Chapter 26
Lusting after one’s wife all day was an absolutely exhausting activity. Though William was physically in the dining car, seated before very expertly prepared trout on the finest china, his mind was in a different place entirely. He watched as Buffy lifted a forkful of roasted chicken to her parted lips and slid the morsel of meat inside her mouth.
Though he’d been near enough to touch her during every moment of the journey, he could indulge in only the briefest brushes against her hand from time to time. On a few rare instances, when he’d escorted her down the train aisle, he’d been allowed the pleasure of holding her arm and feeling her side pressed against his. Each small touch served to fuel his flame, culminating in a veritable bonfire of want now that night had begun to claim the sky. It would take only the smallest of sparks to set him ablaze. Perhaps she’d slide a look at him, with her half-lidded moss-green eyes. Or she’d do that amazing thing with her mouth, that little half smile …
Buffy kicked him gently, instead. “Planet Earth to William?”
“Yes, love?”
“You should join me here for dinner. What were you thinking about?"
“Nothing,” he lied, badly, for he could feel his cheeks warm with a blush, damn them.
She grinned in response, with her little half smile, then dropped her eyes and began to push a bite of stuffing around her plate. Determined to trim the wick of lust, he forced his mind back to their journey.
“You’ve been unusually quiet this afternoon, love. Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Oh it’s fine,” she mumbled. “I just get a little uncomfy around the Buzzkill Brothers. They keep giving me the stink-eye. Since I don’t want to drop any more f-bombs, I figure when it comes to conversation around those two, less is more.”
He nodded, not entirely certain of what she’d said, but surmising that it had to do with their seat-mates causing her a general discomfort due to her earlier cursing. Buffy-to-English was a particular specialty of his and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at his fluency in it.
“What did you think of Pittsburgh?” he asked.
“Ugh.” She made a face. “Kinda hell-mouthy. All the slag piles and the air so full of black smoke that you couldn’t see the sun. In school they give you all the Andrew Carnegie stuff, but they leave out all the parts about soul-crushing poverty and the insane amounts of pollution.”
He nodded. “It reminded me a great deal of Birmingham.”
The waiter interrupted and whisked away their plates, which were quickly replaced by slices of dessert – something called ‘Shoo Fly Pie.’ References to insects not withstanding, it was a delightful treat, reminding him very much of treacle tart. Before he’d eaten more than a few bites, Buffy had already finished, her pink tongue darting out to lick a stray crumb from her lower lip. He felt a stab of desire so sharp that he filled his mouth with a large forkful of the sugary mixture to stop from groaning aloud.
She sighed and looked at her empty plate. “I think my tongue is going to die of happiness.”
He bit his bottom lip. Did she know what she was doing to him? She couldn’t. He gave her a weak smile and ran his fingers through his hair, forcing his mind away from things that had to do with happiness and her tongue. With enough concentration, he could find a way to rise above these carnal desires.
“… bed?” she asked. Dear god, how long had she been talking? At least his mind was attuned to the word bed.
“What was that, dear?”
She tilted her head to the side, her green eyes smiling at him. “I asked if by the time we return to our seats, the porter will have converted them into a bed?”
He stared at his wine glass numbly, trying to come up with some kind of coherent response when he felt her move. From beneath the table, she touched the tip of her boot to the back of his calf, and he jumped with a start. The boot traced a seductive line up his leg as she slid further and further down in the seat to accommodate her movements. The feel of her, even through the boot’s leather, the trousers and all of it was an erotic delight and he gave a shuddering sigh.
“Yes, ah … indeed,” he said, tucking his leg beneath his chair and taking another bite of pie. Thank god for dessert. If he had to speak about their bed at that moment, he was fairly certain he’d simply combust of want. Pie of Fly being replaced on tonight’s menu with Flambe of William.
“How do they do it?”
“It?” He’d reverted to one word sentences. The next step would surely be a series of grunts.
“The beds. How do they do the seat-to-bed switcheroo?”
“Ah, it’s rather ingenious, really.” Being forced to explain the mechanics of a Pullman Car was just the thing to take his mind from his baser urges. “There are pull-outs beneath the seat which pull out to create a platform. The back seat cushions then are placed on the platform for our … bed.”
“And what about the Brothers Grimm?”
“They sleep in the compartment above us.”
“Behind the wooden painting on the ceiling? Seems a little cramped.”
“The wooden panel folds down to create a bed, and a thick curtain pulls across to enclose both compartments. The upper bunk is not terribly comfortable, or so I’ve read, which is why I paid a little more to secure the lower one for us.”
“Very thoughtful, William.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand just as the waiter returned. William withdrew his hand nervously.
“Was everything satisfactory, sir?” The thin black man smiled as he cleared away their dessert plates.
“Yes, George, thank you,” William replied as he pressed a coin into the man’s hand. The waiter nodded his thanks before departing.
