Vampire And The Frenchman

By Andy DeJong

Book 1 of the Ghosts Of Pinkerton series.

An imaginative book set in the old west with heavy elements of paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi, and horror. The characters sometimes use modern day slang, but for reasons of time not being what it seems. This won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it might just be yours. Give it a read and follow the genre-mashing supernatural adventure!

Welcome to an alternative 1880s influenced by outside forces of light and dark—and different eras. It differs from our own in subtle, and not so subtle, ways. If you like your stories strange, a bit campy, and full of historical inaccuracies, then this is your type of book.

Jasper Longley was a broken man before Allan Pinkerton pulled him off the train tracks and gave him a purpose.

Cole Owens drank his skeletons away. He was aimless until he stumbled into Jasper.

The wild west in the 1880’s was a time of revolution, progress, lawlessness, and ... monsters. While average Pinkerton agents were tasked with tracking bandits and keeping order, agents Jasper Longley and Cole Owens fought to keep the world from plunging into chaos. Their mission was to keep tabs on the supernatural beings wreaking havoc on the citizens of the western frontier—and apprehend candy-stealing goblins.

After a routine vampire hunt, Jasper and Cole discover a peculiar relic that sends them on a grueling quest to stop a mysterious force: The Chaos Demon. Few have encountered this demon and lived to tell the tale. Jasper is one of the few and he is hell-bent on ending this demon’s reign of terror.

Along the way, they uncover a few hidden demons of their own making.

A Frenchman and a lone vampire play much bigger roles than previously imagined. Nothing on the surface is quite what it seems—not when darkness consumes all things.

Book 2 - Sea Of Untold Stories is available now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy DeJong
• Release date: Apr 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370355822

Andy DeJong

Andy DeJong is the author of the 'Ghosts of Pinkerton' series and 'A Wintervale Tale' series.Growing up in the heavily populated state of South Dakota could explain my slight weirdness. I enjoy stories and shows dealing in fantasy and the supernatural. I draw inspiration for writing from shows such as Supernatural and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Anything dealing with ghosts and monsters that has a dash of violence, a helping of humor, and a whole lot of fun is up my alley. A good conspiracy theory gets me intrigued as well. And don't mention superheroes or RPGS around me, I will talk all day on those subjects.I would describe my writing style as more in line with movies or shows. I write primarily to entertain the reader. My prose isn't flowery or long-winded, and I don't use overly large words to try to impress. I let my characters take center stage. There are a plethora of books available that teach valuable life lessons or have a deep moral view that the author wants to instill in the reader. I want you to read my books for escapism. There are enough serious burdens and horribleness in the world already, and if you are looking to escape from it all and not think about it for a few hours, then my books are meant for you.If you do discover a valuable life lesson or deep philosophical meaning in my books, I likely did it on accident ... or did I? You'll just have to read and decide for yourself!Andy currently resides in South Dakota with his wife and children.Follow on Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/andydejongbooks/Follow on Twitter- https://twitter.com/AndyddejongFind on Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6298572.Andy_DeJongTo keep up with news on his future book releases, follow his linktree at https://linktr.ee/andydejongbooks

Book preview

Ghosts Of Pinkerton

Vampire And The Frenchman

Andy DeJong

Copyright © 2018 Andy DeJong

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover art by grandfailure at www.123rf.com

Other Books

Ghosts Of Pinkerton Series

Book 1 - Vampire And The Frenchman

Book 2 - Sea Of Untold Stories

A Wintervale Tale Series - for kids ages 8-12

Book 1- Lost Carnival

Book 2- No One's Home

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Other Books

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Other Books

About The Author

Chapter 1

We Own the Night

Jasper Longley slammed his drinking glass against the mahogany bar and wiped his hand over his mustache and lips. In a quiet setting, this type of noise would draw attention, but not here. Jasper surveyed the room. Staged in the corner, the flamboyant piano player's hands danced in the air before crashing back down on the keys. Some folks surrounded him, swaying in an uneven unison, and spilling their drinks on his head in the process. Horrible singing, yelling, and whistling filled in the rest of the quiet spaces.

