High Stakes

by Sue

As Halloween draws near, Ezra is attacked by a vampire, and his six friends must find a way to restore the gambler's humanity and destroy the evil creature now among them.

1. Default Chapter

TITLE: High Stakes

AUTHOR: Sue

EMAIL: DelanySis1@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: The characters from the program The Magnificent Seven in this story are not mine and are owned by Trilogy, CBS and MGM. I am making no profit from their use. Honest.

RATINGS: PG-13 for language, violence, possibly disturbing scenes

SUMMARY: As Halloween draws near, Ezra is attacked by a vampire, and his comrades must help him regain his humanity and rid the town of the evil creature who has turned their friend against them.

WARNINGS: This is a vampire story. There is violence and a small amount of blood-drinking in this fic, so if such things bother you you're better off not reading it. I'd also like to add that Ezra is very definitely Not Nice in parts of this story. Just a warning!! :)

ARCHIVE: Will be archived-I'll send the link!

NOTES/COMMENTS: This is a Halloween story I wrote in 2000. It was just released to web publishing, just in time for Halloween!! :)

This fic was previously published in the zine 'Legends of the Magnificent Seven #2', which is available from the excellent Demon Bunny Press. for ordering info, please go to the website at:

http://vipersdemons.tripod.com/DBP.htm

or email Vickie at LegacyVIP@aol.com.

Big thanks go to my betas Carla, LadyViper, Chris and KathyB, and to my sister Sarah for their help. I'd also like to say a huge 'much obliged' to Mary, who gave me some great ideas for pt. 10!

The name of Ezra's horse Chaucer was coined by Kristen. Thanks, Kristen!

Enjoy!! Feedback always greatly appreciated!!

Sue :)

HIGH STAKES

The full moon glowed bright over the small frontier town of Four Corners, its silvery rays sweeping over the wooden buildings with a gentleness which tried to soften the bite of the cool autumn air. Night had long since fallen, and here and there some of the town's citizens scurried home through the darkness, eager for a hot meal to stave off the air's deepening chill.

At the end of town stood the old white church, battered and worn but still erect, its beaten wooden clapboards glowing softly in the pale moonlight. Those whose paths took them by the church would have been able to see its current resident, Josiah Sanchez, standing by the window, gazing at the moon as a frown creased his handsome face. They might have waved to the man who had shouldered the burden of the church's restoration, but he would not have waved back.

He was far too worried.

Josiah stood watching the night for a few more moments before moving away from the window and back into the church, his slow, thoughtful steps echoing loudly off the unadorned walls of the empty sanctuary. Several times he stroked his graying beard, or rubbed his lined face, or ran one hand over his short salt–and–pepper hair as he pondered the heaviness which lay over his heart this night. It was a strange feeling, one of deep foreboding, and it wrapped itself stubbornly around his soul and refused to move.

The large man shook his head, smiling at himself as he went to pick up his carpenter's tools. There was no reason to feel so uneasy; the town had been quiet lately, and he and the other six men hired to protect it had seen lots of scrapes in the past few weeks but nothing out of the ordinary.

Must be cause it's gettin' close to Halloween, he figured as he bent over to pick up his hammer and nails. I been hearin' JD talk about it so much he's beginnin' to get to me.

But it wasn't that easy to shake off. As he went back to work on the loose floorboards, the nagging feeling persisted, that something evil was in their midst and waiting to strike. As a preacher's son, religious student and former conveyer of the good word himself, Josiah knew what sort of forms evil could take. He had often seen its human form, but now he was getting the prickly feeling that its unnatural counterpart was nearby as well. But that sounded just plain crazy.

With a sigh he knelt and went to work, pounding the nails into the floor and hoping the activity would help clear his head. It was a big job, but that didn't matter. He knew he wouldn't be getting any rest tonight.



Far away from the church, on a crest of rock overlooking the town, a man sat on a large white horse and studied the small cluster of buildings before him, seemingly untroubled by the biting wind which whipped around him.

He was a slender man, tall and gracefully built, clad in the most stylish fashion of the day. The pale moonlight glinted off of his fine black coat and trousers, slid across his dark blue satin waistcoat, and lingered on his perfectly tied red cravat. His hair was white and very long, falling in thick waves to the middle of his back. The hair in his fashionable goatee was darker, with only a few snowy hairs blending in with the ebony. His face was strikingly handsome and youthful, in contrast to his white hair. Above his long, straight nose peered two sharp eyes of a deep blue, almost violet color, eyes which were now hungrily assaying the town of Four Corners.

This will be perfect, he thought as he studied his next destination. A small town full of drifters and rogues–here there would be plenty of opportunities for him to find a new lieutenant. The demise of his last one had been unfortunate; they had been working together for a long time, and had been equals in strength. But his associate had gotten greedy, and it had ended there. He'd be more careful this time.

Even from this distance, he could sense the souls moving about the town, and could tell where the best hunting would be. Many he dismissed right away as too weak, too young, too troublesome. There was an art to choosing his right–hand man; he had to be someone strong yet controllable, intelligent but not overly ambitious. After two hundred years of doing this he had gotten pretty good at it, was able to find men quickly who had a taste for adventure and gain and didn't mind the darkness, men nobody would miss. They always seemed to be in the same places.

The white–haired man smiled slightly to himself, and spurred his horse onward towards the town.


"Is this what you were looking for, JD?"

Mary Travis opened another box of books, bringing the lantern closer so she could see into its dusty depths. The small back room they were in was dark, and the lanterns she and JD were carrying did little to dispel the gloom.

There was a clatter, and a slim young man stepped into the glow of her lantern, holding his own above his head as he made his way over. He leaned forward and peered into the box, ignoring the long strands of thick black hair which fell into his eyes.

"Sorry, Mrs. Travis, these look like cookbooks," he said in a tone of disappointment. They both stood, Mary sighing and brushing her long blonde hair back from where it had fallen into her face.

"Well," she said, looking around, "I suppose we'll just keep looking. There have to be some ghost story books around here somewhere, I know our library had some."

JD wiped his dusty hand on his pants and coughed. "Too bad they didn't rebuild the library after it burned. This'd be a lot easier."

Mary pushed a few boxes out of her way as she stepped over to a corner. "If the librarian hadn't decided to move to Eagle Bend he probably would have. But you know what it was like here before Mr. Larabee and the rest of you came, JD–no one thought this town would survive."

A chuckle escaped JD's throat. "Well, we sure proved them wrong, didn't we!" he said proudly. "Now every desperado in the territory knows better'n to start anything here."

"That doesn't seem to stop them from trying," Mary replied with a smile as she opened another box. "Hmm, here's some mythology books, I suppose Mr. Crawford might have packed them in here."

JD hurried to her side, his lantern again held high. "Those look like them big religious book Josiah's always readin'."

Mary was picking several of the large volumes up and examining them one by one. "'Legends of Europe and the Orient'–hmmm–'Russian Myths and Folk Tales'–oh, here's one, 'Collection of Ghost Lore'." She handed him the slim blue book.

JD accepted it, smiling in surprise at all the dust. "Boy, guess these didn't get read much, huh?"

The handsome blonde woman shrugged. "I'm afraid Mr. Crawford overestimated the mindset of the people here. Probably why nobody's tried to rebuild the library." She closed the box and looked around. "I think he had some Poe here as well."

JD beamed as he wiped off the blue book. "That'd be great! Ma used to read 'The Raven' to me at Halloween every year. It was pretty eerie, but I loved it. That'd be perfect for the party Buck and I are puttin' together."

They moved out of the back room and into the warmer glow of the living area at the back of the Clarion.

As Mary locked the door, she smiled. "The children will certainly enjoy having a party to go to. It's been years since anyone put a fall celebration together." she sighed as she finished her task and put the key in her pocket. "But then we haven't had much to celebrate."

JD gave her an optimistic grin. "That's gonna be different this year, Mrs. Travis. Thanks for the book–I bet the kids will love these ghost stories."

"You're quite welcome, JD," Mary said as she showed him to the door. "So while you're getting the children's part of the party ready, what's Buck doing?"

The young man laughed as he buttoned his wool coat in anticipation of the cold wind. "Seein' as how it's Buck, Mrs. Travis, he's probably trackin' down every pretty lady in town an' seein' she gets a personal invitation to the dance."

Mary nodded, amused as she opened the door. "I wouldn't be at all surprised. Good night, JD."

"Night, Mrs. Travis."

JD dashed out the open door and into the street, barely pausing before turning his steps to his boarding house room, his mind already whirling with plans for the party. In his haste to find warmth the young man barely noticed the tall man on the beautiful white horse who was slowly riding towards the saloon. After giving the stranger a cursory glance, JD hurried home, noting only that it seemed to be getting much colder.



Ezra sighed and scowled to himself as he gazed across the empty poker table at the sparse crowd milling around the saloon. He was in a sour mood tonight, and so far nothing had happened to ease it.

He sat back, bored and irritable, tossing aside the newspaper he'd been reading. There was little there to catch his interest, except for a curious story about the gruesome murder of some drifters over in Eagle Bend. But the horrific story had only served to darken his already dark mood; it only proved what animals men could be.

Idly he shuffled the cards in his hands, sending their thin stiff forms flitting quickly back and forth between his palms as he mused on his misfortunes. His eye glanced at his sleeve, and he frowned at how worn it was getting. But there was no help for that; mending clothes would only go so far before new ones were needed, and thanks to the piddling salary this job paid it would be a long time before he could afford a new jacket. The clothes had held up thus far but this would not be the case for much longer, and the gentleman gambler winced at how ragged he would soon look.

His arm twinged as he shuffled, and he stopped long enough to rub it, more out of annoyance than pain. He'd been shot there two weeks ago, and though the wound hadn't been serious, it had been painful. It had only been yesterday that Nathan had allowed it out of the sling, and it still bothered him. The healer had promised that soon the hurt would stop, but this did little to lighten Ezra's heart. If the bullet had gone in one inch over, Ezra would have been in serious trouble. Likely he would have lost the use of the arm, or perhaps lost the arm itself, a prospect which he found horrifying.

