The silver blade glittered in the lamplight. I cleaned and adjusted the Madam’s switchblade with my gun cleaning kit, marveling at the precision engineering and rock-solid build quality.

  Pearl handles. I’d always called them a dandy’s vice. This blade had been hard-earned, and I liked the way the pearl shone with a natural luster. I learned in the war that you take what you need from the fallen and don’t think twice about it. The knife and the shotgun weren’t stolen; they were prizes. Vae victis.

  Sitting on the cot, I idly fiddled with the switchblade. Click-snap, close, click-snap, close. I liked the way it felt in my hand, but I was also distracting myself. Every muscle was charged and my mind was clear. My time amongst the damned was short, but it was divided into two parts now: before the hot blood, and after. The feeling of invincibility was fading, but the Thirst was absent. Not the sated hum of contentment after taking a deer, but completely silent.

  The Red-Eye dose, secondhand though it was, made me feel restless and strangely lethargic all at once. The poisoned brew left my system like a three-whisky fog, fading away and leaving a crisp clarity behind. Worse than a hangover; a chemical spike in the brain.

  Dr. Foss paced in her usual place, but her calm dispassionate demeanor had given way to nervous energy. She’d come downstairs when she heard me return.

  “The canister was in place, with plenty of time to deliver its payload before things went to hell,” I reported. “The Madam is no longer going to be a problem. I acquired this after she stabbed me a couple of times with it.”

  Foss barely spared the blade a glance. “Excellent. The Thrall’s death will agitate the establishment, but it is otherwise a minor issue. The dispersal device is the true victory.” She stopped pacing and turned her shrewd gaze toward me. “Your escape was clean?”

  I met her eyes. “Nope. It was not,” I said with a sigh, a reflexive gesture. “A complication was introduced. I was spotted on the way out.”

  “By whom?” Her brow furrowed with concern.

  “Deputy Jo Clay was surveilling the Lily.” I recounted the final moments: the hurled chair, the two-story drop, the landing, our exchange, and then my escape.

  Foss’s eyes widened. Then she uttered a single, sharp, unladylike curse. “Damn it.” She resumed pacing. “The only competent law officer in town, a recently discharged army scout, who is also a skilled tracker... Not a bungler like the other deputies, Sheriff Brody himself, or a random drunk? The one competent, uncorrupted officer... saw your face, fangs and all?”

  “No.” I kept my tone calm. “She didn’t see my face. The mask and hat were in place. She saw a monster.”

  “That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “She saw you do the impossible. I can only assume she already suspected things were amiss in town, more than simple corruption.”

  “That’s probably true,” I said.

  “You’ve given her proof. Not only that, she won’t have any trouble putting the pieces together. A stranger comes to town to meet his brother. The stranger is a tall, veteran cavalry officer. The brother is killed in a ‘mysterious’ fire. The stranger goes missing. Then a masked vigilante starts killing people with a slashing blade.”

  Laid out like that, her logic was unassailable. “I hadn’t considered the bigger picture,” I said.

  “She will make the connection. The clock is ticking, and Clay is on the hunt.” She went to her workbench, her urgency palpable. “We don’t have the luxury of letting the Anima vapor work for days. We’ll have to start tonight, before Clay gets any traction and starts investigating this clinic.”

  “I’ve been cautious coming and going. I don’t think my presence in town can be connected to you without some serious digging,” I said, thinking about each time I’d come and gone. I’d need tighter discipline.

  Dr. Foss retrieved the spectacles with the strange pearly lenses and polished them quickly. Her energy was nervous irritation, a state I wasn’t accustomed to from her.

  “The canister’s vapor will have settled on the partygoers within a few minutes,” she said quickly. “It is formulated to adhere to their Anima for at least 48 hours. You’re going to have to go back out tonight. Now.” She handed them to me. “Use the Anima Spectacles to put faces and names to our suspicions. Find out who was in that room. Map the web.”

  They were cool to the touch and slid on easily. I hooked the curved frames behind my ears.

  The world dissolved before me.

  “The lenses were cut from a very specific type of crystal, and treated in a complex distillation that would take me hours to explain. Suffice to say, they filter light in a manner that refracts Anima energy, allowing it to be perceived,” she explained. “The canister’s vapor was attuned to glow at a specific wavelength. It will adhere to the Anima of anyone it touches. You’ll be searching for a pale green nimbus.”

