Few things are hotter or more stifling than the swamplands outside Crescent City. Felt like swimming through air while my boots squelched in knee-deep mud. Even having Bram’s carriage, all that meant was getting stuck once every hour. Luckily, with my inability to feel, getting us free was a cinch. I’m not exactly stronger than average, but you’d be surprised how much strength can be mustered when you’re unafraid of injuring yourself.

Though mosquitos buzzed in thick clouds, at least the canopy of trees above served to blot out the baking sun. Wasn’t like the heat bothered me none, but everyone else? Had it not been for those tall cypresses, they’d have found themselves like burnt toast after too long.

Stunk to high-heaven, too—like something died while eating something dead.

“This is putrid,” Harker said.

He was an unimpressive man. Messy hair, even when he tried. As he talked, his corncob pipe bounced on his lips, though I hadn’t noticed him smoking it for some time. Guess it must’ve been some sort of oral fixation.

“That’s complaint number twenty-two this hour alone,” Bram commented through the sliding window from his seat, steering the cart.

Abraham Stoker. Oddest fellow I’ve met in a decade, and I’ve met my fair share of nut-jobs. Distinguished as they come and eccentric. Which is a word rich people use instead of bat-shit-crazy. Claimed he was scouring the country for supernatural entities. Sticking to well-worn roads was the anthesis of that—hence taking the swampiest routes. Though, they were the faster.

Why any sane mortal would be out hunting such things is beyond me.

“Twenty-three,” Rosa argued.

“I’m quite sure it was only twenty-two,” Bram said.

“Feck’s it matter?” Irish said, swatting a biting bug. Her normally short-shorn, red-as-blood hair had grown wild down to her ears. She was Bram’s bodyguard of sorts and did a fine job of it. “He don’t shut his yap, I’ll swell it up for him.”

It was a promise I had no doubt she’d keep with fervor. Really, I think they were all exaggerating. Most of the trip, the small company had been twattling this and that about the affairs back in their home country. Things about Bram’s studies and what’d led them to this side of the pond in search of answers. You ask me, they’re only gonna find more questions.

“Threats like that are very unbecoming of a lady,” Harker said, shrinking away.

“What part of me looked lady-like to ye? Was it the tits or the brawn?”

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” Harker shouted to Bram, shaking his head.

“Come, join me up front,” Bram said to Harker. “Let’s discuss the book. I’ve got grand ideas for some of your artwork in the chapter about the American broods.”

Bram pulled the horses to a stop. Timp whinnied. The poor girl was pretty drained. She wasn’t used to being all tied up, pulling a wagon. The other two horses did most of the work, but she was spent. Almost made me feel bad for tagging along with them. Except roads to Crescent City from the West were dangerous, filled with brigands, gators, and worse. I couldn’t find a good reason—save for appeasing Shar—not to offer extra protection on my way to the same place.

Harker climbed out, giving Irish a look of contempt before ascending to the bench beside Bram. With a crack of the reins, we started up again, and they were at it, arguing about illustrations.

The book in reference was apparently a tome of facts and myths surrounding what Bram called “vampir” in North America and Great Britain. He had far more of the latter than the former, but he swore there were bloodsuckers walking around city streets at night like any ordinary man.

I’d encountered enough of the beasts to know to stay away. Most were feral, taken by bloodlust. Older ones could control it better. And they hid well—partially why I believe him to be a little off his rocker. If a human stumbled across one, he didn’t survive to tell a soul.

Thankfully, silence carried us for a spell, giving me time to think. I had a few reasons for journeying to Crescent City—and no, being with Rosa wasn’t one of them. Happenstance. Good fortune, if you’d believe it. Just so happened to be Bram’s next stop on his crusade, and for whatever reason, Rosa found kinship with the fella. Both futzing around with things they had no business futzing with, I reckon.

“Funny-looking trees you folks have in these parts,” Bram turned and commented through the window. “The way they hunch—looks like they’re praying.”

“Would do them the same good it do us,” Irish said, causing Bram to perk up. “That is feck-all.”

“You’d be surprised,” was all I said.

I’ve come to accept the existence of a Higher Power. Still couldn’t tell you his or her name, but they’re up there, perched on a White Throne, belching out orders to angels. Guess I can’t blame the Almighty for ignoring an ex-outlaw like me when Heaven’s at war with the powers of darkness. Though I wouldn’t mind a bit more instruction from Shar on occasion.

“Ye expect me to believe in all that Heaven, Hell, angel, demon malarkey?” Irish said, spitting each word.

“Don’t matter to me,” I said. “They exist regardless of what you believe.”

“Never did take you for the preaching type, Mr. Crowley,” Bram said.

“Shit, I ain’t preaching. Just stating the truth.” Even as I said it, I realized that was precisely what every street-screaming, bible-thumping, fire-and-brimstone-calling-down soul would say. “I’m just saying, her belief or disbelief in a matter don’t make it any more or less true than some priest in a pulpit.”

