Blood-Born

By Bob Sellers, Jr

Welcome Back to the Weird Wild West

A story that began in clouded mystery of dust and disaster continues, where things are not always as they appear and the people around you may not be entirely who they seem.

While many hold their colective breath as Running-Deer recovers from her attack, other far more pressing event begin to churn elsewhere only to bring yet more clouds upon an already darkened horizon.

Sheriff Augustus Poe continues to deal with the fallout from a bank robbery that wasn't all that it appears to be, along with several new and intriguing challenges that will come his way.

Join us as we continue their story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Sellers, Jr
• Release date: Jul 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463438329

Bob Sellers, Jr

Bob Sellers and his family live in Southern Minnesota (USA) where he is employed as a Senior Programmer Analyst who enjoys bleeding purple and gold while cheering for his Minnesota Vikings of the NFL. As part of his many hobbies, he is also an avid motorcyclist and enjoys competition barbecue whenever possible. Many years ago, he ventured into fan fiction while he participated in several events that were organized by fans of the Forever Knight television show and further went on to enjoy the hobby while as a member of the on-line writers groups once offered by Kelley Armstrong. With the discovery of Wattpad and his more recent involvement as part of the Rochester MN Writers Group, he has enjoyed learning much to take his stories to the next level, both in content and design. A long time fan of the supernatural, he’s always been interested and enjoyed the darker tales of things that go bump in the night. Author’s Website - www.sellersjr.com

Book preview

For Wendy, Allison and Taylor

Who, without their continued support and encouragement, this book would never have been possible.

For Rev. Thomas Jerome Reibold

Instructor, Superior Senior High School

August 10, 1939 – June 12, 1993

Who, had he not made the effort to patiently teach us about a new thing called a computer using a Tandy Model I TRS80 in eleventh grade I would not have become the computer geek that I am today.

For Mr. John Bloom Davis

Associate Professor/Chairman

University of Wisconsin – Superior, Mathematics

January 13, 1947 – February 14, 2002

Who showed us that if you were found to have left a convenient ‘zing-zone’ for red pen comments in your program code, that he was more than happy to fill it up and help us learn to be better because of it.

Table of Contents

As invented by Quintus Valerius Soranus

Copyright

Dedications

Legalese and other such fine Minutiae

Foreword by Joseph Lallo

Chapter Zero

Battle-Lines

Brushstrokes of Immortality

Evidence with Clarity

Scribe

Body Farm

Thunderdome

False Prophets

Strangers on a Train

Omen of Clarity

Fugue of War

Water World

Beyond Borders

Jail Break

Parles-Vous de Mort

Praetor’ Consent

DeWitch

Table in the Round

Visitation

Aftershock

Battle Plans

Epilogue

Afterword

A Special Excerpt from Dead Men Hanging

Comments from Readers

Also by Bob Sellers JR

Acknowledgements

Preface

Author’s Plea

About The Author

Tributes

Other Books of Interest

Acknowledgements

This story would not have been possible without the support of my wife Wendy along with our daughters Allison and Taylor who provided much patience and understanding while I spent countless hours writing, musing and bouncing various odd ideas off of them.

I would also like to thank author Kelley Armstrong and her ever patient assistant Alison for helping to nurture countless amateur authors such as myself.

Without doubt, both the Wattpad on-line community and the Rochester MN Writers Group are very much appreciated for their continued support, guidance and encouragement as they have set forth with such great examples to follow and benefit from just by becoming part of their respective groups.

As they work diligently to keep the flame going, I would also like to express my appreciation and thanks to both Lisa McDavid and Don Fasig for their continued work and support of the Forever Knight television show fandom of which I learned much as I began to write long ago through fan fiction.

Last, but certainly not least, this story is in loving memory of a lost friend whose light went out long before her time.

Rest in peace Susan M. Garrett, you are truly missed.

Legalese and other such fine Minutiae

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Characters based upon Kelley Armstrong's Women of the Otherworld series appear with permission.