His restless green eyes wandered the bar where a few of the local townsmen were gathered, talking. He recognized one of them, the carelessly dressed Walter Felton who owned the local grocery store. Felton made no pretense at accepting Ezra and the six other men hired to protect the town, and often voiced his opinion of "hired guns" to anyone who would listen. Ezra had had words with him just the other day after Felton sold him what Ezra believed to be spoiled goods. It had been an ugly argument which had ended with Felton's invitation for Ezra "and those other six damned gunmen" to leave town if he didn't like what he was being sold. The gambler had managed to leave the scene without becoming unmannerly, but it had been a hard struggle.

Now as he stared at Felton, he felt the anger return. Why was he here anyway, wasting his time, being poor, and getting shot, all to protect a bunch of ingrates? It simply wasn't worth it. He'd have to talk to Chris...

But then the familiar hesitations appeared, and deep down he had to admit that he didn't truly want to leave, that he had come to enjoy the companionship of the other men and the novelty of working for the law rather than against it. The idea seemed to nourish some hidden part of his soul, even if it wasn't making him any wealthier.

He still couldn't deny the fact that he was feeling dissatisfied and restless, however, and he found himself facing a bothersome problem: he wasn't happy here, but he wouldn't be happy leaving, either. It was all very confusing.

"Excuse me, sir, are you perchance looking for an opponent?"

Ezra pulled himself quickly out of his reverie and looked up. Standing on the other side of the table was a tall, handsome, well–dressed man of about his age with long flowing white hair, a closely trimmed black beard and striking violet eyes. He was regarding Ezra with a pleasant, though distant, expression.

The gambler quickly sized him up: obviously well–to–do, probably skilled enough to be a challenge, at least it would be more interesting than stewing in his bad mood.

Ezra sighed and indicated the seat opposite him. "By all means," he said. "I must confess solitaire loses its charms after being played twenty times."

"I can well imagine," the other man laughed in a deep tone as he sat down and extended one white–gloved hand. "Gabriel Montreux, from New Orleans."

"Ezra Standish," Ezra replied, shaking the man's hand and feeling deeply envious of the fine clothing his new acquaintance wore. Every stitch was of the highest quality. He sat back and began to shuffle the cards. "You're far from home tonight, Mr. Montreux."

Montreux laughed as he removed his tall silk hat, his full head of silky white hair glistening in the golden candlelight. "My business takes me to many places, Mr. Standish," he said, the faintest hint of a French accent coloring his words. "Even to your charming town."

Ezra grunted as he began to deal. "Not my charming town, I assure you."

He looked up to see Montreux eying him very keenly.

"You don't live here, then?" Montreux asked as he picked up his cards.

Ezra pursed his lips and sighed deeply as he expertly fanned out his hand. "This is not my permanent residence, no, sir, a fact for which I am on my knees and thanking the Lord on a daily basis."

Montreux's smile did not fade as he regarded Ezra calmly. "You sound anxious to move on, my friend."

"Anxious does not begin to describe it," Ezra assured him as he picked up a shot of whiskey. "During my time here I have been subjected to the most heinous living conditions. My wardrobe, sir, is in a shambles, I am practically perforated with bullet wounds, and most of the citizenry are as uncouth a collection of rabble as I have ever seen." He downed the whiskey and set the empty glass on the table, going back to his cards with a resigned sigh. "Ah well, one must endure, I suppose."

"That is true, Mr. Standish," Montreux replied as they played out the hand, "but that doesn't mean one has to suffer while doing it. Suppose I were to offer you an opportunity to escape your existence here, and live the life you obviously deserve."

Ezra chuckled and shook his head as he rearranged his hand. "I would say, Mr. Montreux, that you would have to be more specific."

Montreux gave him a smile and sat back, laying his cards down long enough to reach into his coat and remove two cigars. He held one out to Ezra. "Care for a cigar, Mr. Standish? The very best, I promise you."

Ezra accepted the gift and studied the band, clearly impressed by what he read there. "Much obliged, Mr. Montreux," he said, genteelly biting off the end and spitting it out. "I see you have the proper taste in tobacco."

"It's a life you could get used to quite quickly, Mr. Standish," was the genial reply as the cigars were lit. He sat back, the smoke circling around his head as he talked. "I travel a great deal, and need an assistant to aid me in my business. Someone who doesn't mind taking risks and doing things in a, shall we say, unorthodox manner."

Ezra eyed him as he took a deep draw on the cigar. It was undoubtedly the finest one he'd ever tasted. He blew the smoke out and leaned forward. "That sounds rather illicit, my friend."

Montreux gave him a small grin and picked his cards up again. "Parts of the job may be illicit, Mr. Standish, but the rewards far outweigh such considerations. Such a risk provides wealth quickly, and I am a most impatient man when it comes to attaining my goals. Surely a man such as yourself is not afraid to step beyond the boundaries of society now and then, eh? I'm sure–and this is not an accusation, merely a fact–that you've done it before."

Ezra's head came up, his eyes sharp as he gazed at Montreux.

The other man appeared to sense Ezra's tenseness, and waved one graceful hand. "Oh, don't distress yourself, my friend. As I said, that is merely an observation. I don't blame you–far from it, it takes courage to break from the petty considerations of conscience and take what is yours. Most people never do, and what's the consequence? They lead dull, safe, impoverished lives, never coming to the knowledge that life truly belongs only to those who disregard the rules–all rules."

Ezra stared at him, then nodded a little, amazed. This was so unlike what he was used to hearing from his other friends, but it was the credo by which Ezra had lived most of his life. All this time he'd heard the healer Nathan Jackson, the tracker Vin Tanner, the former preacher Josiah Sanchez, all of them, chide him for trying to better his financial position. It had been a struggle for Ezra to abandon his old way of life, the cheating and the confidence games, yet lately he'd been finding the straight life oddly appealing. But the mood he was in tonight made what Montreux was saying sound quite attractive.

Of course, he knew it wasn't be that simple, he was in the employ of a Federal judge and could not just up and leave. And he would miss the company of the other men, although he would never admit that to them. But what could it hurt to at least listen to the man talk? The way things were going, it felt good to at least think that there was a possibility of a better life. Perhaps he could convince Montreux to wait until he was finished here before hiring him.

Ezra realized that Montreux was watching him, and cleared his throat as he leaned forward in his chair. "It sounds very appealing indeed," he said, smiling, the lamplight glinting off his gold tooth. "And as you say, there have been times when I have found the law to be rather, er, inconvenient."

The other man arched one thick black eyebrow. "Insulting, isn't it? That men such as you or I would have to kowtow to rules, while the rich and powerful routinely flaunt them and pocket all the wealth. But it doesn't have to be that way. Such things can be easily disregarded, if you agree to join me."

Ezra took another draw on the cigar, studying the other man through the smoke. "Your offer is quite intriguing," he admitted, "but you understand I am going to have to know more about what this is all about."

"Of course," Montreux said in a smooth, smiling voice. "My business papers are at the hotel down the street, they will explain everything. Shall I meet you there tomorrow evening?"

Ezra finished the cigar and glanced at Montreux. "Not in the morning? I thought that was when all of you businessmen conducted your affairs."

Montreux shrugged apologetically. "I find that I conduct my business the best during the nighttime hours. Much like you, I imagine."

The gambler grinned. "I concur with that sentiment wholeheartedly," he said, patting Montreux heavily on the shoulder.

They played a few hands, with each man winning; the talk died down, and more than once Ezra found the other man simply staring at him. He found it unnerving, but chalked it up to an eccentricity.

At length Montreux put down the cards and picked up his hat. "My apologies, Mr. Standish, but I must run. I have business to conduct back at my room."

Ezra nodded as he gathered up the cards. It had been an interesting night, even if he had won only a little money. "It has been a pleasure, sir," he said, shaking Montreux's hand. "I will see you tomorrow evening, then."

Montreux smiled. "Of course. Good night."

He gave a slight, graceful bow and walked out. Ezra watched him go, then shook his head as he collected his meager winnings and tapped the cards back into order. Mysterious fellow, he thought, but it had proven to be an effective diversion from his bad mood, and who knows? Perhaps he could have a promising opportunity lined up for the time when the job here was finally at an end. Mother would be happy, anyway.

He pocketed the money and the cards and looked at the clock; almost midnight, soon he would have to go out on patrol. Another part of the job he disliked, he sighed, but at least he didn't have the morning patrol this time around.

With reluctant but dutiful stride Ezra left the saloon and sauntered towards the livery, shivering a bit at the chill as the wind whistled down the street. As he neared the stables, he passed a long alleyway and glanced down it idly as he walked by.

Suddenly he stopped, listening. Had he heard something? Turning, he looked down the alley. It had come from there–

There! A strangled noise, almost a scream, coming from the shadows. Drawing his Remington, Ezra trotted down the alleyway, his green eyes searching. The sound grew louder the farther down he ran, but still he could find no source of the noise.

He reached the end and glanced from side to side, his gun glinting in the full moonlight.

Then his instincts shouted a warning in his ear. Behind him–

Before he could turn, someone grabbed the back of his neck, pressing quick and hard. A sharp pain erupted between his eyes, a pain quickly followed by deep blackness, and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The alleyway fell silent; no one was there to witness the gambler's fall, or the appearance of the tall, white–haired man who now stood over his crumpled form, the moonlight shining off his long, sharp teeth.

"My apologies for the rude behavior, Mr. Standish," the man said softly, gazing down at his prey, "but as I said, I am a most impatient man."

He lifted the gambler easily in his arms and disappeared into the shadows.


Buck leaned back lazily on his chair as he surveyed the passing afternoon scene from the porch of the saloon, a toothpick dangling from between his teeth.

"Looks like another roarin' day," he commented idly to JD, who sat beside him reading one of the books he'd borrowed from Mary.