The Bloom Saloon was the local watering trough—a haven where cowpunchers, miners, and outlaws alike came together after a grueling day to enjoy some ragtime tunes or try their luck at a game of bluff. When luck ran dry, they tried their hand at violence—some were more adept in the art than others.

Jasper inhaled deep, and his nostrils burned from the odor of smoke, liquor, sawdust, and sweat. A small smile crossed his face—the scenery felt familiar, like home.

The barkeep approached, holding a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. He nodded at the empty mug in front of Jasper, who tipped his sweat-stained hat in return and gave a twirling gesture with his finger. Pushing the sleeves up on his oilcloth duster, he watched a tiny splash of the oddly colored liquid land in the glass. He shot the barkeep an 'are you serious’ look and twirled his finger again.

The barkeep sighed and filled the glass to the brim.

Jasper slid a few coins his way, grabbed the mug, and examined the brown liquid. Being he wasn't a regular, he needed to take a hearty swig. Getting caught nursing a drink in rough parts, like the Bloom Saloon, led to fellas downing a fifth of liquor while staring down the end of a barrel. The locals in small towns lived a tough life and didn't care for weakness. Show any signs of that while drinking, and they would be beyond eager to show a person how to drink properly.

They watched with great interest.

Now, Jasper was no sissy, but he also hadn't drank in quite some time. He’d been sober for a good few months. Not necessarily by choice, as there were some memories he wished to drink away. The only real reason for not drinking was that his job made it difficult to enjoy evenings in a saloon.

He raised his mug and took a large gulp. His body followed with a grimace and a shudder. Holy hell. What did you cut this coffin varnish of yours with?

The barkeep smirked and shrugged, then went back to cleaning the same glass he’d been working on since Jasper arrived.

Jasper spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head in time to watch a man next to him drop his glass on the bar and keel over on the floor with a loud thump. A puff of dust shot out from underneath his body. It seemed the floor needed a good cleaning. Jasper's surprised eyes looked back to the barkeep, who stopped cleaning the exact same glass and returned the bewildered stare.

Studying the spilled drink, Jasper noticed it was the same off-colored whiskey he had been drinking. I think I'll switch to beer. If you would?

The barkeep nodded, and with the jitteriness of being caught doing something nefarious, he poured a new glass.

On the other end of the saloon, another man sat at a two-person table with a well-endowed saloon girl. It was Cole Owens, the legendary skirt chaser, a legend known only by him. He was a handsome man with blonde hair, a smooth-shaven face—somehow unharmed from years of abuse by the sun—and a big, toothy smile. His broad hat sat high on his head. He kept one hand wrapped around the girl and the other hooked around his suspenders, while his infectious laughter drowned out the noise of the local patrons.

Tell me, sweetheart. What name do you go by in these parts? Cole asked, taking a drink of his odd-colored whiskey. His eyes gazed down and glazed over, clearly focused on what was inside the top of her blouse.

She fluttered her long eyelashes and arched her back slightly to give Cole a better view. Oh, it's a silly old name.

Cole chuckled and adjusted his hat. C'mon, now, he said. I'm sure it's a beautiful name. Another drink washed down his gullet.

They call me Minnie, she said, with a bashful turn of the cheek. She ran a finger around the rim of her glass.

I told you it's a beautiful name, Cole said, chugging the remainder of his whiskey. It matches your beautiful face.

Minnie smiled and slid her full drink over to him. Here, sugar. You look a little parched. Why don't you finish my drink for me and see where the evening takes us?

Cole's smile stretched to the farthest corners of his mouth. He obliged Minnie and sipped from her glass. A normal man would be head over heels after hearing her last comment, but not Cole. He knew saloon girls worked on commission. Her job was to keep him buying drinks, earning her a cut of the profit. Anytime a drink was purchased for her, the bartender supplied caramel colored water—in a town like Bloom that was the actual color of the water—but charged the buyer for a whiskey. Cole knew how the game worked, as he also played a game of his own.

