don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t know what that’s—”
“You got to be realistic, Marlec, or you’ll end up in the mud, like those three Maresmen; like the two men found near Carey’s Hostelry. And don’t go thinking that precious book of yours will spare you from what’ll happen before you die. Most of the women drawn to me are appalled by what they do under the influence of unnatural passion. Lines are crossed, families are broken, and it’s not like they want or need anything from me. It’s a madness, the way they describe it afterwards. Like they get a scent of something that fires the blood and won’t let go till they find release. You’re no different, and you surely don’t want that on your soul when you stand before your god now, do you?”
Marlec hung his head. “But if I don’t make the attempt, if more people die as a result of my inaction…”
Jeb stood and straightened out the ruffles in his shirt. “I reckon that’s the sheriff’s problem, not yours. Gotta use the right tools for the job, Marlec. Trust me, that ain’t you, and I ain’t inclined to think it’s me.”
If Mortis and the other Maresmen knew about the threat, knew and kept it from him, why the Abyss should Jeb go blindly on like a lamb to the slaughter. Yeah, he might have a chance, like Neumal thought, but it was a slim hope to hang your life on, especially when there was no need. No, he’d go after the stygian before it caused any more trouble, and feign ignorance about the second husk. They’d be pissed, sure, but they’d find it hard to justify killing him on account of it.
“Don’t you want to know why it’s killing Maresmen?” Marlec asked.
“Pre-emptive strike,” Jeb said. “Knows we’ll hunt it down if it doesn’t do the same to us first.”
Marlec shook his head with vigor. “No, that’s not it. It’s vengeful, Jeb. It’s after revenge.”
“For what?”
Marlec pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a sharp breath. He lifted his eyes to Jeb’s, silently pleading for something, but it wasn’t clear what.
“You got more to say, then say it,” Jeb said. “I’m running out of patience.”
Marlec rubbed his hand over his shaven head. “Help me get close to it, or failing that, walk away. Don’t worry about the other hunters. I can and will hide you.”
With a tilt of his hat, Jeb said, “Thanks again for breakfast,” and headed over to the card table.
He tuned out Marlec’s protests the same way he tuned out the pleas of the women who begged him not to leave them. One night of passion was enough for him. He was at least honest about that. The need in him was as strong as the need he aroused in them, but it wasn’t lingering. Get a woman to give her all in one sitting, and what was there left to go back for?
15
D AME CONSILIA SAW Jeb approaching and leaned back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. Her stooges were now fixated on the game, exchanging worried glances. The dame’s money pile was hardly worthy of the name anymore, but it looked to Jeb like he’d provided her with a distraction from whatever woes that spelled. Maybe she was the same for him, his means of forgetting about the husk that was probably stalking him, about the stygian, and Maisie, and Sweet, and lose himself in his mother’s nature for an hour or two. Course, that side of him extended to liquor, as well, so he made a detour to the bar. He’d barely given his order, when someone grabbed his arm. In a flash, he knew it wasn’t Marlec; the grip was stronger than he’d have credited the Wayist with.
The face that confronted him when he turned was so pitted it resembled a sponge—a desiccated, grimy sponge that had shriveled up from too much exposure to the suns. The man’s nose was bulbous and webbed with purple veins. His eyes were too close together, coated with a milky film. Shaggy, graying hair fell back from a widow’s peak in greasy ringlets, and an angry boil poked out of the thick
“Well, yes, but I don’t know what that’s—”
“You got to be realistic, Marlec, or you’ll end up in the mud, like those three Maresmen; like the two men found near Carey’s Hostelry. And don’t go thinking that precious book of yours will spare you from what’ll happen before you die. Most of the women drawn to me are appalled by what they do under the influence of unnatural passion. Lines are crossed, families are broken, and it’s not like they want or need anything from me. It’s a madness, the way they describe it afterwards. Like they get a scent of something that fires the blood and won’t let go till they find release. You’re no different, and you surely don’t want that on your soul when you stand before your god now, do you?”
Marlec hung his head. “But if I don’t make the attempt, if more people die as a result of my inaction…”
Jeb stood and straightened out the ruffles in his shirt. “I reckon that’s the sheriff’s problem, not yours. Gotta use the right tools for the job, Marlec. Trust me, that ain’t you, and I ain’t inclined to think it’s me.”
If Mortis and the other Maresmen knew about the threat, knew and kept it from him, why the Abyss should Jeb go blindly on like a lamb to the slaughter. Yeah, he might have a chance, like Neumal thought, but it was a slim hope to hang your life on, especially when there was no need. No, he’d go after the stygian before it caused any more trouble, and feign ignorance about the second husk. They’d be pissed, sure, but they’d find it hard to justify killing him on account of it.
“Don’t you want to know why it’s killing Maresmen?” Marlec asked.
“Pre-emptive strike,” Jeb said. “Knows we’ll hunt it down if it doesn’t do the same to us first.”
Marlec shook his head with vigor. “No, that’s not it. It’s vengeful, Jeb. It’s after revenge.”
“For what?”
Marlec pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a sharp breath. He lifted his eyes to Jeb’s, silently pleading for something, but it wasn’t clear what.
“You got more to say, then say it,” Jeb said. “I’m running out of patience.”
Marlec rubbed his hand over his shaven head. “Help me get close to it, or failing that, walk away. Don’t worry about the other hunters. I can and will hide you.”
With a tilt of his hat, Jeb said, “Thanks again for breakfast,” and headed over to the card table.
He tuned out Marlec’s protests the same way he tuned out the pleas of the women who begged him not to leave them. One night of passion was enough for him. He was at least honest about that. The need in him was as strong as the need he aroused in them, but it wasn’t lingering. Get a woman to give her all in one sitting, and what was there left to go back for?
15
D AME CONSILIA SAW Jeb approaching and leaned back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. Her stooges were now fixated on the game, exchanging worried glances. The dame’s money pile was hardly worthy of the name anymore, but it looked to Jeb like he’d provided her with a distraction from whatever woes that spelled. Maybe she was the same for him, his means of forgetting about the husk that was probably stalking him, about the stygian, and Maisie, and Sweet, and lose himself in his mother’s nature for an hour or two. Course, that side of him extended to liquor, as well, so he made a detour to the bar. He’d barely given his order, when someone grabbed his arm. In a flash, he knew it wasn’t Marlec; the grip was stronger than he’d have credited the Wayist with.
The face that confronted him when he turned was so pitted it resembled a sponge—a desiccated, grimy sponge that had shriveled up from too much exposure to the suns. The man’s nose was bulbous and webbed with purple veins. His eyes were too close together, coated with a milky film. Shaggy, graying hair fell back from a widow’s peak in greasy ringlets, and an angry boil poked out of the thick
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