The young man looked up at the mustached gunslinger and grinned a little uneasily. "If you're bored, Buck, you oughta try readin' some of these ghost books Mrs. Travis gave me. Some of the stories in here are really scary."

His friend grunted with amusement and switched the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "Thanks, kid, I get plenty scared just doin' this job. Mornin', Josiah."

JD followed Buck's gaze to see the burly preacher stepping onto the boardwalk, a couple of large books in one hand.

"Hey, preacher," JD greeted his friend, looking closely at him. "You look mighty tired. You feelin' all right?"

A weary grin etched itself across Josiah's face. "Just had a bad night, son, that's all. Here." he held the books out to JD. "Found these in my personal library, thought they might help."

JD accepted the books and peered at their titles. "'Tales of Unusual and Fascinating Phenomena'–I don't know, Josiah, this sounds kinda high–minded for a Halloween party. I'm just lookin' for ghost stories."

The preacher gave him a patient smile. "There's some of those in there, an' the author swears they're all true. I've found it pretty interestin' reading, myself."

The young man considered this and nodded. "Okay, well, thanks, Josiah. I can't wait to read it!"

"Just don't go scarin' yourself there, kid," Buck joshed with a smile. JD's response was a sarcastic laugh, after which he opened the book and began poring through it.

"Speakin' of ghosts," Josiah went on as he looked at his friends and leaned on one of the posts, "anybody seen Ezra? He was supposed to help me take some rotten shutters off the church this mornin'."

JD looked up. "Ain't seen him all day. He had patrol last night, must be sleepin' that off."

"Yeah, you know Ezra ain't no early bird," Buck added with a knowing nod. "But I figure he should be about rested by now. Want me to go throw 'im downstairs for ya?"

"Naw," Josiah waved it away with a sigh as he straightened. "I'm gonna just go in an' get some of Inez's coffee."

With that he walked stiffly past them and into the saloon.

JD watched him go in, then shifted back in his seat and threw Buck a worried look. "He didn't look so good, huh, Buck?"

His friend had leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "Sure he's fine, kid. Could be the full moon's got him feelin' outta sorts, you know it gets some folks all turned around."

"Yeah, maybe," JD muttered as he began to read one of the more fascinating pages of Josiah's book. "Guess maybe that's what's gotten into Ezra too. It's that time of year, everybody's just actin' weird."

"Could be, kid," Buck replied casually as he relaxed. "Could be."



Montreux watched and waited. This was always a dangerous and difficult time, and he had to be ready.

His hotel room was dark, the sunlight blocked by heavy velvet draperies, but there was enough light from the glowing lamps for him to easily see the unconscious form of Ezra who lay unmoving on the large bed in the middle of the room. The gambler's hat and jacket had been removed, as well as all weapons, and now there was nothing to do but stand vigil at the bedside and wait.

Montreux eyed him carefully, slightly anxious; the man was pale, but that was to be expected after what had happened. It was the long time Ezra was taking to come around that worried the suave stranger; perhaps this one was too weak to be a good choice. It was always a shame when they didn't survive, though; the technique required to transform a victim rather than simply kill them was tricky, and when it didn't work he always found it personally disappointing. But Montreux had not lost a new convert in over a hundred years, and he reassured himself that Standish would prove as worthy a novice as all the others had.

The first few moments of consciousness was critical. The sensation of awakening to a while new way of life drove a few of them mad; it was distressing to some to have their soul and conscience simply gone, to suddenly have nothing holding them back from their most base and selfish desires. But normally they relished being able to do anything they pleased without remorse, and their glee over their newfound liberty was often highly satisfying.

It would be that way for this man; when Ezra woke up he would be deeply changed, free of the inhibitions which bound mortal men. Like all of their kind, Standish would now be able to indulge in every dark whim without hesitation; without his soul and conscience there would simply be nothing stopping him. There was no decency or goodness left in Standish now; they had departed with his soul, and Montreux was most interested to see what sort of man his new pupil would be once he made this discovery.

Suddenly Ezra stirred a little and moaned, clutching weakly at the fine bedspread. Montreux sat up, fully alert; now he would know if this was going to work out.

For a moment Ezra stopped moving, and the green eyes blinked open, staring in confusion at the ceiling. When that proved less than helpful, he lifted his head slightly and saw Montreux sitting at the bedside, watching him closely.

"Mm," Ezra groaned, one slender hand reaching up to rub his head very slowly. "What...happened?"

"Don't be alarmed, Ezra," Montreux replied in a low and friendly voice, rising from his seat and reaching for a bottle on the ornate bedside table. "Everything's going to be all right."

"That may be your assessment," Ezra replied in a groggy voice, shaking his head violently and blinking his eyes several times. "It does not appear that way from here. You know, I feel...quite strange..."

Ezra sat up on his elbows in a very slow and stiff manner, and reached back to rub his neck. Montreux saw him scowl in puzzlement as his fingers explored a rough spot on his throat; there were two small puncture wounds there, but Ezra couldn't see them. He looked up at his host, bewildered. "Have I been wounded?"

"It's nothing to worry about, I promise," was the sure reply, and Montreux handed him the dark bottle. "Here, drink this. You must be hungry."

Ezra considered this and took the bottle. "Now that you mention it, I am feeling rather famished." He looked around. "I see we're in the Ritz."

Montreux smiled. "In my room, yes. It was the best place to bring you. I gather you're familiar with it?"

The gambler winced, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as he raised the bottle to his lips. "My dear conniving mother used to own this establishment," Ezra replied, before putting the bottle to his mouth. He had no sooner tasted the contents than the vessel was hastily lowered again, the gambler coughing and gagging as he hunched over, bringing his free hand up to his mouth in shock.

"Dear Lord, Montreux!" he sputtered, sitting up and looking at the other man in horror. "What vile concoction are you poisoning me with?"

Montreux held out one hand to calm him. "It's perfectly harmless, Ezra. Just something to give you strength. It's not so bad, is it?"

Ezra glared at him as he whipped out one of his handkerchiefs and coughed into it, wiping off his mouth. "It is utterly repulsive," was the pronouncement, when he could talk.

"You'll soon overcome that belief," Montreux said with great confidence.

The gambler was breathing heavily from the coughing, and was shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, still staring at the bottle as he did so. Montreux couldn't suppress a triumphant smile as he saw the doubt in Ezra's expression turn to confusion, then surprise as the realization grew. Soon, he knew, Ezra would drain the whole bottle.

Ezra's breathing began to come in gasps, and he turned his eyes back to Montreux, eyes full of complete bewilderment. His free hand reached up to rub his chest, as if trying to touch what was inside and discover what had changed about it.

"Perhaps," he said to Montreux in a tight, quiet voice, "you would care to explain all this to me, sir."

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Standish," Montreux replied congenially as he sat down again, "but it may seem a bit fantastic at first."

The other man shook his head, running one hand through his chestnut hair as he gave a short, humorless laugh. "Believe me, Mr. Montreux, nothing right now would seem out of the realm of possibility. I have never felt so odd in my entire life."

A smile crossed Montreux's handsome face. "Quite an exhilarating feeling, isn't it? As if nothing on this earth is beyond your attainment. It's what freedom feels like, my friend, freedom and power. You feel as if you own the world."

Ezra stared at him, clearly absorbing the words, yet frightened at the understanding.

"Mr. Montreux," he finally said in a quiet voice, his green eyes wide, "what exactly has happened to me?"

Montreux continued to smile, and casually folded his hands as he leaned forward. "Mr. Standish," he said patiently, "are you familiar with the dark legends of Europe? The Rumanian region?"

Ezra scowled at him and rubbed his eyes. "Some, I confess," he said in a puzzled tone. "One of my cousins was deeply into spiritualism and the occult and scared me half to death with her tales of ghouls and monsters when I was a child."

Montreux's violet eyes glinted. "Did she ever mention vampires?"

The gambler glanced at him, his brows knit in thought. "A few times, perhaps. I believed her to be insane and paid little attention to what she was doing when she wasn't tormenting me."

"Truth often lies in insanity, my friend," Montreux assured him. "Your cousin's words were not as unbalanced as you might have thought."

Ezra stared at him, then chuckled. "You don't mean to say such creatures exist!"

Montreux sat back and shrugged. "As to the other monsters she mentioned, I have no idea. But in regard to vampires, Mr. Standish, that is exactly what i am saying."

They stared at each other for a moment, Montreux carefully watching Ezra's every expression. The gambler studied him keenly for a minute, then swung his legs over the side of the bed in a determined manner.

"Then, sir, I must sympathize with your deluded state and bid you good day," he said firmly, setting the bottle on the table and getting to his feet. No sooner did he stand up then he staggered a bit, gasping as he put one hand to his eyes.

Montreux was at his side at once, holding his elbow to steady him. "I know it's hard to believe, Mr. Standish–"

Ezra flung him off furiously, then sat back down on the bed, dropping his head into one hand and rubbing his eyes. "For God's sake, just tell me what's happening to me!" he pleaded angrily. "I feel as if I'm going mad!"

"It's not madness, Ezra," Montreux said quietly as he stood over him. "It's awareness, the only real awareness mankind has ever been granted. But we are not part of mankind any longer, my friend; we are above it, as far as the stars are above the earth. I know the legends are true, Mr. Standish, because I am living proof of it. And now, so are you."

Ezra's head snapped up, and for a long moment he stared at Montreux with eyes full of shock and disbelief.

"You're a lunatic," he whispered, and forced himself to his feet, pushing past Montreux towards the door. He stumbled and reached out, grabbing a marble–topped dresser by its edge and steadying himself, gasping. Sweat was beading on his brow.

Montreux moved carefully to stand behind him. "It's a shock, I know," he said in a soothing voice, "but you know it's true. You're not part of the dying mass of humanity outside those windows, Ezra. You no longer have to fear time; you no longer have a soul, or the bothersome conscience that goes with it. Search yourself, Ezra, and accept it. It will be your first step to liberation."