Any other similarities in resemblance, name or paranormal nature of real people or beings dead, undead or otherwise impaired are entirely by accident and pure happenstance unless specific permission was given for their use.

Where some individuals may have been referenced indirectly in some fashion or another, a select few of them are there for reasons that may or may not be meant for only the author to know and possibly muse about at great length regarding the artistic liberties that may have been taken and otherwise enjoyed in the process.

Perhaps to remind a certain grouping of those particular individuals that may not know it yet, but it is a very bad idea to irritate an author for many, many reasons should they ever read this.

Or as the legendary Klingon Khan Noonien Singh once observed, revenge is indeed a dish best served cold.

Several historical events described herein have actually occurred and various historical references have helped form the basis for their fictitious portrayals within the following pages, although on several occasions certain artistic liberties have been taken by the author in regard to chronology and certain other particulars which were done only as it served for purposes of this tale and nothing else intentional or otherwise unless where noted.

Foreword

by Joseph Lallo, Author – Book of Deacon Series

It is a wonderful time to be a storyteller.

Is it because more stories are being told? No. Ever since the first cave painting, we have been telling stories. We trade them across the dinner table. We lull our children to sleep with them. We use them to vent the stress of a rough day, or to share the triumph of a hard fought victory. Our stories define us as individuals, and stories as a whole shape the development of the species. There are as many stories as there are people in the world and seconds in the day. This has always been the case and it always will be. Nothing has changed there.

Is it because there are better stories being told? No. A story is a story. Now, as ever, whether it is good depends upon the mind that created it and the mind that consumed it. Stories exist in a sort of quantum state of excellent and awful, simultaneously drawing in readers who see in the characters elements of themselves and pushing away readers who crave something that story can’t provide. The most brilliant prose will fall upon deaf ears if what the reader sought was a rousing adventure. And the most fascinating plot will go unfinished if the reader isn’t getting the turn of phrase he or she seeks. A good story is a story that finds its way to the reader who is looking for it. And the path from author to reader has long been a rough one.

Publishers can only release so many stories in a single year. A good book takes time and money to put on the shelves. The people in charge have to be selective, because too many books that fail to find an audience can sink a company. Even the smallest publisher has the bottom line to think about. There are employees to pay, expenses to cover. And thus, with such a small percentage of the books being written actually finding their way to print, the finest tale ever told could end up disregarded if pitched in the wrong place at the wrong time. The gatekeepers simply can’t afford to give every story a chance.

That, my friends, is why it is a good time to be a storyteller. With the rise of self-publishing, the barriers between the writers and the readers are gone. Anyone who has the time and the will can put their story out there for the world to see. And time and time again, we’ve learned that the same story that no publisher would ever touch can earn a special place in the hearts and minds of readers who otherwise never would have had the chance to experience it.

This is a time when I can write tales in age-old genres, crafting the exploits of wizards and dragons, while simultaneously exploring experimental genres like science fantasy and superhero satire. It is a time when someone who a few short years ago was weathering his fortieth rejection can find himself writing the foreword for an exciting story of the Weird West. I am honored to share the virtual shelf with people like Bob Sellers, Jr. I hope you enjoy this story, and I hope you enjoy a dozen more like it. Because as wonderful a time it is to be a storyteller, a storyteller is nothing without a reader.

Chapter Zero

"I know what kind of things I myself have been irritated by in detective stories. They are often about one or two persons, but they don’t describe anything in the society outside."

- Stieg Larsson

Spring, 1881 / The Farm

Leviticus LaRouchette could not help himself as he remained perfectly still while he considered the unexpected yet entirely all too familiar member of the visiting delegation.

Blood Cousine Grace…

The middle aged woman who had been taken from him ever so long ago had stood just tall enough to have looked over his shoulders from the flats of her bare feet.

A shade pale from the passage of time, her otherwise light olive complexion remained clearly evident beneath mixed strands of soft golden blond hair that he had often managed to find himself lost in; far more than even he may have otherwise cared to admit, before their world had been turned upside down and torn inside out.

"Cousin Leviticus." She offered softly as she continued to study the forest below them.

