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❝ you were good to me, and i love you, but i'm doomed. ❞
╰┈➤ the burglar of babylon, elizabeth bishop
HER GIGGLE WAS MUTED BY THE RAUCOUS LAUGHTER THAT SURROUNDED THEM. A cigarette is pinched between two fingers as she leaned against the bar, laughing a little too hard at a joke a drunken gambler slurred at her. She knows deep down that she could never care less than she does right now. But the cramping in her stomach fueled her to keep this ruse up. Just a little longer - a few more drinks in him and he'll be putty in her palm. Sometimes working for it made it all much sweeter. Most times it made her feel worse. Like she'd gotten to know them, or a part of them. She hated seeing them as human. More means to an end. That's all she needed. That's all she'd ever need. She doesn't need people close, she only needs moments like these, people like this drunk man leaning too close to her. So close that she can smell the tobacco on his breath as it mingles with the smoke from her cigarette. Pressing it to her lips, she took a deep inhale, letting it all fill her lungs before she slowly exhaled. The smoke billowed into his face, his eyes hazy from the alcohol and from the lust that filled every inch of him.
One of his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. A giggle spilled from her lips. "Maybe we shouldn't do this here." She whispered sensually in his ear, her arm slung around his neck to pull him closer. He leaned in, attempting to connect their lips. She smiled as she leaned away, a finger raising to press against his lips and halt him. "A lady doesn't kiss in public." She smiled, flashing her yellow-tinted teeth - too many years of smoking. Her arms tugged at him, pulling him away from the bar.
He followed her out of the bar, his lips chasing hers in a vain attempt at some sort of sexual intimacy. The two stumbled their way around the side of the building, her leading him into the darkness. Unbeknownst to the two, they had a voyeur across the street. She pressed the man against the brick wall of the bar, the pitch black of the alley almost hiding them from view. The moon hid behind patchy clouds that moved gently with the wind. A shiver ran up her spine as her hand wound through his dark hair. He moaned quietly as she pressed her lips to his jaw. Her teeth nipped at the stubbled skin. His arms tightened around her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her linen skirt.
Her lips moved lower and lower, sucking and licking at the skin of his neck. Another deep moan from the man, the front of his pants tightening as his hands began lifting her skirt. Her lips curled into a smile as her canines pierced into his skin. He cursed as she pulled her teeth out and began sucking the blood that flowed from it. His body grew cold as he clawed at her in a vain attempt to push her off. Her hands curled tight against his shirt, holding him in place as she sucked more of the blood. It was warm and delicious, savory and filling. Pleasure filled her every pore as a moan escaped her lips. Her hand in his hair tightened as she greedily sucked at his neck. His body began to grow weak, slowly collapsing onto her. Letting go of his hair, her arms slid around him to hold him up, her mouth detaching from his neck for a few agonizing seconds as blood began flowing down his neck, soaking the front of his shirt.
Letting his body collapse to the ground, she pounced on him like the predator she is, her teeth sinking into a separate spot on his neck and sucking the fresh blood from there. "Get the hell off o' him!" A gruff voice shouted at the alleyway entrance. She begrudgingly unlatched herself from the man's neck. Blood dripped from her chin, staining the pale blue fabric of her dress. She flashed him a charming smile, her teeth coated in dark crimson. Even staring down the barrel of a gun, she showed no fear. "So," the shadowy figured standing above her spoke, "you're the one who been killin' drunk fellers around Saint Denis." It wasn't a question, more of a statement.
Her reddened smile widened. "Why, yessir. Glad to have made your acquaintance."
"I got a bounty here for you, dead or alive." He held out a tattered paper. They'd been looking for a man. Not some pretty, young woman. But he'd seen worse, seen more shocking things in his life. A female killer don't even make the top ten. Not after that pig farm where he was pretty sure the brother and sister were fucking. "Which way I take you is up to you."
