Blood Banished: Charmslinger, #6

By Liza Street

In a territory of saloons, saddles, and supernatural outlaws, Gracie's posse faces new danger.

 

The orneriest of demon outlaws is on a murdering spree, and he has his sights set on bounty hunter Gracie Boswell. Gracie's used to chasing danger, but danger's a whole lot scarier when Gracie's the one being chased.

 

It's going to take the help of a nefarious necromancer, a fickle fae, and a wayfaring witch for Gracie and her posse to have the smallest chance of survival. Even then, Gracie's going to need to keep a hand on her holster at all times.

 

And her inconvenient feelings for a certain vampire? Well, there's hardly time for any of that when she's busy chucking charms to save her skin.

 

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

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Street
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393922643

Book preview

One

This ain’t a retreat, I tell myself as the wind whips through my hair.

This ain’t the Great Winter, I tell myself as the chill in the air fair slices through my clothes.

This ain’t any different from our usual bounties, I tell myself as I force my grip to relax on Kitty’s reins.

I ain’t never been great at lyin’ to myself. Willfully stupid? Occasionally. Stubborn? All the damn time, if Boone’s to be believed.

But a liar? Nope. Not me. Not even to myself.

Boone and Carson are silent on their mounts as we ride back toward the Loveless River, just as I’m silent on Kitty. Each of us is lost in their own thoughts. Mine are whirling like the buzzing flies and mosquitos what collect in the woods along the river. It’s cold enough, all these insects ought to be dead, but somehow, they persist. Maybe I ought to take some survival lessons from the insects.

I’m glad to have Boone at my side again, sorry to say farewell to Layne. Grateful to be alive after flirting with the edge of a grave several times in the past week. There’ve been some mighty big feelings circling through my heart. Is it any wonder I’m having a difficult time drummin’ up terror in this particular moment? Even when terror would be the proper response to learning a demon wants me dead?

Gracie, Carson says, you’ve got to be experiencing a panoply of feelings right now.

I suppose I am, I say. But I’m numb.

D’you want to talk about it? he asks.

I shake my head. If I talk about it, it means I’ll be thinking about it. And if I’m thinking about it, I’ll have to face the truth.

And the truth is this: a rifting demon wants to kill me.

And it’s for that reason, primarily, that Levi Boone returned to my side.

I try not to let that little truth bother me, as it ain’t the most pressing of concerns right now.

Boone’s riding a few paces ahead on his harvest moon-colored horse, Pegasus. His broad back stretches out the shoulders of his duster, and his black hair curls slightly behind his ears. How’ve I never noticed that detail before, those curls? I want to smooth them down with my fingers and watch them spring up again. It’s a strange impulse, and I force it from my mind.

It don’t take us long to reach the Loveless, with its banks of mud crowded with vine-choked trees and an abundance of shadows. We stop our horses. Damp fills my nostrils. Not too many hours ago, we battled witches and water fae in this very spot. Ain’t no sign of the bloodshed—it’s remarkable how quickly the earth forgets. I can no longer see the tracks from the water fae what hauled itself out of the river and onto the bank.

Maybe it ain’t so much that the earth forgets, as it moves on. The water washes away the blood, the earth swallows traces of violence, the wind tears away the stench of death.

Hale, the demon who runs the ferry, ain’t anywhere in sight. Last I saw, he was traveling upstream. Could be hours or all night before he makes his way to this place again. He’s supposed to be our ride across the Loveless, as we search for answers about the demon who’s after me.

Well? I say. D’you reckon we should stay put and wait for him, or travel along the shore and hope to find him sooner?

We don’t have time to wait around, Boone says, his light brown eyes serious as he contemplates the river. I wish he’d look at me instead, but it seems he’s avoiding me. He continues, The other demon could be anywhere.

Shivers erupt over my flesh. I’ve dealt with all manner of fae, vampires, feral werewolves, and evil witches. I’ve even killed a demon. But I ain’t ever been hunted before, at least not like this, where I was aware. If someone were to jump out from behind a tree and say boo right now, I’d piss in my trousers.