Ezra stood still, one hand still clutching the edge of the dresser, hearing him but still struggling to comprehend what he was being told. As Montreux watched, the gambler lifted his eyes to the large mirror mounted on the furniture before him.

His eyes met only emptiness. There was no reflection, either of him or of Montreux who stood behind him.

Ezra stared, amazed and dumbfounded, his green eyes wide. One hand slowly came up and gingerly touched the rough spot on his neck, on the right side of his windpipe, where two small, round wounds were rapidly healing.

"This can't be real," he murmured in a rough whisper, dropping his head to gaze with unseeing eyes at the floor.

"Don't fight it, Ezra," Montreux urged, seeing his comrade's expression of deep confusion. "Some would call it a curse, but you'll find it makes life much easier to bear. I understand you, Ezra, better than you might suppose; I know you have been plagued by doubts and uncertainties. But examine those questions now, Ezra; you will find the answers to them easy to find and understand. There is nothing holding you back now from attaining all you long for. All you have to do is accept your new life and all that it offers you."

The gambler didn't move, but Montreux saw his eyes flicker.

"You will gain the ability too, Ezra, the capacity to sense the thoughts of other men," Montreux continued in his soft, hypnotic voice. "I know how trapped you've felt here, frustrated and unable to fulfill your ambitions. Those barriers are gone now; you may do whatever you please to gain the fortune you seek. You need no longer concern yourself with the welfare of other men, for you see them in their true pitiful light. You no longer have to deny your own wants and desires; you can have them all, with no regrets! It's what you've always dreamed of–take it!"

For a long time Ezra didn't move, standing perfectly still with his head bowed before the empty mirror. Montreux could see that his eyes were open, his mind working furiously, and waited to see how the gambler would react.

Several minutes passed. Outside, horses trotted by, carriages rattled down the dirt road, voices rose and fell in passing conversation-all unheeded by the two figures in the room. The still air was moved by nothing except the gentle ticking of the delicate mantle clock.

Very slowly, Ezra finally lifted his head, his brow furrowed in amazement. He no longer appeared angry, only surprised and, to a large degree, relieved.

"I must admit," he whispered, "the idea is somewhat difficult to accept, but...there seems to be little point in denying the truth of it. I cannot refute the evidence of what I see and feel."

"The adjustment always takes some time, Ezra," Montreux said sympathetically. "But you will find it worth the effort."

Ezra stepped away from the dresser. "This is a rather severe adjustment, my friend," he remarked. "However, having heard your words, I must admit it does not seem so unwelcome, and this clarity of mind is...most astonishing."

The other man laughed a little and folded his arms. He had expected such a response; the part of Ezra Standish that would have been horrified at this turn of events - the gambler's human soul - was gone now, replaced by pure, dark rationality and impulses long held back by the powerful chains of conscience. Those restraints had now been lifted, and like all newborn vampires, Ezra would revel in the freedom such a condition provided.
"There, you see?" Montreux said aloud in a fatherly voice. "Not so bad, is it?"

Ezra shook his head, an amazed smile tugging at his lips. His words were slowly spoken as he regarded his newfound insight. "It's–well, Mr. Montreux, you have no idea how turned around my matters have been of late, but now–it all seems so clear. It's...quite remarkable." He blinked a few times, his voice hushed with surprise.

"That, my friend, is because you are thinking with your head and not your heart," Montreux replied in a lively tone. "We have no hearts, you and I, but I haven't missed mine and I'm certain you won't miss yours. It gets in the way of pleasure, of achieving what we truly deserve."

Ezra nodded and ran one hand through his hair as he turned and stepped away from the mirror. "That it does," he said fervently. "Lord–when I think how I've wasted my time here, let opportunities pass me by on account of my damned conscience–it all seems so foolish now–"

Montreux sat down and held up one perfectly manicured hand. "No need for regrets, Ezra, you've got all of eternity to make up for lost time. Wealth, power, revenge, all are in your reach now, and you should be planning your future."

But Ezra was too restless to sit down; he was pacing back and forth now, his green eyes bright. "Yes, but you have no idea the wrongs I have suffered in this Godforsaken wasteland," he said as he walked. "I have borne them all quietly before, but Lord! Now I see what a fool I've been. Why on earth did I agree to this damnable job?"

Montreux looked at him, slightly startled. "Job?"

Ezra stopped, sighed, waved his hand dismissively. "Yes–I'm currently employed by this shriveled excuse for a Judge to keep an eye on this miserable town. For a dollar a day! Was I insane?"

The elder vampire sat up, puzzled. "You mean, you're the sheriff here?"

"No, no," was the impatient reply as Ezra resumed his pacing. "There are six other men as well. We were hired together. How deluded I was to think that I was actually benefiting from that arrangement! I see it all now. It's been a colossal mistake."

Montreux was frowning, rubbing his lower lip with the slender index finger of his right hand. "These men may pose a problem, Ezra," he said at length. "I mean to be in San Francisco by the week's end, and they may try to stop us from leaving."

Ezra paused and considered this, then shook his head. "I assure you, they mean nothing to me anymore," he replied. "I suppose once I was sentimental enough to think we may have had some sort of friendship together, but now that merely seems to be a sad illusion." He let out a laugh and touched his forehead with one hand. "Lord! This new awareness is most astounding."

"As long as you have no compunction against killing them if necessary," Montreux said easily, sitting back with a small smile.

"Not in the slightest," was the prompt and bitter reply. "I can see now that they have only been abusing my services and preventing me from obtaining what is rightfully mine. I have endured their petty insults and mistrust and received nothing valuable in return. Now it would seem a little payback may be in order."

He smiled, and Montreux relaxed as he studied Ezra's expression. He saw what he wanted to see there, the beginnings of a totally ruthless nature, the green eyes hard and without any hint of compassion or humanity. This one had been a success; now all they had to do was get out of town.

"Excellent!" Montreux said aloud, sitting up. "You should rest now, Ezra, and I'll explain everything to you. We are strong but not invulnerable, and it would be best to leave town with as little attention drawn to ourselves as possible. You must break your employ at once."

Ezra sat down on the bed, his expression cold. "That will not be difficult," he promised, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "I have quite a few things I would like to say to Mr. Larabee, now that I see him for the cowardly bastard he is. And that sanctimonious darky Jackson as well..."

"However you manage it, as long as you do not arouse suspicion," Montreux advised. He glanced at the light leaking around the curtains. "The sun will be down soon, and I find myself quite famished. Perhaps when we are through here, you may tell me the places in town where the forgotten go and are not missed?"

Ezra peered at him, complete understanding in his soulless green eyes. Slowly he nodded, his face expressionless.

"Rest assured there are numerous back alleys here, and many drifters no one pays attention to," he said.

He almost looked eager, Montreux decided, but he wouldn't let Ezra in on the feasting just yet; it was all still too new for him. The cattle's blood in the bottle would satisfy him for now, but the time would come when Ezra would be unable to control the killing urge now growing unnoticed inside him. Montreux had to admit he was looking forward to that; there was something thrilling about watching a novice make his first kill. Perhaps it would be one of his friends; now that would be perfect.

"I rely on you, my friend," Montreux said aloud. "Now let us begin. I have much to tell you about the eternity which now lies in your grasp."

Ezra nodded, and without even thinking about it reached over and picked up the dark blue bottle from the bedside table. Montreux noticed this and smiled inside; they always succumbed, in the end. Some of them fought, some went mad, but there was no denying at last what the truth was, and what they had become.

He settled back in the expensively upholstered chair and began Ezra's orientation.


Vin sighed to himself as he trotted around the town's perimeter. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The cool wind tugged lazily at his long brown curls as he glanced up at the full moon shining brightly overhead. The patrol had been quiet so far–certainly not much was happening here among the desert rocks and sagebrush which lurked just beyond the efforts of civilization–but his hunter's instincts were too restless to allow him to relax.

He gave a gentle touch of the spurs to Sire, who hastened himself a bit more as they both circled the town. Vin's sharp blue eyes scanned the area, looking for any hint of trouble, hoping to find the reason behind his strange sense of nervous anticipation.

A rider appeared on the town's outskirts, and for a moment Vin tensed. Then the figure drew closer, and the tracker's anxiety relaxed. It was Josiah.

The preacher was riding at a slow pace, and as he drew near to Vin it became increasingly apparent that the preacher was in a thoughtful mood. The other man felt oddly relieved at Josiah's presence; the eerie feeling which had dogged him all night seemed slightly alleviated by the preacher's company.

"Evenin', Josiah," Vin called when his friend was close enough. "Things gettin' too quiet in town?"

The other man looked up slowly, as if coming out of a deep state of contemplation. Vin saw a slight smile spread across his comrade's weary face. "Evenin', Vin," Josiah replied in a congenial but tired tone. "Town's just fine, just...felt the need to ride an' think a bit."

Vin nodded, shifting in his saddle. "Picked the right place t'do it," he said, glancing again at the deserted landscape. "Even the jackrabbits ain't hoppin' tonight."

Josiah chuckled. "Sounds right perfect," he observed softly, picking up his reins. With a nod, they parted, Josiah to ride and think and Vin to continue his patrol.

Several minutes later Vin was riding by the town's northern border when a sound reached his ear. He reined Sire in quickly and listened, one hand straying silently for his sawed–off Winchester. He had heard that grunting, snuffling noise often in his career as a tracker and hunter: it was soft but unmistakable.

A large animal was feeding nearby.

Vin looked around quickly, the weapon drawn now; if a mountain lion or other dangerous animal had come this close to Four Corners, he'd have to hunt it down and kill it before it began preying on the townsfolk. The noises continued, guttural snarls mixed with more muffled sounds.

After a few moments he saw it, dark and hunched over on a rock ledge fifty feet away and half–hidden by some brush. Swiftly and gracefully he dismounted, the primed gun firmly held in his hands as he inched forward, eager to survey his prey before deciding how best to bring it down.