She chuckled quietly and shoved the man's corpse off of her and onto the ground. "Would you mind helping a lady off the ground, sir?" She held her hand out to him, blood and skin under her long and sharp nails. His jaw clenched as he stared down at her. A wolf in sheepskin if he'd ever seen one. Stuffing the bounty poster back into the pocket of his trousers, his left hand reached out to grab hers and yank her up from the ground. His gun remained trained on her forehead as she pressed her back against the brick wall. "I have to say, I wish we had met under better circumstances. You see, I have a similar bounty out for you, Mr. Morgan. Just... not on my person. Apologies for that inconvenience. Where was it, Backwash? No, that ain't it. My mind seems to be escapin' me in my old age, forgive me." She couldn't look a day over thirty to him. "Blackwater! That's it."
He glared down at her, unsure of what else to do. He could just shoot her, though the reward would be far less than if she were alive. It's the only reason he hasn't pulled the trigger yet. He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't more tempted now. "You some kind'a cannibal?"
"No sir." She shook her head, digging into her top. Quiet curses spilled from her lips. "I hate to put you out, but you got a cigarette I could take from you?" Flashing another smile, he thought she might've been charming if she weren't covered in another man's blood. A silent moment passed before he finally dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and holding it out to her. She leaned her head forward, grabbing the cigarette from his fingers with her lips. Her eyes stared at him expectantly as he dug out his matches and struck one, lighting the end for her until smoke was billowing out from her lips. "I'm quite hurt you'd accuse me of somethin' so low as cannibalism, sir."
"You're eatin' your own kind. If that ain't cannibalism, then I don't quite know what it is."
"He ain't my kind." Her dirty hand lifted, pinching the cigarette between her index and middle finger and pull it from her lips, blowing smoke at him. "I'm just like you, Mr. Morgan. I kill bad men. You kill bad men. Sometimes you got'a be a bad man to kill the bad men, yeah?" Pressing the cigarette to her bloodied lips, she took a deep inhale. "Plus, how's it gon' look, you killin' a poor gal who was just defendin' herself from a rapist pig? That leader o' yours - what's his name, Hutch? Mitch? Shit, pardon my French there. Dutch! How's dear 'ole Daddy Dutch gon' feel 'bout that?"
His glare was angry. Angry that he seemed to have hit a stalemate. "You think they'll buy that story when they see the man's blood all over your face like 'at?"
"I'm a defenseless young woman. All I could do was stab him in the neck. Maybe he hurt me an' that's why I got blood all over me. Bit my tongue 'r somethin'."
"You think anyone's gon' believe that?" He pressed his revolver to her forehead. But she didn't seem phased by the threat.
"I think they're gon' believe a pretty girl over a rough outlaw." He wanted to curse. His grip on the gun tightened for a moment before he let his arm drop to his side. Her lips curled into a smirk as she took another inhale from the cigarette. "Don't go poutin' now. It's unbecoming. I think we could help each other out."
His face contorted in disbelief. This was not how he'd wanted this night to pan out. The night air seemed to have gotten chillier during this interaction. His eyes looked over her, taking every inch in. Without the blood, he might think her just another spinster, another woman turning herself out for tricks. If he'd been perfectly honest, he'd expected the man to attack her, for him to be the killer. This threw a wrench into everything. You're always fooled by a pretty face, Dutch had scolded him time and time again. It never helped when Micah was there to egg it all on, hurl insults disguised as helpful criticism. "And what could you help me with?"
"Got a few leads on some O'Driscoll boys. That strike yer fancy?" Taking another drag from her cigarette, her fingers pinched it and pulled it away from her bloody lips. The blood had slowly begun drying, cracking and turning brown. Her eyes glanced down towards the corpse by her feet, a frown on her lips as she stared at the wasted blood leaking into the grass. She felt her hunger satiated, but she hadn't gotten her true fill. She'd likely be hungry again in a couple days. Usually, she could go a week and a half without eating again. Could run errands, give her time to plan out and work her way towards her next meal. But this left little wiggle room for her anymore. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the brick wall behind her. "I got all my notes up in my room, though. So, you'll have to trust li'l 'ole me for a minute." She attempted an innocent smile, but the red caked on her chin, lips, and nose, did her few favors. "You got a handkerchief?" He stared her down, staring at her open hand that stretched out towards him. "I can't rightly head into the hotel lookin' like this. Might raise some eyebrows."