Unbeknownst to her, Cole had already consumed six glasses of whiskey without paying for any. He had been moseying up to the saloon girls, pretending to be a lonely cowpuncher looking for a little companionship. Feeling bad for him, they’d offered the first drink on the house, and he’d accepted those drinks with a great sadness in his heart. Midway through the first rounds, he’d started to show signs of life and enjoyment. The eager ladies had slid their own drinks over, knowing the next one would put him on the path of a heavy drinking night. Money had an intoxicating smell. Cole had put down those next drinks with ease and showed some of that legendary charm. Then, without warning, he had 'passed out' at the table. After many failed attempts to wake him, the heated saloon girls had stormed off. Minnie was his fourth victim tonight.

Cole eyeballed the whiskey as it sloshed around the glass, then casually spilled the contents down the front of Minnie's dress. She gasped and slapped him across the face while putting on her best fake laugh. Although, she did laugh for real a moment later, albeit from shock more than anything, when he buried his face between her breasts to salvage what was left of the lost drink. She knocked him upside the head, yanked up the sides of her dress, and stormed off. Cole grabbed his hat off the floor, dusted it off, and fixed it just so on his head. He smiled like a goofy kid as he leaned back and kicked his boots up on the table.

Back on the other side of the bar, Jasper watched those events unfold and shook his head. He’d seen the routine countless times. To be fair, it only had about a fifty percent success rate. The girls usually caught on, especially after multiple visits to the same saloon. But spilling a drink down a woman’s dress was a new addition to the routine. Jasper was astonished by Cole's continued efforts.

A young, attractive woman being led by a tall, pale man walked in front of Jasper's sight line. The woman shot him a nervous glance as she brushed by. The man jerked her along. Jasper kept his gaze on the couple. The batwing doors at the front of the saloon swung back and forth as the last of the woman’s dress slid out of sight.

Whiskey, and whatever else was in it, caught Jasper's nose before the actual person bringing the foul smell caught his eyes.

Our client just left. You ready? Jasper asked the stench.

Yep. Let's make sure she ends up a satisfied client, Cole said.

You're full as a tick! Jasper said, wrinkling his nose. His eyes watered.

Had a couple … Cole muffled a belch. I—

How you're not dead is beyond me, Jasper interrupted. "Do you have any idea what was in that whiskey? Look at that guy!" He motioned to the man, who may or may not have stopped breathing, still comatose on the floor.

Cole glanced at the man, then back at Jasper and shrugged. With that, they both pushed through the double doors into the night.

Inside the saloon, candles and kerosene lamps kept a warm glow. Outside, the night told a different story. A thick fog blanketed the town, giving the men a tough time adjusting their eyes to the dark. The loud noises and music from the bar seeped through the walls. But other than that, and the occasional snort from the horses hitched out front, all was quiet to the untrained ears.

Dusters were a glorious creation for many reasons. Two of those reasons included protection from the weather, and from the dangerous wilderness. A third was concealing one's weapons. Jasper pulled his two Colt Peacemakers from the extra pouches sewn on the inside. He reached in the left side pocket and pulled out some ammo. Six cartridges fit into each revolver, but he only loaded five in case of an accidental discharge. They may have been on a dangerous mission, but he preferred not being shot in the leg … or other places.

The law highly frowned upon being armed while in town. Weapons were supposed to be checked in at the sheriff's office before entering town. When ready to leave, the law gave the weapons back. As a rule to himself, Jasper never checked his weapons in. He had mastered concealing them. The extra pockets were impossible to find in his weather-worn duster. On top of that, he himself was a man of the law, generally speaking, so he was allowed to have them in town.

Jasper watched Cole prepare for the evening. He was not quite as discreet about concealing his weapons, but he got the job done nonetheless. Cole unbuckled his pants, fished deep with one hand and a grunt, and pulled his Colt Frontier Six Shooter from some unexplainable nether region. He re-buckled his pants and took off his broad hat, turning it over to reveal a pouch, stuffed full of ammo, sewn to the inside. He loaded the Colt, looked at Jasper and smiled; he had one last trick up his sleeve.