  I steadied myself and looked around the cellar. A monochrome, gray echo replaced the world. The stone, lifeless and devoid of Anima, was a dark shimmer. The specimen jars were mostly dim gray echoes of themselves, but a few held tiny motes of cold light. My blood samples, I realized.

  Dr. Foss was a flickering candle of cool blue energy, brighter at the core, then fading. My own hands were a pale blue-white, not flickering like the Doctor’s, but steady and powerful. At the edges of the light, a pale green color bled through. My aura was more potent but unchanging, static.

  “Some must have bound to me when I was handling it,” I guessed.

  “Yes, that’s likely. It should give you an idea of what you’re looking for,” she confirmed. “They’ll be fireflies, visible from a distance.”

  I nodded and focused my senses, attempting to see in both spectrums. It was difficult but possible. I would need to be selective and careful with the Anima Spectacles.

  “You’re right, Doc. There’s no time to waste, and if I can’t get them all, you might have some luck in the daylight hours.”

  I changed out of the blood-covered shirt and sliced a large square of fabric from the unsoiled back to use as a bandana. My other mask was bloody, and I didn’t want to get caught by neglecting such a simple thing.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I said, heading up the stairs, notably leaving my saber and duster behind. I had my Colt and the silver switchblade, but I planned to run from any conflict. I couldn’t afford to leave more evidence behind. At the last second, I decided to bring the shotgun and leave it on Flint, just in case.

  Flint’s steady presence shone in his warm Anima aura, a bright flame. Our bond had already shown me the truth of his nature. We crept away from the clinic silently, ensuring no one noticed our passing. We moved through side streets and back alleys, surveying the town in this new spectrum.

  Cinder Creek was a cemetery of gray outlines, occasionally punctuated by the flickering blue lights of the sleeping townsfolk. Like shafts of moonlight through the trees, the beacon of stained green Anima emanated from the Gilded Lily and all its patrons. I avoided the place, assuming the partygoers from upstairs wouldn’t have stuck around.

  Mounted, I moved toward the north side of town, near the more expensive houses on the hill. When I was close, I dismounted and left Flint behind the mercantile, mostly hidden by a parked wagon. On foot, I stalked toward the first light source I spied in that direction. A figure was walking toward the largest house on the hill.

  The Bank Manager knocked on the door of the large house, huffing and puffing from the walk. He was wreathed in pale green light, but other green lights emanated from the home as well. I moved through the shadowed garden on the side of the house and peered in a window. The Mayor, a puppet for Julien and Vane, was engaged in an animated conversation with the bank man and a man with a droopy mustache, whom I didn’t know. All three, wreathed in flickering pale green light.

  I turned toward the town, using the elevation to my advantage. Green flickers pulsed in the distance. A rider and a man on foot converged, both drawn toward the same glow.

  Moments later, the three men exited the Mayor’s home and shared his coach. They were moving toward the same destination as the other two men. I looked closer at the location. It had to be the sheriff’s office. These men were going to demand satisfaction.

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  I Surged through the shadows, meeting Flint along the way. I vaulted over a wrought iron fence, landing in the saddle. We flew through the town, beating the carriage handily. I jumped off Flint’s back and told him to stage nearby. I’d probably need to make a hasty withdrawal.

  I climbed up the back wall of the Apothecary’s shop and crouched behind the facade, granting me a bird’s eye view through the window. Three of the town’s “elite” were talking to Sheriff Brody in elevated tones. He hushed them when the Mayor’s coach arrived. Moments later, all three men from the coach filed into the building.

  The office bathed in sickly green.

  “I’m telling you, Brody, it was a massacre!” the banker yelled. “That woman was butchered in her own establishment. Where in tarnation were your deputies?”

  “She was gutted like a deer!” Droopy mustache chimed in. “We pay taxes for protection, and you sit there with your thumb in your ear while some lunatic runs wild.”

  Brody looked pressed. “Now hold on just a damn minute—”

  “It was a vigilante!” the Mayor exclaimed. “First, the Hatcher place burns to the foundation, and now this. Who’s next? Any man of means who supports Mr. Vane’s enterprise could be lying in his own blood come morning.”