After a fleeting moment, Arthur pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuck it in her hand. She quietly thanked him as she finally began wiping away at the drying blood on her face. Once she had gotten the blood off, he could see her tongue licking off every bit of blood she could get off of her teeth. He cringed, averting his gaze down towards the corpse that was growing cold in the weather. "C'mon," he grunted, motioning for her to take the lead with his gun, "once you show me what'chu got, then I'll think about not shootin' you."
Rolling her eyes, she stuffed his handkerchief into her top, between her breasts, before leading him out of the alley. "I'm just up here." She motioned towards the small, pitiful excuse for a hotel. With his gun in his hand, he followed closely behind her, watching her every move. If he were a duller man, he might think that she floated off the ground with how smooth her movements were. His mind raced with a million questions. But he continued to repeat one certain question: what was she? She had said that she wasn't a cannibal and that the man wasn't her kind. He wondered if she meant that he just wasn't another woman. But, he'd seen this before - had seen the other victims of, what he would assume, her attacks. Men and women alike, she seemed to be killing. Why not just cut their throats or gun them down? And why her? He stared at the back of her head, at her hair so black that it seemed to drink in all of the light around them. It was difficult to imagine a woman such as her committing suck grisly acts. If he hadn't seen it himself, he certainly wouldn't have believed any of it.
The two made their way into the hotel, her flashing a smile and a flirtatious greeting to the attendant at the desk. The young man blushed as he ducked his head, bidding her a good night. Arthur's jaw clenched, a pit forming in his stomach as they ascended the rickety stairs leading up to the second floor. "If I wanted to kill you, Mr. Morgan, I would've done it by now."
"I ain't scared of no little girl."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "I can hear your heart. If I didn't know no better, I'd think you were havin' a heart attack." The two neared the end of the hall before stopping in front of a door. Pulling out a key from her top, she unlocked the door and left it open for the man to follow her inside. "And I ain't been a little girl in a long time. 'Ppreciate the compliment, though." Her smile is cutting as she took a seat on the edge of the bed and leaning back on her elbows, watching him slowly enter the room and shut the door behind him. His gun is still held tightly. "My notes are on that dresser there. Mind handin' 'em over? I seem to be fighting a bout of weariness."
He sent her another glare before turning towards the dresser. Leaning down, he grabbed a handful of papers sitting on the desk. Glancing up, he looked into the mirror. The bed is now vacant, the woman missing. He spun around, raising his gun only to be met with her form still in the same lounged position on the edge of the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back at the mirror, her form gone from the reflection. "What...?" He trailed off, shock and confusion settling into his bones. He turned back towards her, now watching as her arm stuck out to him, silently asking for the papers in his hand. "This some kind of parlor trick? You some kind of magician 'r somethin'?"
As her black eyebrows furrowed, she glanced over towards the mirror. "Of sorts. The papers, please." Her fingers curled in a beckoning motion. A fleeting moment passed before he finally set the papers in her hand. Clearing her throat, she began scanning her eyes over the various papers filled to the brim with messy handwriting. She flipped through a few papers before a small smile spread on her lips. It was difficult to imagine that those were the same lips that had been coated in blood just moments before this. He felt uncomfortable to recall any of it. And he felt even more uncomfortable with the fact that he found her to be an attractive woman, even with the blood on her. "Here she is," she mumbled under her breath, "there's two boys I been keepin' an eye on. Eddie and Hudson. They joined the O'Driscolls a few months ago and have already made names for themselves. Goin' 'round killin' and rapin'. You know the kind."
Arthur simply hummed in response, moving from the dresser to lean against the wall next to it. He felt safer being further away from her. "And how exactly were you plannin' on gettin' these boys? I'm sure wherever they go, the rest of the O'Driscolls follow."
"You'd think. But these two ain't very liked. Maybe by Colm, but ain't no one else can stand 'em." A smirk played on her lips as the flicker of the candle danced around the room. "They like to go off on benders every now and then around some saloon just outside of Saint Denis. They spend their time drinkin', gamblin', and terrorizin' poor girls."
He slowly nodded. "Then why ain't you already get 'em? If you already know 'bout these two, why ain't you killed 'em yet?"