It didn't look like a mountain lion, he decided as he drew closer; it was larger and had what looked like white fur. A wolf perhaps; if the brush wasn't in the way he could see more clearly. It was bent over its catch, so intent on its meal that it didn't notice Vin's approach. Whatever it was, it was too close to the town for Vin's liking.

He lifted the gun, preparing to take aim.

Suddenly the animal paused in its feeding, and Vin tensed; he'd been noticed. The creature made a snorting grunt of angered surprise, and Vin saw its head turn and look at him through the brush.

No you don't, Vin thought, and quickly brought the gun to his eye to aim and fire.

He heard the animal growl, and then watched with astonishment as it began to stand in a perfectly human manner.

His blue eyes widened a bit as he stared at the crouched figure. That ain't no mountain lion, he realized, but pushed aside his surprise to focus on his target.

The creature let out a loud snarl, and suddenly Vin felt something strike him full force, knocking him to the ground and sending his gun spinning from his hands. The pain was overwhelming, and for a moment Vin thought he'd been shot. But it wasn't concentrated in one area; the agony consumed his entire body, and he found himself barely able to move beneath its crushing weight. He tried to lift his head and open his eyes, but something was immobilizing him, pinning him to the ground.

Vin grunted and struggled to breathe. Everything had gone quiet, and through the thudding of the blood in his ears Vin discerned a new sound. Footsteps, coming closer, and a smell he recognized, the stench of human blood.

Dammit, he's coming after me, he realized, but he was powerless to even open his eyes.

Then another, much more welcome noise reached his ears, coming up fast behind him. It was the pounding of hoofbeats.

"Vin!" Josiah's voice yelled out. A gunshot split the air, followed closely by another.

The assailant's footsteps stopped; Vin heard him give a furious sound of surprise and anguish. There was a rushing noise, and the suffocating weight lifted off of Vin so suddenly that the tracker gasped in relief. Gulping for air, he lifted his head as soon as its spinning stopped and looked around.

The creature was gone.

"Vin!"

Vin took another deep breath and rolled over to see Josiah trotting up quickly, a smoking gun in one hand.

"Mighty good timin' there, Josiah," Vin gasped, dragging himself to his knees.

"Rabbits started hoppin', huh?" Josiah replied. "You all in one piece?"

"Hell, yeah, 'cept my head feels about ready to bust open," Vin groaned as he got painfully to his feet. "Did you get 'im?"

Josiah quickly dismounted. "Think so. Not sure where he went off to, it was like he just disappeared. I thought for sure you'd been shot."

"Sure felt like it," was the panting reply as Vin retrieved his hat and firearm. As he holstered the weapon he glanced over at the killer's victim and tensed. "Aw, hell! Look at this, Josiah."

The preacher came over to where Vin was standing. Before them lay the bloodied corpse of a man, not much past Josiah's age and wearing the tattered rags of a drifter. His white skin and the copious amounts of spilled blood pointed to the inevitable conclusion.

"Lord above," Josiah groaned sympathetically. "Looks like we got a killer on the loose."

"Yup," Vin nodded with a disgusted sigh. he stepped forward, undisturbed by the grisly sight, and took a closer look. "Seen this guy around town. Caught him beggin' outside of Mrs. Potter's last week."

"Well, looks like he's past worryin' about his earthly wants," was the preacher's melancholy response. "Best go get Nathan an' the undertaker an' start spreadin' the word for folks to be careful."

"He ain't just a killer," Vin said in a low voice, his expression grim. "I swear, Josiah, when I first saw all this–I could swear he was eatin' the body. Thought it was a mountain lion with a dog or somethin'. Ain't never seen nothin' like it."

Josiah's face was sad as they hurried back to their mounts. "Neither have I, Vin, but man's capacity for evil is such that I can't say I'm too surprised to hear it."

They swiftly mounted their horses and galloped back to town.


Buck was in a light–hearted mood as he pushed through the doors of the saloon. It was a beautiful autumn evening, and he was determined to find a lovely lady to take a walk in the moonlight with–and perhaps indulge in an even more interesting activity later on.

The crowd in the saloon was in full swing, and Buck took quick stock of the situation as he headed for the bar. Ezra was playing poker as usual, and seemed to be having an excellent–and quite lucrative–time. Buck gave him a glance as he passed, noticing the wide grin on his friend's face as he raked in another large pot. It was great to see his comrade so successful, but something in that smile bothered him; maybe it was because Ezra looked so pale. But then, maybe he was still feeling poorly from being shot.

Buck quickly shrugged it off and took his eyes elsewhere as he slid up to the bar.

"Hey there, Inez darlin'," he cooed to the pretty dark–haired woman standing behind the counter, "how about a whiskey for your dashin' hero?"

Inez smiled at him and pulled out a bottle and a shot glass. "Certainly, senor, when he arrives," she retorted, "but until he does I will be happy to pour one for you."

"That's a right chilly attitude there, senorita," Buck said with a jaunty grin as he handed her a couple of coins. "Maybe a walk in the moonlight later would warm you up a bit."

Inez gathered the coins with a good–tempered sigh. "Believe me, senor Buck, after closing up the saloon, sweeping the floors, counting the money and doing the books, I get plenty warm. Volunteer to wash dishes, and perhaps we'll talk."

She grinned and walked away, and Buck chuckled as he picked up the whiskey.

"Hey, Buck."

Buck turned to see JD standing at his elbow, an empty mug in his hand.

"Evenin', kid," Buck replied as he down the shot. "You find all them stories you were lookin' for?"

JD nodded. "I'll say! You should read some of them books Mrs. Travis gave me. This is gonna be one Halloween the kids at the party won't never forget. Oh, hey Inez, could I have another milk, please?"

Buck sighed as he leaned back against the bar, surveying the room. "Looks like a wild night."

"Yeah, me an' Nathan are sittin' with Chris over there." He pointed at the corner by the fireplace, where the healer and Chris were in deep discussion.

"That's great, JD, but I'm lookin' for some livelier conversation tonight, if ya get my drift," the other man said with a smile. "'Sides, I'd have thought you'd all be playin' poker with Ezra."

JD sighed and shook his head, a puzzled expression in his hazel eyes. "Well, we were, but he cleaned us all out."

Buck chuckled. "Aw hell, JD, that ain't surprisin', this is Ezra we're–"

"No, Buck, it wasn't like that," JD cut him off, and Buck heard the serious tone beneath the younger man's words. "It was–well, you know when we usually play, we're pretty friendly with each other?"

Buck nodded, looking over to where Ezra was gleefully gathering up another pot, much to the genuine dismay of the men around him.

"It wasn't like that tonight," JD continued in a softer voice, following Buck's gaze. "He beat the hell out of us, an' acted like he enjoyed doin' it–I mean, really enjoyed it! An' some of the things he was sayin', real cold and mean. It was like all he wanted to do was take our money an' make us go away."

Buck thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Hell, JD, I reckon ol' Ezra's just in some funny sort of a mood, is all. You know how he can get when the cards ain't goin' right."

"But they are goin' right, Buck," JD observed, "so that don't explain it."

They watched as one of the losers, a ragged–looking farmer, made an obvious plea to Ezra. They couldn't hear the gambler's response over the din of the saloon, but it was clear from Ezra's furious expression, and the farmer's shocked and frightened reaction, that his entreaty had been brutally repulsed. Dejected, the farmer put on his hat and left the saloon while Ezra pocketed his money with a wide gold–toothed smile.

"There, you see? Even Ezra wouldn't take a man's last dime," JD said in a worried tone. "You think he's sick or somethin'?"

Buck studied his friend carefully, contemplating the sight. As a new group sat down to the poker table, Buck had to admit that the gleam in Ezra's eyes was a good deal harder than normal. But then, maybe this was what Ezra was like when he was winning big; who knew?

"I think we should go have a sit an' just keep an eye on things," Buck said, and they made their way over to the corner table.

They waded through the crowd towards the corner table, Buck giving his friends a smile as he approached.

"Hey, boys, where's the ladies?" he said in greeting.

"Ain't no ladies here, Buck," Nathan sighed, leaning on his folded arms. "Just a bunch of poor folk."

"Yeah, I heard," Buck muttered, sitting down. "Guess we'll have to hit Ezra up for drinks later on."

"I'm feelin' like hittin' him up for somethin'," Chris said firmly, his green eyes angry. "Nathan was tellin' me Ezra didn't go out on patrol last night."

Buck looked at Nathan, surprised; Ezra griped about doing patrol but never shunned it. "That a fact?"

"Yup," the healer said in a faintly irritated tone. "I went to saddle up my horse to replace 'im an' Chaucer was still in the stall. He wasn't rode all night."

"Maybe he's still mad he got shot a few weeks ago," JD offered as he put down his mug of milk and picked up one of his books which lay in a small pile beside him on the table. "He's lookin' pretty pale."

Nathan's expression was doubtful. "Ezra's been shot lots of times, an' worse'n that," the former slave pointed out.

"Maybe he's just bein' a jackass," Chris suggested calmly, reaching for his shot of whiskey. "Lord knows that's happened before."

JD sadly shrugged and began flipping through his book, clearly unhappy with the topic.

"Chris!"

Josiah's voice cut through the thick smoky air of the saloon. All of the men lifted their heads as he and Vin came hurrying through the crowds towards them. JD noticed that the smile had faded from Ezra's face as Josiah passed, and he seemed to wince in pain.

'That's weird,' the young man said to himself, but his full attention was soon given to their two newly arrived comrades.

"What is it?" Chris asked, his green eyes sharp.

"Killer's on the loose, it looks like," Vin replied, one hand resting on his Winchester as he talked. "Got some local drifter an' damn near got me."

"Get a look at him?" Buck asked, sitting up with a serious gleam in his blue eyes.

"The darkness made it hard to see," Josiah explained. "He musta got scared off when I rode up. Tall man with long white hair was all I could make out."

"Hey, I think I saw that guy last night!" JD exclaimed. "He was ridin' through the town."