  “I’ve got men working the case,” Brody said, his voice going defensive.

  “Your ‘men’?” the banker said acidly. “One’s a drunk who couldn’t track a bleeding buffalo through fresh snow, and the other’s got the sense God gave a fence post.”

  “This crime took skill. This wasn’t the work of a bungler,” the Mayor cut in.

  Brody slapped his palm down on his desk. “Fine!” he growled, a note of anger in his voice. “You want action? You’ll get it.” He turned to the drunkard, or maybe the lackwit. “Fetch Deputy Clay. Pronto!”

  The deputy disappeared into the backroom and hollered something unintelligible. Shortly thereafter, the door opened, and Deputy Jo Clay stepped into the room.

  I knew her immediately from the alley behind the Gilded Lily. Her vibrant blue Anima stood in contrast to everyone else in the room. Her flickering flame resembled Foss’s; clean. She stood as tall as any of the men in the room and had her repeater slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t intimidated by the men’s money and influence. If anything, they shied away from her.

  The only competent officer... the only one unsullied by the Madam’s corruption... and she was the one who saw me. Being in her crosshairs felt like friendly fire. She seemed decent by all reports. I didn’t want to be at odds with Deputy Clay, but it seemed her sense of law and order wouldn’t allow for any other course.

  Jo Clay stared down the room full of soft men with a cool, disdainful eye. “Something I can do for you, sheriff?”

  “This ‘vigilante’ needs to be brought to justice.” He waved his hands, indicating the men in the room. “These men want someone on the case. The Madam’s murder, that is. I’ve decided to make you the lead investigator.”

  Clay narrowed her eyes at the men, then turned to the sheriff. “I’m already on it, sheriff. I’ve been on it since 0300 hours. Found the window he jumped from. Found his tracks. And found this,” she said, holding up a .44 caliber bullet. “It’s unfired, but blemished. Must have fallen out of his pocket in the tussle with Madam Evangeline.” None of the men noted the silver jacketing on the round.

  My blood turned cold. I thought back to the fight. She’d landed a cut on my duster, but it didn’t drive home. She must have struck my pocket. The bullet saved me from a cut but fell out of the resulting hole.

  Brody stood up, looked at the slug, then at the angry men. He looked confused and trapped. “Fine! Just deal with it, Clay. Use any means necessary. Consider deadly force authorized. I’ve got enough on my plate right now.” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “I just got a report from a rancher up near Strauss Valley. He said they found another steer shredded. Torn to ribbons. The biggest damn wolf tracks he’d ever seen... Just go. Find the Madam’s killer.”

  Jo Clay didn’t waste time. She nodded curtly to the sheriff, pocketed the silver bullet, and walked out. The men in the office watched her go, relief plain on their faces. They’d rather have her hunting a vigilante than digging into their dealings with Vane.

  I climbed down from my perch and shadowed her from the rooftops. The Anima Spectacles showed her clean blue flame moving through the gray outlines of the sleeping town. She walked with purpose, not back to her boarding house, but toward the alley behind the Gilded Lily.

  I moved parallel to her path, using the roofline. My boots made no sound on the wooden shingles. Below, Jo knelt at the base of the building, examining the ground with a small lantern. She was tracking.

  She found my bootprints in the mud, the ones I’d left when I landed. She gauged the depth with her fingers, then glanced at the shattered window two stories above. She was reconstructing the jump, calculating the force required. Her jaw tightened; the math had finally clicked.

  She stood, brushed the mud from her knees, and continued tracking. She followed my path to where I’d met Flint, found the hoofprints, then traced them toward the edge of town. She was smart enough to be a problem.

  But instead of following the trail out of town, she turned toward the mill district. I stayed with her, curious and wary. The mill was Vane’s stronghold, the beating heart of his operation. What was she doing?

  Jo extinguished her lantern and moved into the shadows with practiced ease. A scout’s training. She positioned herself behind a stack of lumber, eyes fixed on the mill’s loading dock. I settled onto a rooftop across the street, watching her watch the mill.

  For twenty minutes, nothing happened. Then, the creak of the mill’s side door opening. Two Thralls emerged, both wreathed in that sickly pale green Anima. They carried a large canvas-wrapped bundle between them, moving it toward a wagon.