"Because," she frowned, "those two don't go nowhere without each other. Even when they're sleepin' around. Even if I got 'em good and drunk, the second that one of 'em starts fightin' me, I got the other tryin' to blow my brains out. And then, I'd have to kill whoever the other lady is who's in the room. And I'd like to keep innocent death to a minimum."
A frown formed on Arthur's lips as he stared down at her. If they worked together, this might work. He could just take this information and kill them both and her too, but then the O'Driscolls would be on them like flies on shit. He'd be putting his own family at risk. Another slow nod. "Alright. What's the plan?"
A bright, toothy smile formed on her lips. "Here's what I'm thinkin'. I'm a whore and you're the one whorin' me out. You find 'em and tell 'em that there's a discount if they both wan'a fuck me. One stipulation is that you like to watch. That way, we're both in the room. The second you see one of 'em start squirmin', you grab the other and kill 'im."
His face contorted in disbelief. "You want me to pretend to be whorin' you out and that I like to watch you have sex with these men?"
Rolling her eyes, she groaned. "I ain't gon' actually have sex with 'em, idiot. It's just a ruse. Gets us alone in a room with 'em."
He stared down at her with a frown. Pushing himself away from the wall, he stepped towards the bed. If she was worried he might kill her, he couldn't see it. Glancing between her and the mirror, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Was it a trick mirror? But he could see his own reflection in it. How could he not see her? How could she not have a reflection? "Why can't I see you in the mirror? You a ghost 'r somethin'?"
The laugh that escaped her throat is unladylike, loud, and brash. Not something he would expect from a woman who looks how she does. But he'd just seen her bite a man's neck and, what, drink his blood. So, maybe he doesn't have the clearest vision of her. "Mr. Morgan, if you only knew half of it. Could a ghost do what I did to that degenerate out there?" She pushed herself up from the bed, nearing him. His jaw clenched as the hand holding his gun twitched. "Could a ghost touch you?" Her index finger gently pressed to his chest, running down and stopping just above his belt. "I ain't no ghost, Mr. Morgan." She stepped back, turning towards the luggage bag that hid under the bed. Her hand wrapped around the handle as she yanked it from the floor and set it on top of the bed. "We can head on out tonight, but I got'a change first." Her eyes glancing down towards the blood stains on her top and skirt.
Arthur finally placed his gun back in his holster, feeling more confused than he had when he'd first seen her bite into the man. He slowly stepped towards the door, stepping out into the hall and closing the door to give her some privacy. His hands reached up to rub his face, his fingers raking through the stubble. Quiet curses spilled from his lips as he stared at the wall across from him, at the painting that was dimly lit by a few candles in the hall. It looks like a mother kissing her infant child but he can't tell with how dim the hallway is and the paint almost looks smeared in places. He wondered if that was on purpose. He'd never been good with art. Reading, that was more his speed. There was no shame in him that he was quite well-read. Books were the only thing that had comforted him as a child, stories of epic heroes who worked against their fear and saved everyone they loved. Those were stories he could get lost in. He likes to think those stories are why he's the way he is, that he likes helping others and being a good man.
The door opened as the woman stepped out of the room in a far more revealing outfit than she had been in before. A corset is laced tight, accentuating her breasts, and her long skirt is a crimson red. A smirk spread on her lips when she caught his eyes flicker between her face and the tops of her breasts. She didn't notice his gaze land on the burn scars peaking out from just under her hair, just under her ear. "C'mon, cowboy. Let's go kill some O'Driscolls." His jaw clenched as he followed her out of the hotel towards the horse he'd hitched across from the saloon she'd come from. He climbed onto the horse, holding his hand out to help her climb on behind him. "Ain't you just a gentleman." She mumbled, a playful smile on her lips.
He ignored her comment as he clicked his tongue, his horse taking off into the night. The two remained silent for most of the ride until he finally bit the bullet. "You didn't answer me back there." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she remained silent. "You said you ain't no cannibal because that man wasn't yer kind. Then, back there with the mirror. I feel silly askin', but... you not human 'r somethin'?"
