Westward Weird Page 6

  As a reminder to all the citizens of Lowstone, they buried the gunslinger in a place of honor along the top of the cliff top—but not too deep. And the workers returned to the Lowstone sky mines, all of them passing by her grave each day on their way to board their aeroships as they headed back to their task of drilling—also not too deep.

  <>

  ~ * ~

  THE FLOWER OF ARIZONA

  Seanan McGuire

  Tempe, Arizona, 1928

  J onathan Healy stepped from the relatively cool confines of the train coach and onto the station platform. A rolling wall of heat promptly struck him across the face, bringing him to a sudden stop. He’d been warned that the Southwest was nothing like his native Michigan. He hadn’t been warned about the fact that it was apparently one of the higher circles of Hades.

  “Sir? You’ll need to move. The train is about to depart.”

  Desperate for a reprieve, Jonathan turned to the conductor. “Are you certain this is Tempe?”

  “I’ve been riding this route for years, sir. This is Tempe.” The conductor’s smile was strained. He’d seen this reaction before, usually from city boys who’d assumed that the civilization of the West included somehow turning down the heat. “It’s a good town. You’re going to have yourself some fine times here.”

  I genuinely doubt that, thought Jonathan. His business in the west involved a lot of things, but wasn’t likely to be heavy on the “fine times.” Aloud, he said, “I see. Well, thank you for the confirmation.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.” The conductor picked up Jonathan’s bag, intending to nudge him out of the way just that little bit faster. Then he paused, an odd look crossing his face. “This bag seems remarkably heavy for its size. What did you say you were going to be doing here in Tempe?”

  “I’m conducting a geological survey. You’re holding my samples,” said Jonathan, hastily reclaiming his bag. He didn’t seem to have any trouble handling it. “Thank you again for your help.”

  The conductor managed a strained smile. “The heat must be getting to the both of us. I could have sworn that something in there just cheered.”

  Jonathan’s own smile froze. “Yes. It would be best to get out of the heat, wouldn’t it?” Then he turned and hurried off the platform, vanishing into the crowd of travelers.

  The conductor watched the skinny city boy vanish, musing for a moment about the deceptive nature of appearances. Who would have thought a man with arms like that would own a bag full of rocks, much less be able to lift it unassisted? “The world is full of mysteries,” he said, mostly to himself.

  Then the train whistle blew, summoning him back to work, and the strange man from Michigan was forgotten. Lots of strange men rode the rails to Arizona. They always seemed to sort themselves out, and if they couldn’t, the state was happy to do it for them. No matter how tame people might think the west was in this new, modern world, it would always have surprises left for the unwary.

  “All aboard! All aboard for Buckeye!”

  Engine laboring like a dragon caught in chains, the train pulled away, and Tempe was left behind.

  ~ * ~

  The hotel was nice enough to have a fan in every room, although those fans did little more than move heat from one place to another. By the time Jonathan made it up the stairs, he’d been encouraged to have a lovely time in Tempe by the woman at the desk, the bellhop, the waiter in the hotel restaurant, and a man who’d been on his way down to the lobby. Closing the door of his temporary lodgings between himself and all their good cheer felt like a victory.

  “I swear, the heat must be broiling the locals’ brains,” he said, engaging the deadbolt. He locked the chain for good measure, before putting his bowl of ice water on the nightstand and setting his bag down on the bed. “All right. The coast is clear; you can come out now.”

  The top of the bag sprung open, revealing a gun case, a hatchet, several large books, and half a dozen mice wearing brightly colored bandanas.

  “HAIL!” greeted the mice, exuberantly.

  “Yes, yes, hail,” said Jonathan. “You shouldn’t have made noise before. You could have spoiled everything.” The mice looked chastised, their cheers dying as they bowed their heads in shame. Jonathan sighed. “There’s a bowl of ice water on the night-stand for you. Get out of there and cool yourselves down.”

  “HAIL!” shouted the mice again, their sorrow forgotten as they scurried out of the bag and over to the water. Jonathan watched with mild amusement as all of them reached the bowl and began composing hymns about how lovely and cool its contents were.

  With the Aeslin mice safely out of the way, he turned his attention to unpacking his things and preparing himself for the night ahead. The conductor had been puzzled by the weight of Jonathan’s bag. Had he seen its contents, he might have amended that impression to “alarmed.”

  Jonathan removed the large gun case first, opening it to check his pistols. Both seemed to have made the trip unharmed. Under the case were several boxes of specially tailored ammunition, chosen to give him the best chance of hurting whatever might be trying to kill him. He and his parents had spent days choosing the right bullets. Even so, he’d be in trouble if they’d been wrong about the local ecosystem. If there was something in these deserts that could only be killed with holly wood or solid gold...

  The life of a cryptozoologist was never destined to be safe or easy, but it would have been nice if it hadn’t included quite so much mortal danger. Jonathan sighed, setting the bullets aside and removing the next item: a rolled poster for the Campbell Family Circus, which boasted, in large letters, the presence of Fabulous Fran, the Flower of Arizona. The drawing showed a blonde woman on a spotted horse, twirling a lasso overhead.