“His name is George, too?” Buffy asked with a hint of sadness. When she had first heard William address their regular porter as ‘George,’ she’d grown so quiet and sad that he’d immediately changed the conversation without explanation.
“All of them are, love. Porters on Pullman trains are all called George.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not entirely certain. I believe it’s a reference to the inventor of the car, George Pullman. Having the same name simplifies things for the passengers.”
“And it’s demeaning as all get out! To call them all the same thing.” Her voice was a little louder than usual and rising rapidly; the diners at nearby tables cast curious glances toward them. “I’ll bet they have a special name for us too. They should.” Buffy shook her head in disgust.
William decided it might be a perfect time to exit. He rose and lifted his arm. She took it, grumbling, and allowed him to escort her from the dining car.
They wove their way through several cars before arriving back at their seats. He wasn’t entirely sure how many cars it was. His mind always grew muddled when she was so close to him – the scent of her hair, the way her slender fingers pressed into his arm when the train swayed around a curve. Surely night, and a blessed night alone with her in bed, couldn’t come quickly enough.
When they passed through cars, porters and passengers alike were in a flurry of activity. They reached their assigned seats and were pleased to find their bed was already prepared, with crisp, white linens and an ivory bedspread. Buffy dove in, stretching out full, like a cat in the sun.
“Bed,” she sighed, a large smile spreading across her face. God, she was the very picture of Venus, even in this very crowded train car, and he was no more than a devoted worshipper.
His thoughts were disrupted as their porter approached. The small black man had bright eyes which were lit from behind with an intelligence that contrasted with his meek disposition. As always, he greeted them with a wide grin.
“Excuse me, sir. I’ve placed the book that was on your seat up on that ledge there, along with the day bag that belonged to your missus. Is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, very much. Thank you, George.”
At the sound of his name, Buffy popped up in bed wearing a very determined expression. Strangely enough, she reminded him of an illustration of a prairie dog that he’d seen earlier that day in his guide book.
“George, what is your name?”
George’s smile only grew. “Why, I believe you’ve just said it, ma’am. It’s George.”
“Not your train name. Your real name. The one your mom gave you.”
“You can call me George, ma’am.” He fidgeted with his cap, his smile fading a bit around the edges.
“But I’d really like to call you by your real name. If you don’t mind.”
An uncomfortable silence grew as George’s grin evaporated all together. William was on the verge of intervening when George spoke again. “Alexander Hamilton Perry,” he said, his tone solemn.
“Nice to meet you, Alexander. I’m Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers. Pratt!” She shot a guilty look at her husband, then turned her attention back towards the porter. When she held her hand up to shake Alexander’s, he backed away, startled. Even though Buffy was acting out of ignorance, this would have crossed far too many lines. Alexander ducked his head, and she let her hand fall limply to her side.
“If that will be all, ma’am? Sir?” He trained his eyes firmly on the floor.
Uncertain if he should address the man as George or Alexander, William went with a simple, “Yes, thank you.”
Buffy scrunched up her nose as she watched the porter’s retreating back. “Ah, geez. I might have messed that up, huh?”
William thought for a moment before responding. “The way you see many things are … difficult for others.”
“Difficult for you?”
“No, love. Not me, never that. But others need time to … adjust to you.”
She tried so very hard in this world that was alien to her. Seeing her sitting on the bed, in a pose a lady would never strike, with such a look of disappointment on her face - it tugged at something inside him, and he leaned down to whisper, “You may not be the woman this century wants, but you’re the one she needs, my love.”
“Oh, William,” she beamed and leaned up to kiss his cheek. And even though they were in the middle of a well lit train car surrounded by dozens of people, he couldn’t bear to pull away. Just as she was a few inches from his cheek, she caught herself and patted his cheek instead, while leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I get it. But when the curtains are closed, it’s going to be a whole lot more than cheek kisses. Just sayin’...”
He looked up, nervously checking to see if they were receiving shocked looks from their fellow travelers. They were not; however, something even more dire lay in his field of vision. The Shotwell brothers had entered the car from the far end. Buffy followed his gaze and let out a groan upon seeing the men headed their way.
She shook out her skirts and reached over to collect her day bag. “I think I’ll exit, stage left and get ready for bed in the ladies room at the end of the car. I want to put off dealing with the walrusmen as long as possible.”
William took that opportunity to go to the gentlemen's room at the other end of their train car. There was a substantial line to use the facilities since the vast majority of passengers were male, and it was quite some time before he was able to return to their seats. By the time he made his way back though the car, the lights had dimmed and the small army of ‘Georges’ were bringing cups of tea and hot chocolate to those who’d requested it.