She chuckled as her arms slowly wrapped around his waist, pressing her chest to his back. "You read any, Mr. Morgan?" He grunted affirmatively. One of her arms let go of his waist for a moment before it returned, a thin book in hand. "Give this a read when we're all finished up here." His own hand took the book from her, stuffing it into his satchel as he stared ahead into the night. It was difficult enough navigating your way through the land in the dark, he didn't need to be taking his eyes off of the landscape.
The two arrive in the small town outside of Saint Denis, a path of dirt separating buildings on either side. A saloon by the entrance of the town is bustling with activity, loud conversations, and music. Bringing the horse towards a post, he dropped down to the ground and hitched the animal to the post. She threw her leg around the horse, letting herself drop to the ground next to him. "Alright," her hand grabbed his bicep, stopping him, "I'm gon' flirt with one of 'em for a little. I'll give you a signal and you come on over and sell me to 'em."
"I've, uh... I never sold a woman before. What'm I s'posed to say?"
"Just... tell 'em how beautiful I am and how you're offerin' a discount for 'em just 'cause you like how they look. I'll do the rest."
A moment of hesitation, he stared up at the saloon. With a soft sigh, he finally nodded, motioning for her to lead the way. The two made their way into the saloon, pushing through the crowd. She was quick to move to the bar, ordering two whiskeys for her and Arthur. The bartender's gaze remained glued to her chest, not even bothering to glance up to her face. A smirk began spreading across her lips as she took the two glasses from the man and turned to hand one to Arthur. "You ready?" She spoke softly as she leaned up close to his ear. He tried to keep his gaze respectful, looking towards her face or the wall behind her. With a nod, he downed the whiskey, clearing his throat at the burn it left behind. Her smile brightened as she downed her own whiskey, taking the glasses and setting them on the bar.
Her eyes scanned the room, all of the conversation too loud in her ears. She finally landed on the two men, downing their own glasses of moonshine. Her hand slapped Arthur's chest, grabbing his attention. His eyes followed her gaze to the two men in the corner of the saloon. "You stay here and keep an eye on me, yeah?" He glanced down at her, her eyes staring up at him through thick, dark lashes. He silently nodded, forcing himself to pull his eyes away from her as she made her way through the crowd towards the two men.
"Hi, boys." She smiled sweetly as she approached their table. One of the men let out a low wolf whistle as she did a little spin for them, twirling her skirt. "I see you two 'ave already started the party without me. I should be offended."
"Well," the one who whistled slurred out, "if we'd known a pretty li'l thang like you was gon' join us, we would'a waited." He leaned forward against the table. Their eyes very obviously stare down at her chest that threatened to spill from the corset she wore. She can smell the alcohol from the man's breath; it practically stings her own nose. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she leaned herself against the table, adding more accentuation to her chest. One thing she loved was that men were predictable. Give them something nice to look at and they were practically hers.
She chuckled, her smile charming and inviting. Reaching out, her hand gently rested on top of his, her thumb rubbing soft circles against his rough skin. Her free hand grabbed his glass, turning her head to the side to down the rest of the moonshine. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Arthur beginning to make his way towards her in the crowd.
"Howdy, boys." He greeted them with a smile so forced she could see it within a ten-mile radius. The two men stiffened, glaring up at the man. "I see you're, uh... interested in... Annie here." She smiled, using her long nails to draw circles against the man's arm. "Ain't she just a beaut?" It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. She could tell that he wasn't too good at this. Maybe he was a better liar when he wasn't pretending to try to sell a woman's body. "I tell you what," he clapped his hand down on the man's shoulder, looking to them both, "just 'cause she likes y'all, I'll give you a deal. Two for the price o' one."
The two shared a look, a hint of excitement behind the haze of alcohol. "Just one more thang." She giggled as she looked up at Arthur.
"I, uh..." he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I get to watch y'all."
"You some kind'a pervert?" The other man scoffed and shook his head. "That's fuckin' sick, buddy."
"C'mon, now," she quickly grabbed his arm, running her fingers up to his shoulder, "you won't even know he's there. Promise. I..." she ducked her head with false embarrassment, "I've always wanted to have two boys at once. Been a sort'a fantasy for some time."
