d lost their
lives in the western campaign.

Ty strolled down the gangplank to the dock on
a perfect May morning. The weather was cool. A clear, blue sky
promised things would warm with the sun’s help. Activity centered
on the Belle’s handlers unloading the massive payload.

Free men of color diligently worked at
hauling a steady line of flag-draped pine boxes down the walk.
Bound for transport back to a hero’s burial, the northerners who’d
ventured into harm’s way headed home for the last time. A pang of
sympathetic regret flooded his conscious as he recalled all the
southerners, whose burial spot was a cornfield in Pennsylvania
rather than the family plot back home.

He noted the bulging bales of cotton, as the
precious cargo swung precariously from an intricate system of
pulleys and ropes, making its way over the side of the paddle
wheeler before depositing the heavy bale onto the dock where the
precious cargo waited for sale to the highest bidder. The crisp,
clipped voice of a dock foreman shouting orders to the hands
carried clearly on the morning’s breeze. “Step it up you lazy
bastards. This ain’t no Saturday night social. Get a move on.”

The smell of the fishmongers hawking their
catch, mingled with the murky, muddy water churning beneath the
boats laying anchor in the shallows. Peddlers squawking their
wares, or owners directing their laborers increased the noise level
to a steady roar as the bustle of activity signifying life went on
despite a nation’s people divided in war.

Ty bit into the cheroot he pulled from his
pocket, spitting out the butt. With a sulfur match, he lit the
smoke he’d purchased from a hawker several stalls up from the lower
dock where all activity centered around the loading and unloading
of the vessels presently anchored there. Ideally watching the
activity, he waited. No need in giving anyone anything curious to
become concerned over.

Smitty, along with Abram Clemens, strolled up
as his match caught. Ty took a long drag on the first tobacco he’d
tasted in a long time. “That’s a good smoke.” With a nod, Ty
indicated they walk further away from the Union families come to
take their brothers, sons, husbands and cousins home for the last
time. When they were a goodly distance from the line of wagons
turned hearses, he paused. Taking out a pack of cards, they settled
down over a barrel. Ty flicked the cards out with a flourish.

“There’s passage available on two of the
outgoing steamers as well as a barge, Lieutenant. No one will allow
free travel. The cheapest fare is one hundred U. S. dollars per
person.”

Ty’s whistle was sharp. He’d expected
inflated accommodation charges, still the factual amount proved
staggering. “The war hasn’t missed an industry, boys. Everybody’s
got their hand out it would appear. Prior to the firing on Fort
Sumter, a man paid less than five dollars to book a crossing.” He
took a long contemplative drag on his cheroot and released the
fragrant smoke slowly. “You’re sure you checked with all those
leaving before week’s end?”

“Aye, we did,” Smitty offered. “The lads know
as well. If the street urchins catch wind of a boat setting out for
New Orleans anytime within the next seventy-two hours, they’ll get
in touch.” His Irish brogue worked the words to his liking as he
gave his ample stomach a pat. “Now, all we have to do is wait.”

“And watch,” Ty added.

Clemens nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir, Mr.
Taylor, count on it.”

Ty glanced sideways at Clemens before
remembering his directive for everyone to go by an alias. “Our
lives are going to depend on it, Chester.” Winking, his halfcocked
grin spread. It took Clemens a moment to recognize Ty was talking
to him. “Waiting will be a hard pill to swallow with the vampires
able to pin us to one spot. Despite the spells Hortence used to
cover our tracks, I still smell the vermin. Shorty, we’ll come
across more of the bloodsuckers.” This time the vampires held a
trump card with the wanted poster. “We’ll have to be careful not to
draw attention our way. Did you find anyone willing to sell us
silver or weapons?”

Smitty drew closer, lowering his voice to a
whisper. “There’s talk of a dealer. He lives ‘under the hill’.”

Ty’s brow drew together. “Under the hill –
what’s that?”

Smitty shook his head. “It ‘pears there’s a
sort of hole in the hill, a group of caves north of here full of
folks loyal to the cause, who’ll do just about anything to make a
dollar.” He winked as he clutched his coat lapels, before settling
against the crude wall of a fishmonger’s stall.

“So, an encampment of southern sympathizers
resides in the caves north of town. Those tunnels will be full of
cutthroats and thieves. We’ll have to watch our step.” Dropping his
cheroot on the wooden plank, Ty ground out the fire and glanced
back to see both pairs of eyes on his. “All right, we’ve put out
the bait. We’d better get back to the others. Time will tell
whether we’ve done any good here today or not. Let’s go.”

As they made their way back up the steep
embankment anchored with piecemeal steps, plank walkways or narrow
earthen foot holds, Ty got a whiff of the foulest of odors only one
creature possessed – there were vampires lurking nearby in the
dense undergrowth. Sheltered by the heavily tree-lined perimeter
flanking the riverbanks, they peered unrelenting at the Rebels.
“Watch you back, boys, we’ll have company by nightfall,” he
said.

***

Nightfall came with all the sounds of a
bawdy, rousing city full of excitement and social activity.
Standing close to the balcony door, Ty listened to the sounds of
the night. Here in the heart of the boisterous St. Louis, the
entertainment was under way. A piano clinked out a raucous tune as
women’s laughter trilled out of the doorways of the saloons dotting
the town’s seedier side. Small, squat beams of light spotted the
dirt street as pedestrians strolled or stumbled along the board
sidewalks. Peering in or hurrying by, depending on their
inclination, they made their way at a steady clip.

Jeb stood guard outside Briann and the boys’
room. He’d given her his word no harm would come to them as they
slept. He whittled to pass the time.

“You got another smoke?” Ty’s question was
companionable as he stepped up beside the former Confederate major
general.

“What’s got you up so late, Lieutenant? I’d
have thought you’d be entertaining Mrs. Brooks by now.” He peered
at Ty with a wary eye over the stream of smoke from his
cheroot.

Ty didn’t miss the attempt to rile him over
his relationship with the widow Brooks. “I have something to
discuss with you. I thought it best to wait until all the women had
bedded down. Would you walk with me?” When Jeb glanced back at the
widow’s room, Ty was quick to suggest, “Smitty will watch Briann’s
door. We need to talk.”

They headed for the glass-paned door at the
end of the hall. Leading out to a small veranda, the two men stood
watching the activity below. The sounds of the city drifted
upward.

“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Ty gazed out over the street. Laughter rose
from the swinging doors of a saloon. Someone cursed long and loud.
A four-in-hand drove past. Ty leaned heavily on the iron rail. In
the darkness on the edge of the horizon, a scream rose before
fading into the mist.

“We’ve got to come up with a plan to cross
the river unnoticed. The Union guard is everywhere. I need your
help in locating the vampires nest located in St. Louis as well as
seeking out any that escape my attention. Can I count on you?”

“Of course.” Jeb surveyed the scene below.
“You have to ask? That offends me, Lieutenant.” Jeb leaned on the
rail next to Ty.

“I ask because I know you take your
overseeing of the widow and the boys seriously. I’m adding to your
burden with the request.”

“You could say that.” He shifted, drawing
deep on his cheroot. “My choice was taken from me or I wouldn’t be
standing here.” Throwing the cheroot down, he shoved his hands in
his pockets. “I want no pity. I want revenge.” Smoke circled his
head as he gazed ideally out at the activity below. “The only fear
I harbor is the enemy will seek those I care for to harm in order
to draw me out. My loyalty is to you and yours, Lieutenant. By
eliminating those that seek you, I benefit my own responsibility.
Agreed?”