"Had I known … He began with casual ease, … that it would have been you … attending this meeting … dear cousine …"

He hesitated as her eyes moved with calculated patience while she searched the landscape and foliage when he moved to stand next to her, not entirely surprised to have found that his breath still caught by the mere sight of such familiar soft features that clearly still held unbreakable strong sway even after as much time that had passed for them.

"I would have prepared a far more ... elegant reception for you."

Once a Roman ... She sighed, "… always the well mannered … and ever quaint Roman that I remember ..."

When she turned to face him it was only to reveal painfully familiar eyes that looked up into his, as soft lips called out strong invitation that he just managed to resist when temptation beckoned and he held his hand still until the itch to reach up and gently caress the soft skin of her cheek had passed.

Fortunately, for all concerned, his discomfort of the moment was resolved before she opted to turn and look back down with just the hint of a smile from his clear reaction.

"They are rather adept at camouflage, are they not ... She observed, … I have yet to have found any sign of them, but they are clearly there and well hidden … even from us."

LaRouchette smiled to cover his embarrassment from such weakness of a relationship long past over.

"Well … my dear ... they are bears after all ... in a forest. Camouflage is simply just one of but … many things that they can do well."

Silence descended as they both watched the activities or lack thereof below them.

How long have you been here to watch them? He finally inquired, a bit more than a little curious about having found her alone as he had, considering where they were and the protocols that had been put in place for very good reason.

Have they found human form yet? She dodged, skillfully having managed to avoid his rather pointed question. "Almost three years after the momentous occasion of their birth, one would have naturally assumed that they would be adults by now, in either form."

Somewhat annoyed that she clearly knew more than she should have, he managed to restrain a frown.

"Unfortunately no; either they are playing us for fools, or they do not yet know how to do ... whatever it is that lycans do when they do it." He sighed in clear frustration while they watched the scene below as nothing moved.

"You of all people should know how frustrating lycans can be … he finally offered with a wry smile, … half your people were close enough to have been considered or confused with them by those much more civilized than they."

I fear that I now see before me the man that my father detested so. She sighed with pained regret as she turned and gently backed into him which out of habit allowed his arms to gently enfold her from behind. "Have you ever wondered what the world would have been like had we not met as we did?"

He enjoyed the scent of her hair as he made a show of balanced consideration.

Certainly, … He began, having actually considered this very question himself on more than one occasion, "… once I had led the Emperor's armies to crush all of Britannia, he would have had no option other than to name those cursed islands after me in their entirety as a … just and well deserved reward for my heroics and honor in his name."

With casual ease she stepped from his grasp, only to clasp her hands behind her while she turned to study him; an often arrogant former Roman General with his close-cropped blond hair and tall angular stature that could still manage to amuse her at the drop of ... just about anything she realized sadly.

"And now, before me, is the man who decided that he had absolutely nothing to fear from ... she cocked her head as if at a loss for words, … exactly how was it that you put it?" She mused at his expense.

With hint of resignation, LaRouchette sighed as he lifted his chin.

"A few peasants, a bucket of oats and a pitchfork between them for comfort…" He recited with a touch of a grin just for her entertainment at such long almost forgotten memories.

How could I have known that your father would resort to the devil himself to have made a point; had I not vowed promise to you directly, I might have slain or even turned him afterwards myself.

Her features melted slowly to sadness. "Do not worry, old friend; I managed to do that particular chore all by myself. His orchestration of your turn to spite me was one thing, while having his own daughter turned was entirely another."

He could not help but frown. "You turned … your own … father?" He asked, incredulous at the thought.

"No … obviously not … even you know me better than that, Leviticus; some things are just best not kept in the family … if you know what I mean."

In an attempt to change the subject, he smiled. "So … after all this time … what brings you here? I hope that you have not been looking for me; I was not all that hard to find for that very reason alone."

He felt relief when she laughed the way that she used to as they had once shared dark opinions of both their Roman overlords and her own family's people.