  “Claptrap and rubbish,” he said, scanning the print at the bottom until he found the line he needed, the one stating that the next show would begin at seven. Every place the Campbell Family Circus had performed in the last six months had been the site of multiple gruesome deaths ... and they always happened right after the show was finished.

  With a few hours left to prepare, Jonathan set the poster aside and picked up the first of the field guides he’d brought with him from Michigan. He had time for one more review of what he might be up against.

  On the nightstand, the mice rejoiced.

  ~ * ~

  The Campbell Family Circus was set up on a patch of land just outside the city limits. Jonathan called for a taxicab, not wanting to walk in the heat while wearing a jacket. It would have been better to leave it behind, but that wasn’t an option; not with a more than strictly civilized number of weapons to conceal and not with one of the Aeslin mice coming along. They’d chosen the lucky acolyte through a complex series of divinations that Jonathan didn’t even pretend to understand.

  The driver urged him to have a fantastic time as he was paying his fare. Jonathan smiled tightly, and didn’t tip.

  The show seemed to skirt the line between traveling carnival and proper circus. There were multiple tents, sideshow wagons, and a small, tidy midway. Strings of lights were everywhere, fighting to supplement the rapidly fading daylight. The woman selling tickets was bright-eyed and chipper, smiling at everyone like she was afraid of being graded. Jonathan handed over his two quarters, receiving a piece of stiff red cardboard in exchange.

  “Have a wonderful night at the circus!” she chirped.

  “I’ll try,” he said, and walked on before anyone else could encourage him to have a good time in this blasted hellhole of a climate. It’s not enough that they choose to live here, he thought darkly. They have to make the rest of us believe it’s a paradise.

  He was so sunk in his thoughts that he didn’t see the diminutive blonde coming toward him until he walked right into her, bringing them both crashing to a halt. His jacket squeaked indignantly. Jonathan clapped a hand over his pocket, signaling the mouse inside to stay quiet. “I’m so sorry, miss, I didn’t—”

  “Watch where you were going? I pic
ked up on that. Observant fella, aren’t you?” The blonde stepped back as she recovered her balance, glowering at him. “Try looking at what’s around you, why don’t you?”

  “I will.” Jonathan found himself smiling. It was actually refreshing to have someone who sounded like a local being short with him. “Can you point me to the main show tent, please?”

  “It’s that way.” She pointed back the way she’d come. She’d been paralleling the largest of the tents, he realized, making her way from one end to the other. “Better hurry. They’re going to be starting soon.” That seemed to be her idea of a dismissal; she turned on her heel and resumed her rapid walk toward the back of the tent.

  Jonathan watched her for a moment, and then turned to walk the way she’d indicated. The killings never began while the show was going on. That meant that whoever was causing them was somehow occupied until it ended. Maybe, if he was lucky, they’d be careless enough to show their hand, and he could go home before he actually melted.

  “My money’s on that Fran girl,” he informed his pocket, and stepped into the tent.

  ~ * ~

  The seating inside the tent was bleacher-style, arranged around roughly two thirds of a large central ring. Jonathan took a seat about halfway up, adjusting his jacket in an effort to keep from roasting to death. It was a futile endeavor.

  The first act involved a group of clowns, some supposedly comic mishaps, and the obligatory cream pie. Everyone applauded.

  The second act involved tumblers—quite good— and a fire-eater who Jonathan strongly suspected of being an Oread passing for human. Everyone applauded again.

  The beginning of the third act was signaled by the ringmaster, who approached the front of the stage to announce, in a booming voice, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Children of all ages! The Campbell Family Circus is proud to present our star attraction, the flower of Arizona, the star of New Mexico, the lovely, the fabulous Fran!”

  He dove for the side of the ring as soon as he finished speaking. The echoes of his introduction were still bouncing off the back wall of the canvas tent when an Appaloosa stallion burst in through the rear flap, running hell-bent toward the bleachers. People gasped. One woman screamed.

  None of them paid much attention to the blonde who was chasing after the horse—not until she grabbed hold of his bridle and somehow used his own momentum to give herself a boost up to the saddle. The horse kept running, unhindered by the sudden addition of a hundred and forty pounds of blonde woman in sequined leotard and knee-length tulle skirt.

  The horse had almost reached the first of the paying customers when the woman hauled back hard on the reins. The horse came to a stop, rearing back on his hind legs and kicking madly at the air.

  The audience applauded, interspersing their delight with nervous laughter and exclamations of relief. If the rider—Fran, it had to be—noticed, she didn’t give any sign. She just turned her horse, easy as you please, and started him cantering around the ring. His head was up, eyes bright with the sheer delight of the performance. That was one thing he and his rider had very much in common.