We need answers, and we need them now. Delilah Pim, author of the bloody dreadful books featuring a fictionalized version of me, may know more about the demon’s motivations. Unfortunately for her, and for us, she’s dead. Due to that inconvenience, we’re going to have to find a necromancer to raise her up again so’s we can ask her a few questions. As she ain’t in any condition to travel, that means we need to visit her final resting place of Pearly Gates.

I cluck my tongue at Kitty, urging her north, but Boone dismounts from Pegasus and goes to the edge of the water. He drops in a piece of hardtack as an offering to appease the fae, then remains standing on the bank. Curious, I urge Kitty to halt again. Her ears flick back in annoyance.

What’s he doing? Carson asks me.

I haven’t the faintest.

I’m calling Hale. Boone drops to his knees at the riverbank, takes his knife from its sheath, and cuts the palm of his hand. Dark red blood wells, and he holds his hand over the water so the blood drips into it.

We just have to bleed into the water and the demon comes? I ain’t seen this before.

Boone looks over his shoulder at me, his light brown eyes meeting mine. There’s a little more to it than that.

I don’t like the sound of this. If it were anyone but Boone bleeding into the river on purpose, I’d be racing off with Kitty and leaving the bleeding fool to their fate.

I, Levi Boone, request an audience with Bannok Hale, Boone intones.

The only response is the shushing flow of passing water.

Boone, I say slowly, did you just summon a demon? If he did, an escape with Kitty might be in order, after all.

I called him. It ain’t the same as summoning, Boone says.

"It ain’t the same how?" Carson asks, looking every bit as wary as I feel.

Boone shakes his head. I ain’t that kind of practitioner. I’m just a mite familiar with their ways. I know how to call, nothing more.

And that’s all it takes? I ask, looking up and down the river for signs of the demon and seeing none. Now what?

Now we sit back and wait. Shouldn’t be long now.

How is it different from summoning? I ask.

He tilts his head to the side, considering his response. One thing I like about Levi Boone is he don’t speak lightly. He’s quick to make friends, but he considers his words, because words have weight.

A demon summoner aims to control the demon, he says. I’m merely saying Hale’s name and hopin’ he responds. He can choose not to. I don’t even have to use his full name. This is optional for him.

The sound of water churning reaches my ears before the demon’s ferry comes into view, floating toward us. Hale sits at the front, looking somewhat cross with a cigarillo dangling from between his lips. His human form ain’t nothing special nor particularly intimidating, with plain brown hair and brown eyes, simple human clothing. But when my sight charm delves past his glamour to his demon appearance, he’s nothing short of terrifying with his red and dark gray leathery skin and liquid silver eyes.

Back so soon, Boswell and company? he says once he’s in earshot.

We are once again in need of your services, Boone says.

Hale sighs. I’ve saved enough human, vampire, and werewolf skins today, so I’ll take you across, but my services end there.

That will do, Boone agrees.

Hale looks pointedly between the three of us. You’re missing one of your party.

He’s talking about Layne and it feels like a slug to the gut.

Don’t start with that, I say, holding up a hand. You orchestrated the whole thing, and you ain’t sorry.

It was Hale who forced me to choose between Boone and Layne. I’d had no time to think, and I went with my instincts and my heart—I chose Boone. I don’t regret it, but I do regret what my choice must’ve done to Layne’s heart. It weren’t fair, and Hale, of course, won’t regret it.

Demons have consciences, too, Hale says, sounding affronted.

I doubt it, but I ain’t going to argue or debate it. Not when I’m on the run from one of his kin.

Where to? Hale asks.

Carson and I look at Boone.

Straight across, Boone says. We’re going to Angelwing.

Carson says, But I thought we needed to go to—

I elbow him, hard. Hale thrives on information, and he ferries all manner of folks across the Loveless. I ain’t had much opportunity to hear him gossip, but I bet he would, for the right price. And he don’t need to know that the three of us are off to Pearly Gates in search of answers about Delilah Pim and her visions of my life.