When he peeked around the corner of their enclosure, he was happily surprised to see Buffy waiting for him. She was perched next to the window in the center of the bed, legs tucked up beneath her bottom. Her hair was fashioned into a single braid, and she wore a sly grin on her lips. Looking at her, he felt as exuberant as a boy on Christmas morning.
William climbed in beside her with a sigh, which was apparently a little louder than he’d intended, as she met it with a giggle. From just above them, one of the brothers cleared his throat.
Buffy seemed quite oblivious to the subtle hint and reached up to knock at the underside of the top bunk.
“Guys? Whenever you’re ready, it would be great if you could pull the curtain,” she called to them. The scene reminded him of children in the nursery, chatting in the dark.
The Shotwells seemed less than charmed, however, and gave no response to her request. Buffy looked at him questioningly and he answered with a reassuring smile.
“Bunkmates?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face as he joined in her unorthodox method of conversation. “You there? My wife just made a request of you.” He aggressively knocked at the bottom of their bunk for good measure.
“Yes, she did,” came the affronted response. “We shall close the curtain in due time.”
There was a brief pause before the other brother called out, quite loudly, “My brother and I simply cannot bear rude people.”
“Apparently your mother could.” William bit out. “Twice.”
When the only response was shocked silence, Buffy laughed and added, “It must skip a generation.”
“I could leave my comfortable bed and close it for you,” William suggested, his voice taking on a threatening tone. It was an unusual feeling and he found, surprisingly, he liked it quite well.
There was a ‘harumphing’ sound just before the curtains closed with a jerk.
“Oh, burn, William. I’m so proud of you! You made him harrumph” she whispered urgently in his ear, her breath warm and terribly arousing.
“In your grand tradition of inspiring ‘harrumphs’ in gentlemen, my love,” he murmured. “Your corruption of me is very nearly complete.”
“We have the rest of the night to complete your corruption, William.” She slid her hand down his chest. “Give me time.”
~*~
The last thing Billy remembered was dying, so he was more than a mite puzzled to wake up covered in horse shit.
Jerking his arms up instinctively, he moved frantically to dig his way out. The mixture of earth and manure moved aside as though it was without weight at all. When he climbed out of the earthen hole, he looked around to find himself in a horse stable – the same one he died in, he reckoned.
He brushed the manure from his clothes and hair while looking around to get his bearings. Though it was night, he could see every detail of his surroundings as if it was high noon. Hell, he could see ‘em even better than that. The individual nails in the wallboards stood out in crisp detail; the bits of straw on the floor jumped out at him in a way that made him feel slightly off balance. It was as though he’d been gifted with new eyes entirely.
When he sensed a faint movement, he whirled around. There, in the far corner of the stable, she stood. Leaning against the wall with his hat in one hand and clutching her ragged dolly beneath her breast: Dru - the bitch that killed him.
He moved towards her, impossibly fast. Though it should have been a series of steps, it felt like one fluid movement, quick and smooth as a striking snake. The action left him feeling addled-headed and he shook his head to clear it.
“You’re awake, my William,” she purred.
“You … Dru,” he said. “Last thing I recollect was you killing me.”
She smiled as sweetly as though he’d just asked her for a dance. “I didn’t take a life. I gave birth to a Prince.”
He reached up to touch his neck, where he remembered she’d been drinking from him, chewing on him, the night before. Where there should have been a ragged hole, the skin was smooth, with only the faintest mark left behind.
The hellcat sidled up to him, a grin dancing across her face. He instinctively reached for his pistols. Jesus, when had he moved so quickly? They were strapped tightly to his hips, just as they should have been and he whipped them out, pointing them at the creature standing next to him.
Rather than raise an alarm, she laughed. Laughed! Crazy bitch that she was. Absolutely unafraid, she stepped toward him and placed his hat back on his head, letting her fingers linger on his hair in what felt like a tender gesture.
“Bits of metal won’t harm me, my William. They won’t hurt you any longer either.”
“Neither will killing me, by appearances.” He gestured toward the crude grave dug into the stable floor. “You buried me?”
“Edith and I dug it. We had to. Earth for birth, love.” She reached down and patted her dolly’s head tenderly.
“I reckon the doll passed on the heavy lifting, and you got the raw end of that deal.” He felt his patience thinning as a strange kind of appetite began to snap and claw at his innards. “Burying a dead man – well that makes sense. But covering me in shit was dumber than squattin’ with spurs on.”
She jerked her head as though he’d slapped her, and he felt a tug of regret. “Miss Edith said it would be easier to dig here.” Her tone was petulant, wounded.
He shook his head. Poking and prodding the crazy creature wasn’t likely to lead to answers and this strange hunger was poking at him like a knife in his belly. Best he just cut straight to it.
“You killed me. I should be taking a dirt nap in a bone orchard. That’s what got me concerned. Why’m I standing here jawin’ with you?”
“You’re as I am now, my William.”