“To that,” Bram said, “I’ll agree.” He tipped his hat and turned back to the road.

“Bowl full of shite,” Irish said under her breath.

Rosa shot me a look that said it all.

It was getting dark, and we were almost there. Though I could imagine everyone was getting hungry and tired.

As if on cue, Rosa spoke up. “I’m starved.”

“Now look who’s doing the bellyaching,” I said, making sure she saw the smile I wore.

I rummaged around in my satchel and pulled out an apple. “It’s Timp’s, but I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Rosa said, giving it a bite. Her face screwed up, and the lack of crunch told me I’d handed her rotten mush. Bit of grace she’d taken my chastisements to heart and refrained from grousing about it. Guess she figured a belly full was better than a belly empty.

“You really believe all that, James?” she said quietly, only to me. I eyed her questioningly. “It’s just… you’re an enigma, really. One moment, you’re talking about me avoiding ‘hocus-pocus’ and ‘mumbo jumbo,’ and then you’re defending faith.”

I shrugged. “Funny thing about faith: it goes faster than it comes. Guess my many years have taught me to believe in something, even if I’m wrong.”

“And that something is—what?”

A sound in the distance caught my attention. Bram must’ve heard it too, ’cause the cart rumbled to a stop.

“Hear that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rosa said. “Sounds like a—”

Then we heard it again.

“Goat,” a few of us said at once.

“Might mean there’s a farm up ahead,” I said.

“In wetlands like this?” Rosa questioned. She would know. Back when she was married and living a peaceful life, her deceased husband came from ranching folk. Most I knew about tilling soil and tending livestock was that they were fine places to raid for some grub in a pinch.

“That would be a welcomed sight,” Harker hollered back. “I’d kill my own mother for a bath.”

“That’s dark,” Irish said. “But I’d kill her too, I guess.”

Sometimes, it was best to ignore her comments. We started up again, a bit faster now with a new aim in mind, listening intently for the goat’s “bah” all the while.

“Wouldn’t mind slicin’ his neck and firin’ his arse over a spit,” Irish said.

“I’ve got bad news,” Bram said from up front. “Road’s blocked, and there’s no going around without getting sunk.”

I hopped out of the carriage and took in the scene. He was right. A mighty big tree lay fallen across our path. I could maybe push it aside enough for us to pass, given the time, but that would raise questions I wasn’t currently keen to answer. Straining to lift the wagon out of the muck and plowing an eighty-year-old trunk aside were different things entirely.

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Bram stepped up beside me. “Think us three men could give it the old university try?”

I glanced at Harker, still sitting on the bench, doodling on his notepad. “I think we’d have more luck with Irish.”

“I heard that,” Harker said.

He leaped down from the carriage, sliding a bit as he landed. Irish unloaded from the cart, followed closely by Rosa.

I turned back toward the obstruction. Behind me, Harker yelped. I spun just in time to watch him land ungracefully in the swampy water. To his credit, he rose quick, muttering curses.

“My good sir!” Stoker commented, rushing over to him. “Are you well?”

“I tripped,” Harker commented as if that weren’t obvious.

I strode over as he slipped endlessly over himself. When I bent to offer aid, I found myself staring at the object of his embarrassment.

Two wide eyes beamed back at me, lifeless and cold. The bloody remains of a goat, the best parts eaten away. I took care not to touch it, having no idea how long it’d taken for it to succumb to so many teeth gnashes, and I certainly wasn’t interested in knowing what that felt like.

Next, Harker spotted it, eliciting further curses and exclamations of both shock and horror. “What could have committed such a heinous act?”

“Plenty of gators ’round these parts,” I told him. “Now, let’s get this tree out of the way before we all end up like our little friend over there.”

That caused Harker a visible shudder. Best not to tell him about all the other things it could’ve been. Monsters, demons, a rogue witch coven sacrificing to Satan—the list was truly endless.

“Guess we’ll all just give her a shove,” Bram said. “Let’s go, Mr. Harker. Right here by me. Irish, over there, if you will. Rosa between her and Mr. Crowley. Everyone ready?”

He planted himself, one foot in the swamp, the other on mostly solid ground, and pressed his hands against the tree. I did the same, and the others found their spots shortly thereafter.

“On the count of three,” I said.

I lowered my head, pressing my shoulder into the bark. I’d just started to count down when I heard something that was very much not a goat. Bram screamed as he plunged below the swampy waters. Ripples coruscated outward from where he fell. Harker reached down to grab for his friend, and his hand came up wet but empty.

“Bram!” Harker shouted.

Then in an instant, water burst up along with thrashing limbs and flashing teeth. Everything descended into chaos. Rosa pulled her revolver.

