Blood Beast: Charmslinger, #2

By Liza Street

With hexes in their holsters and spells in their saddlebags, Gracie Boswell's posse is on the hunt for supernatural outlaws.

 

Ornery as a rattler, and just as dangerous with her charmed pistol, Gracie is settling into a cautiously friendly routine with her new partners, Sam Carson and Levi Boone. When Carson's hometown sends out word begging for bounty hunters to handle a calamitous shapeshifter, Gracie knows they're doomed to accept the job. The bounty is everything they usually handle: it's personal, it's dangerous, and no one else in their right mind would ever go after it.

 

Gracie's posse soon ends up in the business of sorting truth from lies, however, as the local shapeshifters and fae fling accusations at one another. A supernatural gang war is brewing--and they've accidentally inserted themselves right in the middle of it.

 

USA Today best-selling author Liza Street adds a thrilling new installment to her western gothic series. Pick up your copy of Blood Beast and join the posse for another wild ride through the dark and dangerous west!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Street
• Release date: Feb 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393067061

Book preview

1

Carson drew the short straw, so he gets to cut off the vampire's head tonight.

His beautiful face is screwed up in distaste and he winces at the sick, wet sound of his knife slicing through flesh. The orange and pink sunset behind him makes a pretty picture, so I keep my gaze trained on that while Carson grabs the head by its long brown curls and drops it in the sack I hold open in front of me.

Here you go, Gracie, he says to me, his voice dull.

The high desert is filled with low scrub brush, nothin’ taller than my waist, and the sunset fills it with mottled shadows. Those shadows hide all manner of small critters—snakes, rodents, rabbits. Also the birds that like to burst into the sky of a sudden and spook my horse. The nearest mountains are miles and miles away, nearly a week’s ride, and I can barely see them in the growing dark.

Glad that's over, Boone says in a quiet voice next to me.

Now that I know Boone’s a vampire, I notice more things about him that make me wonder how he ever managed to hide his nature from me at all. Like now, how as the sun falls farther toward the horizon, Boone's movements take on even more of a liquid grace. His focus seems sharper, his smile deadlier. He uses some kind of charm or glamour to hide his fangs. I've never asked him to lower the glamour or let go of the charm.

Some terrors are best left hidden.

He’s different from the bloodsucker we just killed. Calm. Not evil. I ain’t sure why he’s different, but someday he might tell me the tale, and I’ll understand.

I twist the top of the sack and wrap a piece of twine around it. The scent of the vampire’s blood is sour and tacky in my nostrils, so I pluck a piece of grass and rub it between my fingers, then hold it to my nose. The tangy sweetness doesn’t do much to hide the blood scent, but it’s better’n nothing.

Boone and I start toward the horses. When I don't hear Carson behind us, I turn around.

You all right, Carson? I ask.

He stands, dusts off his knees from sitting in the dirt. A smear of blood tracks across his thigh, thick and black, but the blood ain’t his, so I decide not to mention it. He gazes down at the headless corpse, regret spelled across his features plain as the bold heading on a wanted poster.

I ain’t entirely all right, he says, transferring his thoughtful gaze to me, but I reckon I will be eventually.

I nod and turn back toward the horses. A more nurturing kind of woman might offer to hold Carson’s hand, or give him a hug or something. That ain’t never been my way. Maybe I used to be like that, when my pa was alive, but after years of holding all my emotion close and my trust even closer, I sort of lost any impulses to express myself through things like hugging or hand holding.

Carson and Boone don’t seem to mind, at any rate, and since we started working together earlier in the summer, they haven’t complained. At times, I wonder if it’s the only thing they can agree on. They come up opposite on nearly every other stance and decision possible.

I reach the horses first and mount Kitty. While I wait for Boone and Carson, I fasten the sack with the head in it to Kitty’s saddle. Then I check that my revolver is fully loaded with charms. If we’re riding at night, I want to be ready for any surprises. This area of the Rift Territory ain’t too populated with fae, as there’s more desert here and the fae prefer water. It’s also too far from the Rift to have too many demons. What it’s rich in, however, is vampires and shapeshifters. The terrain is mostly flat without many hiding places, but that don’t mean we’re safe.