The table fell silent as the two men shared a look. The one she'd been feeling up earlier shrugged his shoulders, ready to drop the money for her. He turned his eyes back towards her chest and tried to imagine what she looked like under those clothes. "Fine." He responded. "I better not hear a fuckin' peep out'a you." He jabbed his finger in Arthur's face before pushing past him.
The two men led them towards the back of the saloon where the private rooms were. She glanced back towards Arthur, throwing him a wink and a smirk. He felt less confident about all of this than she did. He's still not sure why he even trusted her enough for this. Sure, he's done worse than kill a couple of O'Driscoll boys. And he's probably worked with worse people than her. But he couldn't shake the shiver that ran up his spine every time he thought about her lack of reflection in the mirror or the way the blood had dripped down her chin. He'd heard tales from the local tribes of a creature called the Wendigo - a skinwalker. What was once a human that had succumbed to the desperation that preceded cannibalism turned into a horrid creature that could mimic other animals or humans. He wondered if that's what she was. And maybe she was playing the long game with him, leading him to his death. A cat with a mouse, playing with him before she killed him.
The four entered one of the open rooms, closing and locking the door behind them. She immediately moved to wrap her arms around the more enthusiastic one, pulling him down to meet her lips. Arthur watched all three of them cautiously, his hand itching at his side. He knew that gunning them down wouldn't be wise. Not with a saloon filled with people who had seen their faces. He'd have to be quick with his knife. And he wondered which one she could attack first. That would be the one he didn't have to worry about. They seem fairly drunk, not as drunk as the man in the Saint Denis saloon, but still drunk enough to let their guards down.
Her lips pressed against the man's jaw, nipping his skin with her teeth before sucking on the skin. He moaned as his hands began exploring her body. The other man felt himself growing hard and began unbuckling his belt. Arthur felt his jaw clench at the disgusting behavior from the two. Fuckin' O'Driscolls, he wanted to curse. He kept his eyes on her, watching as she slowly moved her sloppy kisses lower on the man's neck, just like she had done with the man in Saint Denis. His hand began wrapping around the handle of his hunting knife.
"Hey," the other man spoke, breaking the tension that was building, "ain't I gon' get a kiss?"
"What," she detached her lips from the man's neck, "you ain't enjoyin' the show?"
"I ain't like your pervert buddy over 'ere. I like to touch my whores."
Her eyes glanced between the other man and Arthur. "Well, alright then. Ask and ye shall receive." She pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. The man she'd paid more attention to chuckled and began picking at her clothes in an attempt to start peeling them off. She needed to work faster or this whole plan was going to hell in a handbasket. His grip on the knife tightened as he slowly unsheathed it.
The man she straddled began moaning, but his moans were quick to become grunts of pain. His hands grabbed her arms tightly in a vain attempt to throw her off. "Get her- AH - get her off!" The man shouted through his pain. The other man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but Arthur gave him little time to react before his hunting knife plunged into the man's chest. He pulled it out before slicing the man's throat, his gloved hand muffling any screams.
She sucked down the warm, thick blood that flowed from the man's neck. She was eating faster than she normally would, but these were not normal circumstances. Her hand covered the man's mouth to muffle his cries as she sunk her teeth into another spot on his neck, sucking down the fresh blood. No matter how many times she had her meals, they were always nearly orgasmic with the pleasure that followed after. A moan escaped her lips as she shut her eyes tight, gulping down the liquid. The man underneath her fell silent, his fight no longer existing as he grew cold. She finally felt her hunger subsiding. This would be enough for the next two weeks.
Detaching her mouth from his neck, she pushed herself off of the bed, stumbling back and collapsing against the wall. "I don't think he's dead. Might wan'a finish the job." Her voice was breathy from the pleasure that filled her body. Arthur stared her down for a fleeting moment, disgust filling him at the state of her. With a sigh, he shook his head and plunged his knife into the man's chest, killing him. He turned back to her, a frown on his lips as he watched her fingers wipe the blood from her chin before placing them in her mouth to suck the blood off. There's something oddly sensual about the action that he can't shake. He can't tell if he hates her more for doing this, or himself more for almost enjoying it. "Mind helpin' me up again?" She smiled widely at him as her hand stretched out to him for assistance.