"Probably lookin' for a victim," Vin said with a nod. He looked at Nathan. "Undertaker an' his partner are out gettin' the body. Reckon they could use your help."

The healer stood with a sigh. "I'm gettin' too used to this. Was it bad?"

"Bad enough," Josiah said quietly.

"All right," Chris said, standing up. "We'll–"

The sound of a chair being loudly pushed back cut him off, and they all turned to see a rotund, well–dressed city man with a balding head and white mustache glaring at the calm and seated Ezra. The two men were exchanging sharp and heated words, the city man pointing at Ezra several times.

"Looks like he might need some help if a fight breaks out," Buck murmured; the word "cheating" was clearly audible.

"We'll take care of this," Chris said in an angry tone, just as annoyed at Ezra as at the city man. "Josiah, you an' Nathan an' Vin go ahead. We'll meet you over at the undertakers an' figure out a plan."

"Right," Josiah nodded, and he and his two friends walked out quickly, barely even noticing the altercation at the poker table. As Josiah passed Ezra, JD saw the gambler barely pause in his argument and flinch as if he'd been stabbed.

"We better break this up before it gets ugly," Chris said, looking at JD and Buck before turning to walk over to the poker table.

"Yeah, don't want to scare all the pretty gals away," Buck said, right on his old friend's heels with JD close behind.

"You, sir, have been cheating this entire game," the city man was saying loudly, his round face livid. "I demand my money be returned!"

"Sir, I could not care less about your demands," was Ezra's even response as he lounged in his chair. "The fact remains you are a sorry excuse for a poker player, and lost fair and square."

"Need some help, Ezra?" Chris said as he came up behind the gambler, subtly brushing his long black duster away from his hips to reveal his gunbelt.

Ezra barely glanced at him. "Not unless you would care to lose some more of your money, Mr. Larabee," he said.

The city man glanced up at Chris. "Did he cheat you, too?"

Ezra laughed; it was an ugly sound, full of derision. "Sir, I hardly need to cheat when faced with the likes of Mr. Larabee's talents. They are as pathetic as your own."

Chris shot the gambler a furious look. "Careful, Ezra, or I might just let him shoot you."

"He is certainly welcome to try," Ezra said in a jovial voice as his cold green eyes studied his accuser. "His aim is likely as miserable as his card–playing. I would advise you, sir, to return to your obvious talents–growing fat, old and bald."

The city man's eyes grew wide and he stepped forward, one hand going for the small gun he wore on his hip.

Chris's hand was on his weapon in a eyeblink, but before he could react Ezra had leapt out of his chair. With one hand he wrenched his opponent's arm behind his back, pinning it painfully, and with the other he held the gleaming barrel of his Remington shoved beneath the fat man's chin. The city man was paralyzed with fear as sweat broke out on his forehead.

"I must express my heartfelt gratitude to you, sir," Ezra said through gritted teeth as he pushed the gun even further into the man's flesh. "I was simply dying for you to do that."

He cocked the gun and put his finger on the trigger.

"Ezra!" JD yelled, shocked.

Chris lunged forward, grabbing Ezra's wrist and forcing the gun away from the city man's throat. The traveler gasped and staggered back, coughing and rubbing his neck.

"He's insane!" the man choked, before grabbing his hat and running out of the door.

Ezra watched him go, his face wreathed in fury, and tore himself from Chris's grasp, whirling around to face his comrade. "How dare you intervene in a private matter, Larabee!" he cried, his handsome face livid.

In a few steps Chris was right next to Ezra, staring straight into his face with green eyes filled with rage. One hand grabbed Ezra's lapel, holding it in an iron grip. "Have you gone crazy, pullin' your gun on a civilian?" he said in a angry whisper.

Ezra looked down in surprise at the fist clutching his jacket. One hand shot up and grabbed Chris's wrist. "Unhand me, sir!"

Ezra's grip was as cold as ice, but Chris barely noticed this, so intent was he on repirmanding Ezra.

"Not by a damned sight," Chris shot back, pulling Ezra an inch closer and looking straight into his eyes. "You have any idea what would've happened if you'd killed him? The Judge'd have you swingin' by morning, an' the rest of us would get run out of here on a rail!"

Ezra's expression was growing lethal, his green eyes round and staring. "I don't give a damn what that shriveled excuse for a justice says," he replied in a deadly drawl. "I am warning you, sir, release me at once."

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Chris demanded, giving Ezra a shake. "You can't go shootin' every stupid bastard who gets under your skin!"

"Yes, well, you're certainly the one to preach that, Mr. Larabee," Ezra chuckled. "How many stupid bastards have you put into the ground?"

Buck saw Chris's eyes flicker. Chris's past as a dangerous gunslinger was not something he was happy about, and none of their number would dare throw it into his face like that, unless he was looking to get punched in the face.

For a moment Chris's mouth twisted in barely suppressed rage. He fought it back, however, and simply tightened his grip on Ezra's lapel.

"I'm gonna be puttin' you on the floor if you don't watch it," he snarled.

"A miserable drunk such as yourself? I think that highly unlikely," Ezra said, his green eyes blazing as a cold smile twitched the end of his lips. His expression was taunting and eager, daring Chris to begin the fight.

Chris saw it too, and gave his head a short shake. He didn't want to fight Ezra but the gambler was just asking for it. "Ezra–"

The other man inclined his head a bit, smiling. "Perhaps you're too much of a coward to throw the first punch? That doesn't surprise me, most bullies are. So allow me."

The words were barely out of his mouth when he slammed his fist viciously into Chris's stomach. The entire crowd watching gasped at the force of it. Chris coughed and doubled over, and Ezra wrenched the gunslinger's hand from his collar and twisted the arm behind Chris's back. His teeth clenched with rage, he grabbed Chris by the collar with his other hand, lifted him up a little, then slammed him face–first onto the poker table.

The table flipped over, and the crowd yelled and scattered as poker chips and cigar butts flew across the air. Chris collapsed to the ground, gagging and stunned.

"Okay, pard, that's enough!" Buck announced, stepping forward, his gun drawn. It was plain from the fiery gleam in Ezra's eye that he had not finished with Chris.

Ezra looked up at Buck, not the slightest bit intimidated, and in one lightning move lashed out, sending his fist crashing across Buck's jaw. The blow was considerable, and as Buck reeled from it, Ezra grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him with tremendous force against the nearest wall.

"Buck!" JD cried, watching in horror as Buck sagged to the floor, unconscious, blood running from his mouth. He stared at Ezra as he passed, too aghast to speak, but Ezra ignored him.

Chris was moving slowly to his knees, blood flecking his face and shirt.

"All right, Ezra, you want to fight–" he sputtered, giving his former colleague an incensed glare.

"If only you were an adequate opponent, Mr. Larabee," Ezra replied, before driving his foot viciously into Chris's ribs. Chris gasped and bent over, but as soon as he did so Ezra reached down and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching one arm behind him again as he hauled him up to his feet. Chris struggled, but Ezra's grip was as tight as iron bands.

"Buck? Hey Buck!" JD urged, trying to rouse his friend and keeping one eye on the fight. The rest of the saloon crowd was watching with varying expressions of horror and amusement; no one moved to break it up.

"Just as I suspected, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said, shaking his head as he tightened his hold on Chris's hair and arm. "You are as wretched at fisticuffs as you are at everything else. Perhaps if you had been more of a man, your family might still be alive. But I suppose we shall never know."

Chris clawed at Ezra with his free arm. "You son of a bitch," he panted, barely able to breath.

Ezra sighed, a look of mock sadness creeping into his eyes. "Yes, regrettably, that is true. But don't worry, I'll be paying her a visit soon as well. When I'm through with you, of course."

He pushed Chris away, releasing his hold on him. Chris stumbled into the crowd who instantly backed away, leaving a wide berth. Chris tried to stand, blinking against the blood and the pain, but before he could gather his wits Ezra charged him once again, driving his fist savagely across Chris's bleeding face.

The gunslinger staggered and turned, his fists balled, but before he had completed his move Ezra grabbed his arm by the wrist, pulling it outward as he took hold of Chris's shoulder with his other hand. With a crash he slammed Chris down on the nearest table and held him there, ignoring the beer mugs and glasses which went spinning to the floor with a tremendous shattering noise.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, Larabee," he whispered, his face glistening with sweat. "All the injustice I've had to endure at your hands, the ill treatment and disrespect–" He gritted his teeth at the thought. "I remember everything, sir," he hissed into Chris's ear, his Southern drawl soft and deadly, "and it is my intention that you will remember it for a long time as well."

He gripped Chris's arm firmly and gave it a quick and vicious twist. There was a sharp cracking noise, and Chris uttered a strangled yell of pain.

A sadistic smile on his sweat–soaked face, Ezra flung Chris's dislocated arm from his grasp and hauled him off of the table, taking a firm hold of his collar. Chris choked, his good arm reaching up to weakly grab a handful of Ezra's shirt as he stared at him with confused, foggy eyes.

"This has grown quite boring, I'd rather hoped you'd put up a bit of a fight," Ezra lamented before punching Chris once more in the gut. As Chris doubled over, Ezra spun him around, trapping his throat in the crook of one elbow.

"You'll be very happy to know I'm not going to kill you," Ezra whispered in Chris's ear as he tightened his grip. "I want you to suffer as much as you have made me suffer. Fair enough, wouldn't you say?"

Chris's face was turning red, and he grappled at Ezra's arm with his free hand as he gasped for air. Ezra merely grinned and gave him a quick pull upward, choking him even more.

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Larabee," Ezra finally said with a small smile when it appeared Chris was on the verge of passing out, "I quit."

Chris gasped a little, gurgled, then shuddered as his eyes rolled up into his head. There was a small groan, and the gunslinger's body went limp. For a few moments Ezra hung on to it, then released his grip and stepped away, letting Chris fall to the ground in a tangled, bloody heap.


At that moment Buck moaned and opened his eyes to see JD crouching next to him.