As Boone and Carson reach me, I hear them talking.

Want to talk about it? Boone’s saying.

Nah, Carson says. She just looked like someone I knew.

That happens sometimes—you have to kill a vampire what used to be a friend, or a family member. I shiver in my coat even though it ain’t yet cold. But night falls fast on the high desert plains, and we need to head back to the town of Salvation, turn in this head, and collect our gold. This bounty’s meant to be a quick grab, over in two days, and our time here is up. I want off these plains and back into a valley, and I don’t much care that the valley is hot and stays hot at night without any relief. The high desert’s a terrible place to be.

To underscore my thought, an eerie howl rises up from what don’t seem too far off. I peer over the landscape and don’t see anything, but there’s a rise behind us what could be hiding trouble.

Carson and Boone get on their horses and I send each of them a glance. I don’t know what the sound is, exactly, but it ain’t reassuring.

Coyote? I ask.

Boone shrugs, looks at Carson. What d’you think?

Shifter, Carson says.

A second howl joins the first.

They’re hunting, Carson says.

Boone swears low under his breath and we all shoot forward on our horses like charms from a gun. Boone’s butter-colored mare, Pegasus, is the fastest of our horses. Kitty’s fast, but she can’t gallop for quite as long as the other two. Carson’s horse, a black stallion named Domino, falls somewhere in the middle for speed, but at the moment, he lags behind.

Carson, hurry up, I call over my shoulder.

He’s turned around, looking behind us. The sun’s mostly down, just a sliver of orange against the horizon. Clear as day, though, I can see the running forms of several beasts. They’re wolves, all on the large side. Their eyes glow faint as far-off torchlight, their paws tear up dust.

They’re getting closer.

Is it a full moon? I ask. Why’re they hunting us?

Does it matter? Boone says.

And then he slows slightly to run alongside me and Kitty.

What in the Rift are you doing? I ask.

Another howl lifts up across the prairie—and it’s coming from a different direction.

There’s more of ’em.

Then Kitty does the unthinkable. She stumbles. I shouldn’t lose my seat, but I wasn’t paying attention, like some fool who’s more focused on what’s chasing me than I am on escaping it. My ass slips from the saddle and I go down, flat on my back.

Domino leaps over me so I’m not trampled, but that’s a faint comfort as I’m about to get torn up by wolves. I’ll take the trampling over that any day.

I lie there stunned for a moment too long, because now I can hear the wolves’ paws hitting dirt. They leap over low pockets of scrub brush and grasses. Their bodies are silhouetted by the deep, deep orange and purple of the sunset.

My breath won’t come; it was completely knocked out of me when I landed. Panic sets in, but I know my aching lungs is a temporary ailment. Much more permanent is dying by fangs, or being bitten and becoming a wolf, myself.

Shoving up to a sitting position, I find my gun and find my breath. Then I swear because my revolver only holds six charms, and there’s more’n six wolves running straight for me.

Suddenly, Carson’s on the ground next to me. I waste another precious second staring at him in shock. What are you doing?

Saving you. He lifts his gun and takes aim at one of the wolves. A breath later, the green light of his charm arcs outward, momentarily blinding in the growing darkness.

A wolf goes down without even a yelp. But more still advance, undeterred.

I shoot two in rapid succession, then a third and a fourth. Carson’s shooting as well, and then more charms shoot from behind us, arcing overhead as Boone takes aim of his own.

I miss the fifth wolf I aim at, but I hit the sixth. I reach for the charms in my pocket to reload, but they must’ve come loose in the fall. Cursing, I feel around in the dirt for any that might be nearby.

Carson’s gun clicks—he’s out of charms, too.

All the wolves are down, except for two. They advance, and they’re too close for comfort. I already know running ain’t going to save us. Boone’s stopped shooting, so he’s likely reloading his guns.

Where’s your ammo? I ask Carson.

In my saddlebags, he answers.

The wolves are five yards away. They could reach us with a single leap. Ain’t no way Carson or I is going to get out of here without blood spilled. It’s just a matter of which of us makes it with our life and humanity intact.