Sheathing his knife, he approached her, grabbing her hand and pulling her up. She stumbled on weak legs, landing against his chest. "We should get goin'." He mumbled, looking around the room for an exit.
"There should be a door out back." She took a step back from him, looking down at her corset to make sure that there was no blood on her. A small smile spread on her lips that she was clean. Moving around the bed, she began sifting through their pockets. Most were empty other than some change, but she finally pulled out folded up papers. "C'mon, cowboy." She unlocked the door, cracking it open to glance out into the hall. When she saw no one passing, she motioned for him to follow her. The two quietly made their way out of the room, turning to make their way down the hall towards the back.
She pushed the back door open, stumbling out into the open night air. Arthur followed closely behind her, shutting the door behind them. "We should get out'a here before people start lookin' for open rooms to fuck in." She mumbled, picking up the ends of her long skirt and making her way around the saloon where he'd hitched the horse. A smile spread on her lips, unable to control it. She felt better than she had in decades. For so long, she'd been a solo act. Working with a partner wasn't something she was accustomed to, but she couldn't find anything to complain about. She'd rather liked working with Arthur, knowing someone was watching her back.
Arthur moved around her to unhitch the horse before climbing on, holding his hand out to help her up. They were quick to hightail it out of the small town before anyone could notice. A smile danced on her lips as her arms wrapped around his waist to hold on. "I wasn't lyin'. I told you that we could help each other out." Between her fingers were the papers that she'd stolen from one of the O'Driscoll boys' pockets. "Maybe it's got somethin' on it, maybe it don't. But that's two less O'Driscolls you need to worry about." She had a point, he knew that. Plucking the papers from her fingers, he stuffed them into his satchel. "I'd say we make a pretty good team, Mr. Morgan."
"I never got your name."
He could practically hear her smile. That charming smile that almost refused to drop from her lips. Too calm and too damn collected, he'd declared her. "Ida. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Well, Miss Ida," her smiled brightened at the way her name sounded wrapped in his voice, she found she quite liked it, "I'd say this was a pleasure, but I don't find myself fond of lyin' to women."
She laughed, the same brash laugh from before. He couldn't help the miniscule smile that invaded his lips at the sound. Despite its harshness, despite who it had come from, he found he quite liked her laugh. "I have a feelin' we'll be seein' each other more often, Mr. Morgan." With that, she shut her eyes and rested her forehead against his back. Exhaustion began to wash over her, the same kind after you'd eaten a big meal. She felt like she could sleep for the next five years.
It was a quiet journey back to Saint Denis. Part of him wondered if anyone had found the man's body yet. But, as he grew closer to the town, he found no difference than when they'd left earlier. As the horse came to a halt in front of the hotel, she slowly stretched her body. Arthur dropped down from the horse, holding his arms out to grab her waist and hoist her down. "I had fun tonight." She flashed her teeth. her hand gently resting against his bicep. She leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to his neck - the same place where she'd killed the other men. But she pulled back, her smile bright and wide. Spinning on her heel, she made her way back to the hotel. "I'll see 'ya 'round, Arthur. Stay safe, cowboy." She called over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
He's not sure how long he remained glued to his spot before he finally shook himself and climbed back onto Tennessee Walker. He left the town as quickly as he could, wanting to return to his family. His mind raced as his horse barrelled through the wilderness. The silence and the absence of her arms around his waist almost left him wanting, missing the sensation. Curses spilled from his lips as he grew closer to the camp. Most were asleep, other than Charles, who had been put on watch. He greeted Arthur with a wave and a smile, careful not to call out and wake the entire camp.
When Arthur dropped down and hitched his horse with the others, he made his way to his tent, exhaustion clinging to his heels. Shutting the flap to his tent, he practically collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. Even if he never saw her again, he's not sure he'd ever forget a woman like Ida. Pulling off his satchel, he dug around in search of his journal. But his fingers caught on another thin book. He pulled it out, fingers running along the cover. There was no title on the cover, only the imprint of a bat. His eyebrows furrowed as he flipped the book open, greeted with a page displaying the title. 'The Vampyre' by John Polidori.