“No!” I snapped. “You’ll just as likely shoot Bram as whatever that is.”

The struggle stopped for an instant. It was like we were stuck between the stuttering ticks of an old broken clock. Everything was still and quiet until it wasn’t. Bram’s head popped up from the water, gurgling a horror-stricken scream. Then whatever had hold of him dragged him deeper into the underbrush.

Rosa and Irish started running. I told Timp to stay put and slung the rifle off my back. Wasn’t sure what we were getting into, but this place had gators the size of wagons. Although they wouldn’t require silver bullets, I had my Winchester loaded with them all the same. Better safe than dead.

“Rosa, wait up!” I yelled, lumbering forward.

Once Irish reached Harker, they both followed after the undulating muck. Rosa stayed on their heels despite my best efforts, while I swore under my breath. Not just because she was refusing to heed my warnings. I was receiving a warning all my own.

Someone screamed. Could’ve been Harker. Could’ve been Bram. I wouldn’t have a chance to find out, for I had my own problems. Bright yellow eyes stared at me from the low-hanging branches. Not just two of them either. Half a dozen pairs blinked, watching me from the inky darkness.

All at once, they lurched forward and into the light. Holy God in Heaven, they were ugly.

No fewer than six vile reptilians launched themselves at me from the trees. Only thing I knew for sure was they weren’t crocs or gators. Too small. Sure, they had scales, but they were stark white. And them teeth—long, needle-thin ones. Four legs and a tail was where the similarities ended. Foot-long spikes along the ridges of their spines stuck straight up like ship sails.

I raised my Winchester and blew a hole straight through the mouth of the closest. Black ichor gushed like a fountain behind it, and the beast’s dead corpse crashed down with a splash.

Fast as I am, that was the only shot I was getting off before the rest converged on me. I brought the butt of my rifle down like a mallet on another’s head. My footing shifted, and I turned to see one of them hanging off my arm, dangling there, teeth deep in my flesh. It made a gurgling, groaning sound, unlike anything I’d heard before.

“Off me, you son of a bitch,” I said, dropping my weapon and grasping at its jaws. Wouldn’t you know it, the creature’s fellows didn’t have any couth or decorum; they kept coming.

The one on my arm wouldn’t relent, but I managed to backhand another and send it flying. The raw power that came with a pain-free life likely broke its back.

I had no time to celebrate, hesitate, or even formulate a plan. Reaching for my side, I pulled one of my Peacemakers, tucked the barrel against my parasitical friend’s neck, and shot it to Hell. The result was an explosive shower of dark mist.

I shook its carcass free and used my now free hand to liberate my second pistol.

However, when I turned to put down the remaining three, there was nothing. If I had a beating heart, it would’ve been racing. The benefit of such a condition was that my mind remained clear, and I still had my wits about me. Twirling a slow circle, I skimmed for any sign of danger. Sibilant sounds echoed behind me. I spun—nothing—heard another hiss from the opposite direction and spun again.

These bastards were playing games with me.

A ripple in the swamp caught my eye and I quick fired. Couldn’t tell if I’d hit anything, but the water turned a shade darker, informing me I must have. Assuming that one was dead, there were two of these buggers left.

“Come on!” I shouted, taunting the pair to make a move.

They didn’t disappoint. I ducked as both dove for my head. They must’ve had damn powerful legs to catapult themselves so high out of the water. It wasn’t as comical as them slamming into each other, but they did connect. And like a leashed dog, they took their aggression out on one another, allowing me a moment to slip free of the fray.

I fired twice. Caught one in the gut, slowing it to near paralysis. The second round bounced harmlessly off the other’s back spikes. It whirled, finding a new target for its ire. Emitting a low growl, it stalked toward me. Then I heard something subtle behind me. Was there another creature unaccounted for?

I dropped to a knee in the wet marsh, turned, and nearly fired before realizing it was Irish standing there with a creature in hand, fingers digging between its teeth on both jaws. She gave it a hefty pull and tore the thing down to its hind legs. Dropping the beast unceremoniously to the swamp, she moved toward me.

“Feck you waiting for?” she asked, pulling one of her throwing daggers from a sheath across her chest. With deft movement, she flicked her wrist, and the blade buried itself hilt-deep in the final reptile’s yellow eye.

“No!” A shout that sounded like Rosa. Then a shriek that could only be Harker.

“C’mon,” I said to Irish. “Let’s go.”

We sloshed noisily through the muck, Irish calling out for Bram with every step. There was no response.

I tried my luck, screaming, “Rosa!” All that returned was my echo.

We turned ’round a form of a corner, pushing past sharp, wet branches that would’ve been an inconvenience for anyone but me. The full scene came into view, stopping me cold.