Go, I tell Carson. You run. I’ll hold them off.

What are you going to hold ’em off with? he says. Your wit? Your sparkling personality?

Shut your yap and run. I shove him, but he don’t budge. What’s wrong with you?

He stands and puts himself between me and the wolves. They’re bigger than coyotes, bigger even than real wolves, each one long as a person is tall. One’s eyes are a golden green, the other’s are blue. In a random, nonsensical way, I wonder whether their eyes are the same when they walk as men or not.

Carson advances toward them.

Get out of the way, I shout at Carson, then I rush to get in front of him. I don’t have family—he does. His pa loves him, and Carson’s got a pretty face and a kind heart and he’ll probably start a family someday. He’d make a good father. Me? I got no one. I’m prickly and none too pretty, so my family situation ain’t likely to change.

A wolf lunges at us. It happens fast, but it feels like time slows down. Carson’s hands clamp down on my upper arms and he physically lifts me off the ground and out of the way. He meets the wolf head-on, his arms up to brace for the blow.

Just then, an arc of green light smacks square into the wolf’s chest. Boone’s shooting charms, and I’m grateful for his accuracy because I felt the wind move against my hat as the charm shot past. A second charm hits the other wolf. They both fall in heaps of fangs and fur.

We have less than a half hour before the charms wear off. I slowly stand, rubbing my hands over my arms to see if anything’s broken. Just bruised. My back hurts the worst; I probably landed on a stone when Kitty stumbled.

My headache’s forming after shooting off the charms. I rub my forehead, inwardly cursing the headache while being glad I ain’t suffering worse.

I look around for Kitty and see Boone leading her to us, along with Domino. Kitty’s gait is normal, and I exhale in relief—the stumble didn’t harm her none. I turn to Carson next. He’s sitting on the ground, legs splayed in front of him like he couldn’t be more comfortable. But the man just came face-to-fangs with a Rift-cursed shapeshifter, and he can’t be half as cavalier as he looks.

Did they bite you? I ask, grabbing the cuff of his shirt and ripping it away from his lower arm. Ain’t no charm can keep a body from turning to a shapeshifter after a bite.

Hey, you tore my favorite shirt, he says, trying to tug his arm away.

"Did they bite you?" I demand.

No. Dammit, Gracie, I’m fine. Relax. You’re wound tighter than a rattler on a hot rock.

I fall back and sit on my ass in the dirt. They could’ve nicked you. You might not’ve even felt it. Even the tiniest bite could change you, Carson, so don’t tell me to relax.

He opens his mouth to argue, but then his eyes focus on my face and his expression softens. You’re really worried about me, ain’t you?

Well, yeah, I say. You’re a complete fool, you know that?

He throws back his head and laughs.

Boone and Pegasus reach us, with Kitty and Domino. What’s so funny?

Just glad to be alive, Carson says, standing. He holds out a hand to me, and I take it.

What’d they want with us, anyway? I ask, my voice sounding ornery and scratchy as the burrs lodged in my trousers.

Food, or killing for fun, Carson says. Hard to say. A look of concern passes over his face. Pretty soon, the towns’ll start sending out bounty hunters for feral shifters.

Maybe they ought to, if the shapeshifters are going to be terrorizing folk like they’ve just done.

Now that the excitement’s passed, I’m feeling more of the aches and pains brought about courtesy of this interlude. My charm headache’s right fierce. I head over to Kitty and run a hand over her neck, whisper some soothing words, then open the flap of one of the saddlebags. Inside is a small canvas sack filled with mending stones. They ain’t strong—not as strong as healing charms—but I ain’t wasting anything powerful on a couple of bruises.

You’re a good horse, I whisper to Kitty as I take out a mending stone. It won’t help with the headache none, because I can’t use magic to soothe the effects of magic use, but it’ll ease my sore tailbone.

Her ears twitch, like maybe she ain’t so sure she believes me. Her stumble caused more injury to her pride than anything, poor mare.

Boone, Carson, and I are riding off toward Salvation before the shifters begin to stir. We have some gold to collect, and more bounties to find.