"Yes, you have made it very difficult to avoid you once I left those lands. I have had no great desire to return there and vowed never to see any remnants of my people or their history ever again."

She looked him up and down as she considered the memories between them.

"You do look good, even better I dare say without all that silly armor or uniform to weigh you down."

"Have you found much if … anything of the others after all this time?" He inquired pleasantly.

No ... but to borrow from a tedious rhyme that I have heard school children utter in that altogether annoying sing-song ...

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she recalled the words.

"You are one and I am eight, of the nine, who knows how many reside within heaven's gate. Cousins one, cousins all, together we shall never fail. For to the end we are cousins now and through all eternity, our vows binding us as one: Cousins forever in blood, Cousins in unity, Cousins as one, Cousins Together."

"Yes, how tedious we all were for swearing to such a silly oath. He agreed. I am sure that they were also as glad to be free of those islands as we were. Fortune was certainly with us that the devil's own spawn proved far less sure of our abilities than we were and allowed us to escape as we have."

Silence born of painful memories long forgotten descended like a fog of sorrow.

We need to talk, cousin … She finally offered with a resigned sigh, "… things in California have gotten completely out of hand. If something is not done soon, we shall find ourselves back using places such as this as they were designed and sadly more."

And the others that you represent…? He prompted, uncertain of her plans.

"We have formed a loose alliance of western interests that cross all of the various ... families of note or consequence and they have asked that representatives be assigned which is why I am here to perhaps convince one or more of you to return with me."

I see. LaRouchette replied with a tight frown while he looked down at the forest where the witch's faerie light had become bright as mid-day sun.

He turned and held out an arm for her to take.

"Well then, shall we retire to the great hall? I shall introduce you to everyone and let you get ... how was it that those carnival barkers once used to call it out ... ah yes, to get this show started."

With a smile, she joined him as they exited the security of the massive dome and moved along the trail.

"Please tell me that you do not wear one of those silly cowboy hats ..." She mused.

"But of course my dear cousine, when in Rome ... and if you knew any Roman better than myself, you'd know better than to even ask."

Chapter I – Battle-Lines

"A man’s got to have a code, a creed to live by, no matter his job."

- John Wayne

Goblin's Toe, Wyoming

Abby took her time as she made her way through the crowd, easily having exchanged pleasantries with the shop keeps and other town folk that she passed.

This place had finally managed to corrupt her far enough so that without having hardly realized it, she had become as local as the rest of those around her.

She had even begun talking like them with their various slang and territorial accents.

Good doctors on the range were hard to find, perhaps yet another reason that she had been so readily accepted into the general flow of things.

It chaffed her some to finally have admitted it though, but Poe had been proven right once again about his limited understanding of women’s fashion; long skirts had indeed made her life as the town doctor far simpler than her old riding britches and gun belt may have otherwise done in the same stead.

Along with well honed skills that kept her vampiric nature hidden also seemed to have carried many of the days that she had tended and mended the local population.

That, along with several other far more sensitive abilities had proven to have been a bit more insightful as to the nature of her various patients’ malaise and maladies than she might have otherwise been without them.

Even her long time companion Valeria would have been pleased to learn that she had managed to ensconce herself among the locals as effortlessly as she had, with little or no issue other than the passing hooligans that Poe had allowed as fair game when certain hungers rose as they were often prone to do.

Nature being as nature was in her case.

Instead of having joined her right away, Valeria opted instead to bypass them entirely and continue scouting west to the coast while she had settled in to get comfortable with the town.

From last word Valeria would arrive by week’s end to finally take ownership of the mansion once negotiations had been completed with LaRouchette and his people.

That they would now own the mine and much of the land that surrounded the town would serve well if future encroachments were ever attempted under their watch.

Such ventures may yet manage to become rather profitable; a distinct possibility that would be very much to LaRouchette's chagrin in such matters if it were indeed proven to be true.

As far as they could tell, no one had ever come looking for the missing diamonds as of yet.

Perhaps suggesting that either they had come and gone right under their seemingly observant noses; something which would have also hinted that she may have become very rusty at sensing people’s tells in passing or was abandoned completely by her usual sense of premonition that reliably would have raised even the tiniest hairs on the back of her neck in early warning.