"What's goin' on, kid?" he grunted, rubbing his bloody jaw.

JD opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Ezra stepped in front of them, hat in hand, sweaty and spattered with Chris's blood and looking immensely pleased with himself.

The younger man swallowed, anger flaring in his wide eyes.
"Ezra, what–why–"

"Kindly forgo your inarticulate questions, Mr. Dunne," Ezra replied, putting on his hat. "If anyone here tries to follow me you will meet a similar fate to that of Mr. Larabee's."

Buck struggled to a sitting position, wiping his mouth with one hand. "Ezra, you damn crazy fool! Have you lost your dang senses?"

Ezra laughed. "No, Mr. Wilmington, I've found them at last, and am ending our association in a much happier and richer state than when I was participating in it. I would bid farewell to the others, but I detest sentimental good–byes, so do pass them along for me, won't you?"

With that, he tapped the brim of his hat and walked out the saloon.

JD helped Buck to his feet, his mouth hanging open. "God, Buck, I never seen Ezra fight like that!"

"Never thought he'd be able to take Chris down, that's for sure," Buck muttered, going to his friend's side. Chris lay motionless and bloody, bruises beginning to form on his face, his dislocated arm limp at his side. Sweat pasted his blonde hair to his face, and one eye was beginning to blacken.

"He still breathin'?" JD asked anxiously.

After a moment, Buck nodded, his handsome face lined with deep worry.

"Better get Nathan on the double," he said. "An' find Ezra too, so we can find out what the hell's goin' on!"


With a light heart and bouncing step Ezra strode quickly towards the hotel, a pleased smile on his pale face. He had never felt so glorious.

Quickly he smoothed his clothes, putting every fold back in its proper place with a satisfied smile. Beating Larabee felt so wonderful; why hadn't he done it ages ago?

Because you were blinded by sentimentality and conscience, came the fast response. But that was no longer the case, and he reveled in his new understanding.

It was all so obvious, he marveled as he went down the street. How muddled his life had been when he had allowed trivial considerations to get in the way of his thinking, and how clear it was now! He felt like a new man. His former colleagues meant nothing; his mother meant nothing; all previous ties meant nothing now. There were only his desires, and the ways to satisfy them, and that was all. How could he have been so deluded, before?

Everything made sense now, and the liberation was intoxicating. There was no more equivocating, no more confusion, no more wondering about how to live his life and what path to take. The weight of his past was gone, replaced by cold certainty of purpose. He felt young and amazingly invigorated; every ache and pain was gone, replaced by limitless vitality. And he had plans for where his new strength would take him.

He would be rich; that was assured. Ezra felt a swell of anticipation surge through him and smiled. There were many ways to amass a fortune, Montreux had promised him, when one was endowed with such talents as theirs. With no concerns about morality to hold him back, the task would be simple, and Ezra would enjoy every minute of it. He'd earned it, after all.

A few townspeople walked by up the street, and Ezra glanced at them. It was so different, the way he saw them now, all of them, but it was so right as well. They were pitiful creatures, really, short–lived and short–sighted. Suitable only for one thing.

Ezra thought of the dark bottles in Montreux's room, and hurried his pace. A strange hunger was building inside of him, and only the substance in those bottles were capable of quelling the urge. Soon, he instinctively knew, even the bottles would not be enough, but that was fine. This was his life now, and it was everything he'd wanted, so becoming a killer seemed a very small price to pay and one that bothered him not at all.

He stepped into the lobby and hastened up the stairs. Of course, Montreux had told him, this new existence did have drawbacks, but his excitement was such that he easily dismissed them. Direct sunlight would kill him, but Ezra needed no urging to avoid the day; he had always loved the night and could easily live solely within its boundaries. He was damned now, having lost his soul, but what of that? Immortality lent a certain pointlessness to worrying about hell, and Ezra knew he would not be foolish enough to allow himself to be killed. Besides, he was having too much fun to care very much.

Now, he mused as he reached the top of the stairs and headed down the thickly carpeted hall, he could live the life he'd always dreamed of. He could revel in his selfishness, take all he wanted with no excuses or guilt, indulge in every whim and venture no matter how vain or greedy. Oh, the cons he could pull, the scams he could organize, now that he did not have to think about anyone's welfare but his own. He could hardly wait to get started.

He found Montreux's room and knocked. After a few moments, the doorknob softly turned and the smoothly painted door swung open.

Ezra took two steps inside, looked at Montreux, and stopped in surprise.

His mentor's face was even whiter than usual, and his shirt was gone. One hand was pressing a blood–soaked cloth to his chest; his fine trousers were stained a deep red, and his long white hair was disheveled and flecked with blood.

"Good Lord!" Ezra exclaimed as Montreux closed the door.

"Don't worry, Ezra," Montreux replied in a weary voice as he walked stiffly back to the bed. On the bedspread lay his blood–soaked shirt and a small tray of medical utensils, as well as a metal dish containing two smashed bullets. Slowly Montreux seated himself on the bed and checked beneath the cloth. "Have you succeeded in leaving your employ?"

"I would say so," the gambler said with a tiny smile, coming forward. "I doubt they will be wanting me around much after tonight. But–what in the world happened?"

"Oh," Montreux spat, beginning to wind a bandage around himself, "merely a couple of bullets from a priest's gun. Duecedly painful wounds, but survivable for our kind. He came upon me just as I was about to take care of some meddlesome tracker."

A chuckle escaped from Ezra's throat as he shook his head. "That could only be Vin Tanner. He can be quite a bother at times. How were you able to subdue him with no weapon?"

Montreux snorted as if the answer were plain. "It is quite simple for our kind, Ezra. One of our most effective weapons is the ability to cause our prey crippling pain and blindness from a distance; it makes them quite easy to catch. All by using the mind, you see. It takes a lot of practice, but with your intellect I'm sure you'll master it in no time."

The gambler cocked his head. "Aren't you concerned I might use this weapon against you?"

His sire tossed away the notion with a wave of one graceful hand. "We are too strong to be affected by such powers, Ezra; it is only useful against those still cursed to be human. If you tried such a thing on me–or if I tried it on you–it would simply slide off like water. It also," he noted in a more annoyed tone as he neared the end of the bandage, "does not work against those who are ordained by God. Otherwise I would not have been shot by that blasted old priest!" He spat the final words out with immense disgust.

"It must have been Josiah Sanchez," Ezra murmured, rubbing his lip thoughtfully with one finger. "One of my former colleagues. He passed me in the saloon tonight, it caused the most annoying pain."

"You will find it the same with all holy objects," Montreux explained as he tied off the bandage. "God is the enemy now, Ezra, as well as everything touched by his servants. Proximity to them will only hurt and weaken you, so be advised to keep as much distance from them as possible."

Ezra grinned and leaned on the bedpost. "That should not prove difficult; the plans I am currently formulating have very little to do with the Church. Do you require any assistance?"

The other man had stood and was very carefully putting on a new, clean shirt. "Not at the moment, Ezra, and it would probably be wise if you and I did not meet for the day or two it will take me to recover. That tracker may have seen me, and the priest certainly did, and if they suspect our association things may become complicated. It is difficult for us to die but not impossible, and as we are both damned I am eager to avoid that fate as long as I can."

He finished buttoning the shirt, his violet eyes thoughtful as he picked up a fine silk vest from a chair nearby and slowly shrugged it on. "I should have most of my strength back in two days," he continued. "Meet me outside of town by the large split rock at dusk on Saturday evening, and we will depart for San Francisco. We will be joining some of my colleagues there."

Ezra sighed, a disappointed expression on his pale face. "It will be hard to bear two more days in this miserable backwater."

A wan smile flitted across Montreux's handsome features as he settled himself into an easy chair and reached for a cigar. "Oh, I won't let you be bored, Ezra; I have work for you to do. I am unable to hunt for now, and will be in need of nourishment before we travel. When you meet me Saturday evening, I should like you to not be alone. Do you understand?"

Ezra flashed his gold tooth as he smiled. "Dead or alive?"

"Alive is certainly preferable," Montreux replied as he lit the cigar, "but if you absolutely can't help yourself, don't kill him too long before we meet. I detest cold meals."

Ezra's green eyes were bright with contemplation as he walked over to where his comrade sat. "If you have no objection to taking a detour on our way to California," he mused, "I have a candidate in mind whose demise would be quite profitable."

Montreux shrugged as he tossed the spent match into the ashtray. "I have no objection in the world to gain, my friend, as long as the detour is not too great a distance," he said as gray smoke began to drift lazily around his head. "Bear in mind, however, that in my weakened state I will be unable to sense if you need assistance. You will be on your own until we meet again."

Ezra snorted slightly. "Not a problem, I assure you."

"Very well then," the other man said, taking a drag on the glowing cigar, "I'm sure we can manage a slight change in the route we take out of this wilderness. Where were you thinking of going?"

A cold smile tugged at Ezra's lips. "Have you ever heard of Tascosa?"


"You're sayin' Ezra did this?"

Nathan's incredulous voice echoed in the small clinic as he bandaged Chris's wounds. The gunslinger was conscious now, sitting up on the bed without his shirt, holding a cold, wet cloth to his swollen eye. His arm, fixed now but still extremely sore, reclined in a sling. The expression on his bruised face was one of pure fury.

"Yeah," JD exclaimed from his place in the corner, "an' he threw Buck against the wall too. It was like he went loco or somethin'."

Chris winced as Nathan checked his ribs. "I'll go loco on him when I get my hands on..oww!" He groaned and grit his teeth.

Nathan shot Chris a look of annoyance. "Already tol' you, Chris, don't go talkin'! He done all but crushed your windpipe, an' you best not be sayin' much 'til it heals up. An' don't go movin' that arm neither."

Chris looked chagrined, mouthed the word 'Shit' and sat still.

"There's somethin' under his saddle, there ain't no mistakin' that," Buck agreed from his chair near JD. A dark bruise was forming on the right side of his face. "Never got a punch like that in my whole life, an' lemme tell you I been punched by some pretty tough hombres."