2

Salvation’s marshal is a squat little bearded man who hands over a bag of gold with a sheepish expression.

I weigh the bag of gold in one hand against the sack with the vampire head in my other. This ain’t what we agreed on for the bounty.

I know, he says, a heavy look on his face. I need a couple days.

I’ve heard this before, but when I open my mouth to argue with him, Boone speaks first. You’re tellin’ the truth. What don’t we know?

Sheriff Phillips spent the other half earlier today, havin’ new gallows constructed. Don’t know why, seein’ as the jail’s empty. Either way, he didn’t communicate to me his intention, and now we’re low on gold.

The sack with the vampire’s head is swaying gently back and forth. I give it a twist so the fabric gathers as it goes one way, and then it quickly untwists, spinning. The marshal looks a little gray above his beard.

I’ll be able to gather the remainder of the gold in the morning, Marshal says, eyeing the spinning sack.

The sentence See that you do is on the tip of my tongue, but Carson clears his throat and I press my lips together and instead thrust the sack toward the marshal.

The marshal accepts the head with undisguised distaste, which irks me some, as the vampire used to be his wife. Apparently there was no love lost between them.

He sees my expression and says, She left me long before the bloodsuckers got her.

I ain’t judging you, I say, although I sort of was. First the incomplete bounty, and now a man who ain’t mourning his dead spouse.

Boone rescues me before I can aggravate the marshal any further. Where’s the best place to rest for the night? he asks.

Rarity’s Boarding House, Marshal says, giving the sack in his hand another disgruntled look. But be careful Mr. Rarity don’t take up with your girl here, Mr. Boone, as he did with my wife.

Oh, we’re not— Boone and I say at the same time.

Carson comes up and claps Boone and me on the shoulders. Shall we away to Rarity’s?

Boone and I exchange an uncomfortable look. I wonder if my embarrassment bothers him. About three months we’ve been traveling together with Carson, and there’s been no courtin’ of any kind. But I haven’t forgotten a kiss we once shared.

I’ll bring the remainder of your bounty along tomorrow morning, Marshal says.

After making sure Rarity’s will also care for our horses, we make our way there, get our mounts settled with the stable hand, and enter the boarding house.

The building itself lists to one side, but the interior feels sturdy beneath my soles and smells fresh enough, I suppose. The door opens into a tiny dining room which seems to serve as an informal saloon despite some truly horrid paintings of boots hanging on the walls. I appreciate a nice set of sturdy footwear as much as the next person, but staring at a cowherd’s old boots ain’t exactly my idea of how to spend a relaxing evening with a tumbler of whiskey.

There are three tables in the dining room. All three are a little worse for wear, with scuffs and faded varnish, and only one is occupied. There, three gentlemen play a game of poker. I’m surprised to see what looks like a couple of charms mixed with the small pile of gold coins in the middle of the table. Most humans don’t outwardly use magic. They think it’s beneath them, somehow. Me, I want to get a vampire slaying job done with my skin unpunctured, and slinging charms is the best way to make sure that happens. I can use the charms to stun a body, to aid in accuracy, and to save my hide if my hide needs saving. The offensive magic, like stunning and accuracy, gives me headaches. But I’d rather have pressure in my brain pan than a rift in my throat.

Welcome, one of the men says, standing up.

As he moves toward us, one of the other gentlemen plucks the colored stones from the gold stash and hides them in his pocket.

So he ain’t that open about using magic. He’s probably the type to sling insults at humans who use it without shame—humans like me. He’s the type to swear at me, call me a charmslinger.

It ain’t the slur he’d want it to be, not for me, anyway.

Mr. Rarity and Carson haggle goodnaturedly about the cost of three rooms while the scent of overcooked meat tickles my nose. Overcooked or not, I could go for a bite about now.

Carson’s just come to an agreement with Mr. Rarity when the door behind us opens so hard, it smacks into the wall.

Boone and I turn as one and watch a haggard man enter the dining room. He pulls a bandana from his face and staggers forward in the gait of a man who’s been riding too many hours without a break. Dust poofs around him to the worn wooden floor as he shakes out the bandana.