The only probable sign of their plan having been discovered was not long in coming after things had been set in motion.

A cable had been forwarded to all stations from Fort Danna with a bleak description of a dead woman having been found washed ashore near San Francisco with documents that apparently had linked her to their general area.

Details at the time had been rather sketchy other than it had remained undetermined if it was suicide or something else far more sinister in nature; while both she and Poe, along with Colonel Bonnet at Fort Danna had known better that it was a sign that their message had been delivered.

Hopefully the woman managed to suffer far less than she would have from the advancement of consumption that would have certainly claimed her in a much uglier fashion had she lived out what little remained of her life.

Remorse was cheap, she mused; something that had never been counted amongst her stronger suits which brought a smile at such thoughts as she neared the sheriff’s office.

She found Poe seated at his desk while he worked his way through the various piles of wanted posters and telegrams that had passed on information or asked the same in return for felons or other misadventures that may have been discovered in or around the local area.

Many of the locals had commented in passing that Poe appeared to have trimmed himself up as of late; long hair cut neat just past his shoulders while the towns barber had somehow managed to obscure much of the grey that had steadfastly continued to mix with the red of his beard.

"I told you." He offered without having looked up as she moved to step into an empty cell for modesty where she carefully removed her skirt and sat to take off the walking boots in favor of the riding pair once she had pulled her britches back on and set her long dark hair free of the schoolmarmish braided pony tail that Poe had also suggested.

Skirts over britches make a women far less ... He started with little attempt to cover his amusement as she changed nearby.

"Far less likely … She corrected once she had cinched her gun belt and bent to tie off the leg line of her holster, … to shoot you in the other leg as amputation is far cheaper with what little budget that we actually do have to work with around here and is also as likely to bring a crowd for added bonus."

She carried the skirt over to the desk that had become hers, where it was carefully laid over the back of her chair.

A girl after my own heart, or the strong red blood that runs through it as it were ... He observed with a smile.

This parlay of banter, amusing in and of itself with each variation, had become a daily ritual of sorts that brought with it mirth and humor to an otherwise dusty and fairly boring existence.

Not that either one of them would have ever complained about the boring part of that equation in any way shape or form.

"I noticed that our new Indian friend has brought you more of that … special tea of hers. She observed pointedly with a nod toward the hand crafted pot that now sat to one side of his desk. Perhaps she is after your heart and not that worn out old rust filled runoff crap that runs through it."

"Now that crossed a line that even the likes of you should have known better than to cross." He replied with a reluctant sigh as he got up and walked over to drop a pile of paperwork on her desk.

"First, Rosalie most certainly is not one of our Indians; she just happens to be Bindi."

And second…? Abby offered, while she scanned through the pile that he had just left for her before she paused when she caught up to what he had just said.

"Wait a minute ... did you actually just call her Rosalie? I thought that she said that her name was Rose. She must really consider you far more than something special if she allowed you to use her formal name."

"That red jewel of hers should have told you that she is both beautiful and smart." he replied pointedly before he moved toward the door.

"If she's so smart, then why are you the only one that she gives that scummy pond water to...? She offered with a smile. And you’re not going to help organize these before you go?"

He stopped at the door to take in the activities of the street outside.

Absolutely not; I'm your boss and as deputy you're required to do the heavy lifting as part of your job. Poe pointed out with little attempt to hide his mirth at her expense.

"Well then … I quit." Abby announced with mock seriousness as she leaned back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest.

Can't quit… He replied evenly.

And why not, may I ask?

"Well for starters … you've proven that you are not a murderer … He ticked off each point on his fingers as he continued, … are really bad at thievery and then to top it off you keep putting people in those stocks that LaRouchette built." He finished as he nodded to indicate the wooden structures that currently held two scofflaws from the previous evening’s misadventures.

Well, in as much as it may pain me to say it, he was right; they help curb people’s unfortunate ability to repeat their sins.

"If you say so