The door opened, and Josiah came in, his long face scored with weariness.

Nathan glanced over at him. "Undertaker all done?"

The preacher nodded as he closed the door. "He was almost finished when you left anyway, Nate. Said he understood the livin' taking precedence over the dead, at least sometimes."

"Well, there wasn't much I could do for that drifter," the healer said as he went back to Chris. "He was plenty dead."

Josiah leaned against the wall and removed his hat, rubbing his curled graying hair with one hand. "Strange kind of death, though," he sighed. "Man lost almost all his blood, but there wasn't that much on the ground when we found him."

"Maybe he killed him somewhere else an' dragged him there to finish him off," JD offered.

Buck moaned. "Either way, looks like we got a mad dog on the loose," he said as he sat up. "We know anything about this guy?"

Josiah shrugged. "Just what I said before, he was a tall fella with long white hair. I shot at him–couldn't see clearly, but I think I might've at least winged him." He paused. "An' there was somethin' mighty odd about 'im too. A strange feelin' came over me when I was ridin' towards him, the air got real heavy an' cold like I was headin' into a thunderstorm."

"Could just be the fall weather settin' in," Buck suggested.

Josiah mulled this over. "Could be," he finally said with a nod. "Noticed it in the saloon too."

JD opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again, his hazel eyes pensive.

Silence fell as Nathan finished off the last of Chris's wrappings.

"Okay, you can go," the healer said, giving Chris a slight nudge on the shoulder. "Don't go gettin' riled until these come off, hear? I don't want to have to wrap you up again."

"No promises if I see Ezra anytime soon," was Chris's angry, rasping reply as he stood and reached for his blood–stained blue shirt. He looked over at Josiah as he very slowly pulled it on with Buck's help. "Where's Vin?"

"Went out to search the desert," Josiah said, putting his hands on his belt. "Thought maybe the killer might be out there an' wounded."

"Well, we all know how Vin likes a good hunt," Buck offered as he handed Chris his gun belt. "I say we all get some shut–eye an' tomorrow we'll see about takin' care of this lunatic we got runnin' around."

Nathan looked over at him as he began packing up. "You mean the killer or Ezra?"

"Both," Buck said seriously.

They started to file out slowly. JD and Josiah were the last to leave, wearing troubled, thoughtful expressions as they walked out into the night. The younger man appeared anxious, as if trying to decide about something important, while Josiah merely looked tired and not too optimistic that he would find rest anytime soon.

The full moon shone down on them all as they scattered into the street.


The pink blush of dawn was beginning to brush the eastern sky as Vin topped the rise just outside of town. He surveyed the area and frowned with worry, his blue eyes troubled.

It didn't feel right.

He'd hunted many animals and humans in his long career, he mused as he guided Sire down the gentle rocky embankment, but he had never come across a quarry that inspired a similar feeling to the one which now tingled his spine. He had first felt it when he came upon the killer; it was an odd, uncomfortable feeling, one of danger and death. It was clear that whatever had attacked him wasn't an animal, but a strange thought was nagging at the back of his mind that it wasn't human either.

He could still feel it, the horrible blinding pain which had struck him to the ground. No gunshot wound or animal bite had ever felt like that, heavy and agonizing, and searing his entire body at once. And then it had simply disappeared, leaving only its disturbing memory behind. There was no mark at all on his body, and yet he knew he hadn't imagined it; something had held him pinned to the ground in terrible anguish, and if it hadn't been for Josiah's appearance Vin would be dead right now.

It was all very puzzling, but Vin only mulled over the question for a few more moments before pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He was out here to track down a dangerous prey, and he could do that best by clearing his mind of all distractions, as he had always done before. If any answers could be found, he could ponder them at leisure when the danger was past. For now there was only the hunt.

Chasing all mysterious thoughts from his head, Vin studied the ground for clues, listened sharply for any sounds, kept himself keenly aware of anything which might betray the killer's hiding place. He became wholly absorbed in the search, lapsing into a familiar habit of acute awareness of everything around him.

As he scanned the landscape, a shape appeared, mounted on a dark horse and riding towards him. Vin tensed instantly, then relaxed a little as the figure neared, recognizing Ezra's red jacket. Perhaps Ezra had come to feel guilty for going off on Chris and was joining the search as a way of making amends.

Vin spurred Sire forward a bit and rode to meet his comrade. he had not gone twenty feet before hearing the sharp sound of a gunshot pierce the air. A bullet whizzed by him, so close to his face that he felt it split the air as it sped past.

Startled, Vin pulled his gun, looking around, expecting to see the killer firing at them from the rocks. Another shot was fired, nicking Vin's arm, and with a cold shock Vin realized that the person firing the gun was Ezra.

"Ezra, ya dang fool!" he cried, reining Sire in. "What'n hell–"

Ezra spurred his horse into a gallop and fired another shot, creasing Vin's shoulder and drawing blood.

"Aw hell!" Vin spat, pulling out his Winchester and firing off a round. He heard Ezra grunt, saw him reel in the saddle, and lowered the rifle with the intention of riding closer to find out what was going on. A hail of bullets stopped him; Ezra was still up and firing, despite being wounded.

Vin hesitated; what the hell was Ezra doing trying to kill him? But as he felt a bullet cut his leg he decided evasion was preferable to pursuit. Spurring Sire into a gallop, he cut a wide circle around Ezra and headed around him, intent on finding some good cover from which to observe and, if necessary, defend himself.

As he pounded over the rocks and up a small hill he heard more shots ring out and ducked down, turning occasionally to fire back. Ezra was closing in, and Vin could scarcely believe the situation. It seemed as if the gambler had truly gone insane.

He plunged down the other side of the hill and found himself in familiar territory. Before him sprawled the ruined walls of an old mission church; it was the one Josiah had been working on when they first met so long ago.

Good a place as any, Vin decided; the walls were high enough to afford an effective cover. He guided Sire through the crumbling doorway and reined in, quickly jumping out of the saddle and priming the Winchester. As he hunkered down behind a wall, he heard hoofbeats approaching, and soon Ezra appeared from around the hill.

Vin watched keenly from behind the wall, the Winchester in his hand. He saw Ezra near the mission, then slow and finally rein in. For a moment he stood still, seemingly lost in confusion, as if unable to go any farther. Even from this distance, Vin could see blood seeping onto Ezra's shirt, but the wound did not seem to be troubling the Southerner very much.

Finally Ezra turned, and Vin saw him studying the horizon; dawn was drawing close. Ezra sat for a few moments, then threw one last look at the mission, almost in regret, before sawing the white horse around and riding away into the desert.

Vin scowled, completely confused; if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, and bore the bleeding wounds, he never would have believed what just happened. Ezra had tried to kill him.

Just to be sure, Vin sat waiting behind the wall. Ten minutes passed; the sun emerged, flooding the desert with pinkish–gold newborn light. After a while Vin slowly stood, his blue eyes keeping sharp watch as he stepped into the sunlight. But Ezra seemed to have vanished.

Cautiously Vin walked over to Sire and mounted up, holding the Winchester crooked in one arm as he began the ride back to town. It was then that he realized that all the while Ezra had been chasing him, he'd had that weird sensation again, a prickling feeling of danger all over him.

Just as he had experienced when he first saw the strange white–haired killer.

Drenched in the rays of the new day, Vin rode quickly back to town.



JD sat in front of the jail, an untouched coffee mug in one hand as he idly flipped through one of his books. The street was quiet and there was little to attract the young man's attention, but a moment's observation would reveal that he wasn't totally interested in the book either. His hazel eyes scanned the pages, but they did not seem to be reading one word.

"Mornin', JD. Catchin' up on some readin'?"

He looked up to see Nathan walking towards him, looking tired but awake. JD sat up, closing the book in a slightly flustered manner.

"Mornin', doc," he muttered, setting the book aside and taking a drink of his now–cold coffee. "Naw, just...wonderin' if I'm goin' crazy. How's Chris doin'?"

Nathan eased himself down on the chair next to JD. "Won't be talkin' much for a while, but he's mendin'." he peered at his young comrade. "Why you think you goin' crazy?"

JD sighed and looked down the street at nothing in particular. Finally he shook his head. "Oh, forget it. It's all them books I'm readin', puttin' ideas in my head."

Nathan smiled. "You see a ghost or somethin'?"

JD looked over at Nathan sharply, his face slightly pale and serious. For a moment he said nothing, then waved one hand as he directed his eyes away from the healer.

"No, it wasn't that, I was just...uh...Vin?"

Nathan followed JD's gaze up the street, where Vin was trotting quickly towards the jail, the leather flaps on his buckskin jacket flapping as he rode. As he got closer both men plainly saw the blood on his clothes, and stood in surprise.

"Vin, you been shot?" Nathan asked, stepping forward.

"Was it the killer?" JD asked as Vin reined in in front of the jail.

Vin's long hair danced as he shook his head. "That damn fool Ezra tried to ambush me in the desert," he spat. "Just scratches, but ain't no doubt he aimed t'kill me."

JD let out a gasp of shock as he and Nathan both stood up.

"What's that fool cheater up to?" Nathan wondered aloud in an angry voice.

"Ain't got no idea, Nathan," Vin said, a trace of sadness in his voice. "Reckon we can try an' figure it out while you fix me up. JD?"

The young man lifted his head, an expression of amazement still frozen on his boyish features.

"See if you can't round up the others," Vin continued. "Think we best all meet up an' try to decide what we do about this before one of us gets killed."

JD nodded. "We'll see you at Nathan's," he said, and ran off towards the church.

Nathan and Vin exchanged glances, and Nathan shook his head. "Well, let's go get started," he said in a tired voice. "Sure wish Ezra wasn't bringin' me so much business. It's like he's gone plumb crazy."

"Or been crazy all along," Vin said quietly, "an' just conned us all."

They went the rest of the way to Nathan's room in silence.