Whistling, he walked over to the watering trough beside the saloon, nudging a horse out of the way. After checking for wandering eyes, he dropped to his hands and knees, and grabbed his Winchester Model 1873 from underneath the trough. It was best not to ask how and when he was able to store the weapon. He calmly loaded the rifle and slung it across his back with the custom sling Jasper had fashioned for him years earlier.

The men gave each other a final nod of acknowledgement. What they were about to do was routine to them after years on the trail. Jasper trudged dead ahead, while Cole flanked to the left.

With a Peacemaker in each hand, Jasper crept, careful not to make a sound. A chill, cold enough to make a man shiver, clung to the night air. The fog canvassed the town, masking the sight of the dried leaves swirling underfoot, crunching with each false step. He avoided the leaves visible in the dim moonlight. Dust clogged his nostrils.

By some unspoken rule, women being led outside of saloons by strange looking men didn't usually travel far before stopping. Most of the time the couples went behind the buildings and acted on their desires. This couple’s stopping point would be the same—only with a more sinister desire. Not being able to see hindered his speed, but he still made good time.

Along the other side of the saloon, Cole stumbled ahead. To an onlooker, it would appear he was just another wandering drunk trying to find his way home or passing out in the dirt, calling that his home for the evening. What Cole saw with his eyes however, set him apart from the average drunk. Sure, he felt dizzy, but it didn't cause him to miss the two sets of boot prints on the ground. The first set in front belonged to someone large-footed. The second set, petite, followed behind. A short distance ahead, the second set started to drag. Obviously, the intentions of the first set were not mutually agreed upon. Something barely discernible in the fog flitted in the air, stuck on a piece of wood on the building beside him. A few strands of long hair waved as he held them in his fingertips.

Best see if she wants these back, Cole said to himself, shoving the hair in his pants pocket. He slowed up his pace, knowing he would be approaching them from behind. Jasper would be closing in on them from the other side soon, which would grab their attention.

As predicted, Jasper rounded the back of the saloon and worked his way to Cole's side. He almost entered the dark alleyway that separated the two buildings when he heard a muffled scream. He stepped back to the more open space, Peacemakers at his sides, duster whipping in the wind. Show yourself, he said, calling out to the darkness.

The body of the woman from the saloon rolled across the dirt as she was thrown from the alley. She lay still for a moment, then her chest began to rise and fall in rapid movements. She rolled to her stomach and put a hand over her neck, blood oozing between her fingers. She crawled towards Jasper, looking back to the dark alley. Jasper heard the panic in every sharp breath she took. With the briefest of glances, he gave her a quick assessment. She’d live. She clung to his leg for protection. A burning sensation ran up his thigh from nails digging in his skin.

Something else emerged from the fog and shadows. It was the tall, pale man from the saloon. He appeared to glide across the darkness, stopping a safe distance in front of Jasper.

The woman let go of Jasper's leg and crawled behind him, out of harm's way but without the human leg shield.

Jasper had always been a little envious of Cole’s ability to say something clever during tense moments like this, some wry words that would make the criminals despise him and give the locals gossip to take to the papers. Jasper wasn’t as quick-witted, but he did have something he'd been working on and patiently waiting to use. He smiled with fading confidence. "Make your peace … before these do it for you."

The pale man tilted his head in confusion, then without warning, darted forward with alarming speed. His pace, however, was not as fast as Jasper's. Both Peacemakers were already out of their holsters and raised. Each gun clicked on the first shot. Safety first. Loud cracks followed as he thumbed the hammers and squeezed the triggers with blazing speed. Words he wasn't skilled with, but shooting he was. Gunshots split the howling night wind. Every round found its mark in the man's body, blood—as red as rose petals—blossoming from the wounds. The pale man staggered forward for the first few shots but fell to one knee after a couple more ripped through him.

Jasper stopped firing. Smoke rose from the hot barrels.

The pale man growled, followed by a loud hiss. His eyes glowed red against the night, and his teeth elongated to sharp, protruding daggers, saliva dripping from the tips. His fingernails grew claw-like and dug in the dirt. He was no longer a man.