  “It’s her,” Jonathan breathed, sitting up a little straighter. She’d curled her hair, and traded her blue jeans for that ridiculous sequined thing, but the woman on the horse—the woman on the poster— was definitely the woman he’d collided with outside the main tent.

  “Her who?” asked the small white mouse sitting on his shoulder.

  Jonathan clapped a hand over it, scooping it up and sliding it back into his pocket. “I told you to stay out of sight,” he whispered.

  “I was well-concealed,” squeaked the mouse. Its tiny eyes widened, and it began to applaud. “Truly, she is Blessed by the Gods!”

  “What?” Jonathan’s head snapped up, attention returning to Fran.

  She had the horse moving at a full gallop now, and was standing on its back as calm as you please, like this was the sort of thing a person did every day. For all Jonathan knew, this was the sort of thing she did every day.

  Impressive as it was, her position wasn’t the main attraction. That honor had to be given to the throwing knives she was somehow producing from inside her skimpy costume. After holding them up for the audience to see, she smiled brightly, and began flinging them in a seemingly endless stream at the targets studded around the central ring.

  Some of the targets were obvious—bullseyes and plywood cutouts of coyotes, steer, and other local icons. Others were less so, like the hidden flags she whisked expertly from the tent’s support posts. Not a single knife came anywhere near the audience. Finally, inevitably, she bowed, dropped into a proper seated position, and rode her still-galloping horse out of the tent, buoyed on a tide of cheers and applause.

  The man next to Jonathan leaned over to shout to his wife, “She’s amazing!”

  “She’s dangerous,” murmured Jonathan.

  Wisely, the mouse said nothing at all.

  ~ * ~

  Paul Campbell was a man with a circus to run, and when well-dressed young men from the Midwest offered him the princely sum of ten dollars just for the opportunity to meet his star attraction, he wasn’t going to turn it down. “Right this way, Mr. Healy,” he said, leading his guest across the dusty ground behind the main tent. “I’m sure Frannie will be delighted to meet you.”

  “As you say,” Jonathan replied, neutrally.

  “Have you been enjoying Tempe so far?”

  “Everyone’s been telling me I am.”

  “Oh, good for you!” Paul stopped next to a small, white-painted trailer. “Here we are. Give me a second to let Frannie know she’s got a visitor.”

  “Thank you, that’s much appreciated.” Jonathan had no particular interest in startling a woman capable of that much accuracy in her knife-throwing—not unless he was startling her with a bullet, something he was prepared to do if necessary.

  Paul opened the trailer door, sticking his head inside. “Fran? Fran, you’ve got company. A nice young man who’s come a long way to meet you—”

  Fran’s response was inaudible. Jonathan slipped a hand into his coat pocket and through the hole cut in the lining to his pistol.

  “Now, Frannie. He’s come a very long way.”

  This time, Fran’s response was audible, if not comprehensible, and didn’t sound happy. Paul stepped rapidly back from the door, turning a sickly smile on Jonathan.

  “Why don’t you go on in?” he said. “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Jonathan replied, and moved cautiously toward the open door. He kept his hand on the pistol. There was no sense in tempting fate.

  Fran was sitting with her back to the door. It wasn’t as poor a tactical position as it could have been, since the mirror attached to her vanity gave her a perfect view of what was happening behind her. She looked up as Jonathan entered.

  “Now, why did I expect it would be you?” she asked. She returned her attention to the mirror, resuming the arduous task of plucking pins from her hair. She was still wearing her sequined thing, although she had thankfully added a bathrobe to her ensemble, making her slightly less naked. “How much did you have to pay the old coot to show you where to find me?”

  “Ten dollars,” said Jonathan, and closed the trailer door. Fran tensed slightly, but didn’t move from her vanity. “Have you been with the circus long?”

  “All my life,” she replied. She pulled the last of the pins free and shook out her hair. It was longer than he’d assumed at first; she must have already had it up when they’d met outside the tent. Fran dropped the pin with the others and twisted around to face him. “I was left outside the main tent one morning when I was about a week old. They named me after the snake-handler’s favorite python. Is that enough of a family history for you? Are you satisfied with the savage circus girl of Arizona? Because I have things I ought to be doing about now, and you’re not one of them.”

  “Not quite,” said Jonathan. “Have you noticed anything . . . unusual .
. . about the circus lately? Anything that made you feel uncomfortable?”

  Fran sighed deeply, somehow managing to roll her eyes and glare at the very same time. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you? Here to ask me about the murders, maybe get yourself a nice little quote for your paper? Here’s a quote for you: get out.”

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “Oh, you’re the kind of freak who gets his jollies from hearing about dead people? That’s much better. Do I need to repeat my quote for you?”

  Jonathan scowled. “This would be much easier if you would just cooperate. I need to ask you some questions.” I need to convince myself that you’re not an unspeakable horror using a woman’s skin as a disguise while it sates its hellish appetites.

  “Ask away. I don’t need to answer them.” Fran folded her arms, continuing to glare at him.