Carson elbows me back, a dispassionate expression on his face, as Hale looks between us.

I’ll figure it out eventually, you know, Hale says. I’ve got eternity, after all.

Angelwing, Boone says to Carson and me. Boswell needs new boots, and we can check for messages.

He don’t say who we’re expecting messages from. It’s too soon for Layne to want to get in touch. My cousin and uncle might have written, though.

And then there’s Wynne, the water fae from Heaven’s Gate. I suspect the other side of the Loveless will be too far for him to travel, so Angelwing will be our hub of communication.

Once our horses are hitched, Boone, Carson, and I settle ourselves onto the crates what form our makeshift chairs. Sometimes Hale sings while we cross, but today he don’t seem to be in a singing mood.

Carson bums a cigarillo off of Hale and the two of them move to the rear of the ferry, where Hale steers from.

For the first time since our recent battle with the fae and witches, the first time since I picked him over Layne, I’m alone with Boone.

And I don’t have the slightest clue what to say to the man.

A brisk wind picks up as we reach the middle of the river.

Are you cold? Boone asks.

Somewhat, I say. It ain’t intolerable, though.

Without a word, he removes his duster and settles it over my shoulders. I don’t know why the gesture should move me so. It’s proof he cares, I suppose, although, like a couple of fools, neither of us is coming right out and saying the thing between us.

One thing I liked about Layne was his directness. When he had thoughts or feelings to share about me and our courtship, he’d come right out and say them.

Maybe I ought to do similar.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t want to come out. How did Layne do this, simply say whatever was on his mind, no matter how heavy?

I can’t be a coward. Clearing my throat once, then again, I say, Boone.

He glances over at me, his whiskered jaw strong, his full lips exuding patience. Yes?

This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have said anything. I scramble for something else to replace my confession with, but ain’t nothing else I can think of. Just say it, Gracie. Tell him how you feel. Be brave.

I’ve got feelings for you, I finally say.

He don’t respond, merely stares at me.

My cheeks feel hot, and I hate that the words are simply hanging in the air between us, like I’ve tossed him something important and it’s his job to catch it, but if he don’t catch it, it’ll fall and break.

I begin to contemplate throwing myself into the Loveless and praying for the water fae therein to offer me the respite of death.

Boone’s mouth tugs upward on one side in his approximation of a smile. Are you just now figuring that out?

He’s laughin’ at me.

This ain’t nothing short of mortifying, so I say, Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say it.

I couldn’t ever pretend such a thing. He reaches over and touches my forearm. I can feel the pressure of his touch, yet no warmth, through my sleeves. Gracie, I’ve got feelings for you, too. I’ve had ’em all along.

Oh, I say. A glow of contentment lights me from within. Well, all right, then.

It’s a good thing I didn’t throw myself into the river.

Boone don’t say anything else, just takes my hand in his, and we sit like that until the ferry reaches the eastern shore of the Loveless.

Two

Soon as we unhitch our horses from Hale’s ferry and pay the demon for our crossing, I start to clamber up into Kitty’s saddle.

Carson shakes his head at me. Gracie, we ought to camp for the night.

Are you serious? I say. All I’ve been thinking of is getting my boots.

The territory ain’t what it was a few months ago, Boone says. We don’t want to be traveling after dark.

By we, he means me. The lone human in the group. He and Carson would probably do just dandy on their own, bein’ outlaws themselves. But as a human, I’m supposedly vulnerable.

I can travel after dark perfectly well, I say. I’ve been doing it for years.

Look around you, Boswell, Boone says. It’s cold. The Great Winter’s approaching. Outlaws are getting antsy, and I ain’t sure you can feel it, but Carson and I sure can.

It ain’t so much the words he says, as the fear in his voice when he says them.

I suppose we can rest for the night, then, I say, climbing down from Kitty’s saddle and gathering my bedroll and saddlebags to make camp.

If the men are