You tracked me this far, the no longer normal man said. You know bullets won't kill me. He hissed at Jasper again.

No. They won't kill a thing like you, will they? But they sure as hell can distract your dumb ass.

The man gave Jasper quizzical eyes, then looked down to see a sharpened piece of wood sticking out of his chest. Blood dripped off the tip. The man turned his head around and stared into the amused eyes of Cole Owens.

Surprise, asshole! Cole placed a boot against the creature's back and kicked him off the wooden stake, creating a sickening sucking noise as the body slid off. He unceremoniously ran the blood-soaked stake across the heel of the creature's boot—something he did just to demean vampires one last time before they died.

The body slumped to the ground and began turning to ash. They watched as the skin turned gray and deep, dark lines crisscrossed throughout, cracking apart like a broken porcelain doll until the body blew away with the wind. All that remained was a pool of blood and a nice outfit. The two men went about their business with a look of ‘business as usual.’ The woman behind them shrieked.

Cole spoke first. I can't stand vampires, he said, spitting a stream of tobacco on the clothes with no owner. He pointed at Jasper and smiled. Make your peace before these do it for you. Are you going to be saying that from now on?

Jasper gritted his teeth. I'm just looking for a phrase to say to criminals, so they think twice about what they've done and will put fear in their eyes—before I put a bullet between them, of course. He thought for a moment. It would also be nice if the townsfolk knew us just by hearing those words.

Cole reached in his front pocket, pulled out the strands of hair he collected earlier, and sauntered over to the woman. Your hair, madam. She took them and stared, her face as motionless as a nervous deer. Cole turned back to Jasper. Jasper, we hunt monsters, not people. We kill all the monsters you threaten, so they won't be telling anyone of your cleverness. Plus, it sounds stupid. He gave Jasper a grin and a light-hearted thump on the back. We'll think of something for you, old pal.

Jasper grabbed a journal from his duster. He looked at the pool of blood and clothes, then back at the journal, taking notes. The event needed to be detailed. Every insignificant moment recorded in ink.

Do we really have to do this every time? Cole asked, taking a knee.

You know Mr. Pinkerton wants us documenting every case. He's an old man, otherwise he’d be out here with us. He hired us specifically to work these supernatural cases. We have a purpose … and heaven knows we needed it. The least we can do is what he asks of us.

Fair enough. Continue on, good sir, Cole replied with a tip of his hat and a scratch of his head. You know it sure would be nice if there was someone out there whose sole purpose was to slay these things, wouldn't it?

Besides us, you mean? Jasper continued writing.

Yeah, besides us. You know. Just one person that went around slaying vampires.

Would be nice, I suppose.

Cole grabbed a handful of dirt. Maybe someday.

While looking at the pile of clothes, Cole noticed something peculiar. He reached and pulled out a golden necklace, letting it dangle in the moonlight. In the middle of the chain link was a medallion with a crescent moon design, a black arrow piercing the center.

Odd. Didn't know vampires were big on fashion these days, Cole said, holding the necklace for Jasper to see.

Jasper absently glanced up from his journal, then back to it, and continued writing. He stopped and looked again. This time his attention held. Let me see that. He ditched the journal and snatched the necklace from Cole, shoving him aside in the process.

Hey, now, Cole protested.

Odd, indeed. Vampires didn't typically wear jewelry or anything that made them stand out from the common man. They preferred blending in. It gave them the ability to kill with ease. During a murder investigation, people tended to point at someone who had stood out in their minds, not the everyday commoner. Without a doubt, it had to be something symbolic the vampire believed in or followed. Wearing something of such beauty and drawing unwanted attention just for pleasure and personal taste was too big a risk.

Allan will want to see this. Maybe he’ll know what it means, if anything. Jasper continued studying the design. His fingers ran over the moon and traced the outline of the arrow. You ever seen this symbol before?

Cole shook his head.

Thank you both. Everything went as you said it would. The woman's voice was hoarse and shaky. Jasper, lost in the moment, forgot she was still there. She glanced at the stake—stained red from blood—that Cole twirled about. He noticed her wandering gaze and tossed the stake out