Rosa knelt in the marshland, water up to her waist. Next to her, elevated on a brittle log, Abraham groaned, an agonized look etched on his weathered face. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Rosa’s eyes were wide and locked on a pair of yellow ones belonging to one of the Hell lizards, only inches from her. One of her hands rested on the grip of her pistol, but she didn’t draw with how close it was. Her other was raised in front of the beast. Its teeth weren’t bared; it simply stared, head cocked to the side.

“No,” Rosa whispered to the beast, firm as iron.

Something held me back from rushing to her aid. Call it intuition, providence, or God’s own hand—I don’t need a definition. Not to mention, it might be able to take a chomp out of her face before I got to her, close as it was. All I know is my feet stayed firmly planted, eyes watching.

Irish stirred to action beside me but I held out a staying hand.

“Like hell,” she said. Seeing her boss in such straits had her understandably determined to put down the threat. And she could without breaking a sweat.

I didn’t blame her, but my feeling persisted.

“Just hold up, dammit,” I whispered.

Then the fruition of my inclinations manifested. The reptile, eyes still set on Rosa, backed down. At first, it was a meek step backward. Then it hissed, twirled, and scurried back into the shrubs. I rushed forward to kneel beside Rosa.

“Feck was that?” Irish asked, joining us. I thought she was referring to the way the creature responded to Rosa’s, whatever that was. But her look, pointed at me, made me realize she was speaking of my insistence that she stayed put. Her ensuing words did the rest of the job. “Ye could’ve gotten them dead.”

I ignored her.

“You alright?” I asked Rosa while Irish ministered to Bram.

“Fine,” she said, obviously still shaken from her stare-down with the swamp monster. “It had me dead to rights, then… stopped. But, Bram…”

“I’m fine,” Bram said in a tone that sounded anything but fine. “My ego is more bruised than I—”

He winced, and I got my first look at his mangled leg. Blood, tissue, and bone poked through a layer of scummy, muddy water.

“Bullshit,” I said. Then I scanned the battlegrounds for Harker. I found him hiding behind a tree. “Harker, here, now.”

He wormed his way to us, stumbling over a half-baked apology for his cowardice.

“Whatever, ye fly,” Irish said.

“You hurt?” I asked him.

“Nothing a change of britches won’t fix,” he admitted.

“Good.” I placed a hand under Bram’s neck, and with the other, I grabbed his legs. “I’m gonna need you to drive the coach.”

“I—”

“Ain’t gonna argue.” I was already beginning to rise with Bram nestled in my arms. “Irish, eyes peeled for more of those things.”

“James,” Rosa said. “What can I do?”

“You just survived—”

“We all did,” she said with all the intensity I’ve come to expect from her. “What can I do?”

“Fine. Help me get him into the wagon.”

The trek back wasn’t far, but with Harker stumbling every few feet, it took longer than any of us would’ve wanted. Bram took the pain with grace, as he did all things, but I could tell he was hurting.

“Alright,” I said to Rosa, “hop in and guide his head.”

Rosa did as I asked, placing her valise beneath his head like a pillow. Then I carefully navigated his lower half until it rested on the bench. Once sure he was as comfortable as possible, I stepped aside and let Irish in. The ladies took the bench opposite him.

A shimmer in the mud caught my attention.

“You’re wasting time on these Children,” Shar said.

I growled softly, unable to respond without looking like a loon to my companions. Instead, as I strode by, I gave the puddle a good kick and sent Shargrafein’s wispy visage back to Heaven.

Sometimes it amazes me that she’s supposed to be on the good side of things. How could someone sworn to love and serve humanity decide a dying man was a waste of time?

I shook the thoughts away and rushed to the front of the carriage.

“We still have the problem of the blockage,” Harker said, gesturing toward the fallen tree barring our path.

“I know. I know. Hold your horses,” I told him.

Throwing caution to the wind, I analyzed the situation. Muck had accumulated on the tree’s backside, so pushing in that direction wouldn’t be as effective. Instead, I pulled my lasso free and aimed at a thin branch. Finding purchase, I set my feet and poured every ounce of my will into yanking the thing to the side of the road.

I returned to Harker, who sat there, trading glances between me and the tree. I said nothing as I clinked and climbed up beside him.

“Let’s go.”

“How did you—”

“Must’ve been hollow,” I lied. “Now come on before your friend bleeds out.”

No less confused, but at least that got him slapping the leather, and the horses were off. In the corner of my eye, I noticed Rosa watching me with puzzlement. I thought the tree being hollow was a good enough excuse, but then it hit me—it wasn’t me baffling her. She was looking through me, deep in thought.

That beast could have torn into her, but it didn’t. Her being as enchanting as she was, I wasn’t surprised, but the beast wasn’t some horned-up man. Still, things like that have a knack for survival. Probably it saw me and Irish, and instinct took over as it realized that one tasty morsel wasn’t worth its life.

Either way, I wouldn’t complain. Better it be Bram down and bleeding than her.