Scott Dill found me yesterday. Sitting in a bar. Surrounded by men. Eating a breakfast in size and content more equitable to two hard used ranch hands than one lonesome widow. He wasn’t particularly happy. I had made him hunt me down. I had been mentioned in rumors. I was keeping questionable company. I was sitting in a bar, before noon, without anyone he would consider a chaperone.
I love Dill. He and Ian rode together on many occasions, meaning I rode with him on many occasions. He is big, he is scary, he is a dead eye with that rifle and he is the most gentle soul walking these god forsaken lands. I know that Dill will be there if I need him. We never speak of Ian, or the last time we saw him. We never speak of where he went or what he did after he found me. But that doesn’t stop him from telling me, in no uncertain terms that I’m walking dangerous paths and that I need to be careful.
No sooner had Dill left then another man took the empty chair at our table. This one was a visitor for Van Helsing. An old friend of the family to hear him talk. V.H. was skeptical, but listened carefully, taking into consideration all the man had to say. The result? Now we are hunting what they call a succubus or quite possibly a vampire. I’m hoping for the former, but it brings up odd thoughts and personal concerns. I’ve never considered it before. If Van Helsing is avowed to eradicate all monsters, will he consider me a monster if he finds out about my curse? Eradicate me as well? It is not my fault. It is something I inherited. I have never entered into a pact with a demon personally. Because someone in my family tree did so should not be held against me. Doesn’t matter that if I so choose I can suck the living soul from your body until you are right and proper dead. I suppose it also doesn’t matter that I have never, knowingly used it either.
But I digress. Which is apparently easy to do today. Since I got left behind. Yesterday I was helpful. Yesterday I had good ideas and spent time using my gender and the particular knowledges I hold to useful ends. Those women at the market and the washings would never have talked to men like they talked to me. Okay, so I didn’t really find much out. But I was able to deduce that she could not really have left the area. That she could quite possibly be hiding right under our noses. Yes SHE. After speaking with the sheriff, hearing his story of woe regarding a particular not so sporting sporting girl with very beguiling ways and sticky little fingers V.H. came to the conclusion it was indeed a woman we were after.
Today, apparently it is leave Lonesome behind like all the rest of the womanfolk. I almost followed them once I discovered they were gone. Even saddled up Laredo after I found the arrow pointing west in the dirt of the stable. But then, I thought about it, and decided that if they had wanted me, they would have woken me. So I’ve taken a little time to deal with my morning toilet and now I am heading down to the bar with just enough coin for a bottle of rye. One bottle. No more. Neither Ian nor Dill would approve, but they haven’t seen what I’ve seen.
Besides. The rye soothes my throat and today it is powerful sore.