  Jo’s hand drifted toward her Henry rifle, but she didn’t draw it. She was observing, gathering intelligence. The Thralls loaded the bundle. I didn’t want to think about what was in it. Then one of them lit a cigarette. They were relaxed, careless. This was routine for them.

  Then one of them turned, scanning the darkness. He twitched and gripped his rifle. The Instinct in him was stirring, sensing a predator nearby.

  Not me. Jo.

  She’d shifted position, trying to get a better angle, and a board beneath her creaked. The sound was faint, barely audible even to my enhanced hearing, but the Thrall’s head snapped toward it.

  “You hear that?” he muttered to his companion.

  “Probably a rat.”

  “Big fuckin’ rat.” The first Thrall started walking toward Jo’s position, one hand on the revolver at his belt.

  Jo held perfectly still. She was invisible in the shadows, but if he got close enough, he’d see her. And if he raised an alarm, more Thralls would come. She’d be outnumbered, outgunned, and facing creatures that could shrug off normal wounds.

  The Instinct urged me to drop down and kill them both. Clean, quiet, efficient. Take them. But that would expose me, and I couldn’t afford another altercation tonight. Foss had been clear: we needed to move fast, before Jo built her case.

  The Thrall was ten feet from Jo’s hiding spot. Five feet. His hand was on his pistol now, thumb on the hammer.

  I picked up a loose brick from the rooftop and hurled it over his head. It struck a water barrel thirty feet behind him with a loud crash.

  Both Thralls spun toward the sound, pistols clearing leather. “There! By the barrels!”

  They rushed toward the noise, calling out challenges. Jo remained frozen, watching them go.

  When they were far enough away, she slipped backward into a different alley, moving with the fluid grace of someone who’d done this before.

  I watched her retreat, making sure she cleared the danger zone. She didn’t run. She moved steadily, checking her angles and making sure she wasn’t being followed. A professional.

  She’d seen something tonight. Evidence of foul play, bodies being moved, and Vane’s operation in motion. She didn’t know what she was looking at, not really, but she knew it was wrong. And she wouldn’t stop digging.

  I climbed down from the rooftop and met Flint in the shadows. He snorted softly, sensing my frustration.

  “She’s going to get herself killed,” I muttered, swinging into the saddle. “And I can’t babysit her forever.”

  Flint conveyed calm agreement. We had our own mission. Our own war. But as we rode back toward the clinic, I couldn’t shake the image of Jo Clay, alone in the dark, hunting monsters she didn’t understand with nothing but courage and a Henry rifle.

  She reminded me of myself, once. Before I became one of the monsters.

  I urged Flint to head back to the paddock and met him there. I stowed his saddle and tack, then brushed him out. “Dammit, Flint. Why’d it have to be her? She seems downright... decent.” He silently agreed, ever supportive.

  I slipped back to the clinic’s cellar before the first bruises of dawn marred the night sky, but it was close.

  “Did it work?” she asked before I even made it down the stairs. I had the urge to crack wise and make a joke, but I didn’t think Foss would appreciate it. I considered that impulse and determined it was a good thing. I was falling into step with the Doctor.

  “Your device worked flawlessly,” I said, carefully removing the spectacles. My eyes quickly adjusted to the standard spectrum, and I found I’d enjoyed using them. “The web is actually a blanket, covering most of the town. The banker, mayor, and several other wealthy men were there. So was Sheriff Brody and two of his deputies. They were all marked.”

  Foss’s eyes widened. “Vane has absolute control. We…”

  “Not quite,” I cut her off. “Not everyone,” I said, then told her about Deputy Clay, her clean blue Anima, how she’d found one of my bullets, and how she’d gone to the mill. I left out the bit where I helped her get away, not wanting to justify myself.

  “The good news is, there are no longer any unknown factors amongst the law enforcement,” I said, the bitter irony settling in. “They are either fully compromised by Vane or uncorrupted and competently hunting me.”

  Foss nodded, considering the implications. “This information changes the scope of our problem. We’ll need to continue to take action and hope they cannot recover quickly.”

  I sat on the cot, considering what we’d learned and how entrenched our enemy was. We had a work-in-progress map showing corruption almost everywhere. And we’d just had the one clean cop in town assigned as lead investigator, with authorized deadly force.

  “This is a tactical nightmare,” I said.