“Crazy as popcorn on a hot stove? I reckon I am since I just dug myself out of my grave.”
Dru moved to stand in front of him and placed one hand on his chest. Her skin no longer felt as strangely chilled as it had the night before. He realized with a start that it was because his body was now just as cold as hers. Her blue eyes met his, and she spoke to him as if she were speaking to an ill-behaved child. “You’ve been given a new life. Not as a human – you’re a vampire now.”
“What in tarnation is a vampire?”
Her grin widened at that, until it consumed her face. Her teeth elongated into sharp points, like she had a bear trap for a mouth. Her forehead grew ridges, and her eyes yellowed and seemed to spread to the sides of her face. In moments, she’d turned into the hellcat that had killed him.
“Vampire,” she said carefully around her teeth. “As are you, now. Do you feel that hunger growing inside of you?”
Yes. Oh, sweet Christ, yes, he did. As soon as she named his appetite, it woke fully. What had been clawing at his innards earlier was now thrashing about wildly, scraping a path up his throat.
“I am hungry and … thirsty. Worse than a winter-starved heifer. I’ve never felt anything like it.” As he thought about his hunger, he felt it scrabble a path out of his belly and up to his head where he felt his face began to shift and stretch. It wasn’t a painful sensation, but was all together peculiar. He reached up, cautiously, unsurprised to find that his mouth had become like hers, lined with bobcat’s teeth.
“First, we feed, William. Then I’ll explain the rest of it. The many wonders in our Kingdom.”
“Yes,” he nodded numbly, willing to follow her just about anywhere – as long as she would do something about this terrible, growing hunger.
“Only a few of them in the saloon tonight. The rest are out looking for Billy, the lost lamb. But there will be enough for your first communion. Come with me, love.”
With one arm she clutched her dolly, while she took his arm with the other. She tucked by his side as though they were attending a quadrille and led him down the rutted dirt road toward the dimly lit saloon.
~*~
Killing was easy. Though he’d taken a few men’s lives in the past, this kind of killing was nothing like that. This was as easy as lining up at a chuck wagon. Get an armful of grub and put your face in it – simple as that. And though this kind of meal wriggled and made more noise than anything on the trail ever had, well, a little fight like that could work up a fellow’s appetite.
Dru held up a dress that had belonged to the thinner of the two senoritas who lay on the floor, drained and shining white. The other three men they’d fed from remained on the floor near the bar, wearing the expressions they’d died with – a mix of horror and surprise.
Billy felt more than sated; he was satisfied in a way he could never remember feeling in life. Dru stripped and began dressing in the dead senorita’s gown. Her white breasts swayed and bobbed with her movements, and he felt a lazy finger of lust poke at his groin.
“So, if I’m hearing you straight, I get to live forever, I can outdraw a fellow in a gunfight, and bullets can’t kill me.” He unfolded his pocketknife and began to pick at his teeth. Being dead was no excuse to ignore good hygiene.
“A few things can kill you. A wooden stake through the heart, beheading, fire and sunlight.”
“Sunlight? So we can only go out at night?” He stopped and chewed over this bit of information. “I reckon that’s a bit of a drawback. Still, all in all, seems like my luck’s taken a turn for the better.”
He folded his knife and tucked it away. With a world-eating grin, he drew, pulling out his six guns so quickly that even with his enhanced eyesight, he could barely register the movement. Both guns blazed to life, twelve bullets shattering bottles and glasses stacked on the shelves behind the bar.
In life he was a badass with a reputation, but as a vampire he would be absolutely unstoppable. The whole ‘bullets can’t kill you’ thing would definitely put him at an advantage, sure as a whore knows how to sin. Sliding his pistols back into their holsters, he grinned at Dru cockily. She’d placed her hands over her ears during the unexpected gunplay and shot him a dirty look.
“Noisy little dogs,” was all she said as she continued to fasten her gown.
“So what’s next? We skin out for a location with more dinner options?”
Dru shook her head and daintily picked her way around the corpse at her feet. She stepped to the bar where she had left her queer little doll just prior to the slaughter. Picking up the ragged porcelain bundle, she mumbled something to it before turning to face Billy.
“We have a train to catch, my William. We have to kill a slayer and fulfill our date with destiny,” she said, as incomprehensible as ever.
“All of that?” he asked agreeably. “We aim to be busier than a one armed man in branding season. And how’d you hear about this then?”
“Miss Edith told me,” she said, sounding slightly affronted that he had to ask.
“Edith is the dolly. You’re taking orders from your doll-baby, ain’t you?”
If that didn’t beat all. Still, taking commands from a ragged bit of china would be far from the oddest thing that had happened that day. He looked at her for a moment then nodded and tipped his hat in her direction.
“Lead the way, Dru – you and your baby doll. You may not know skunks from housecats, but I’m willing to wager it’s going to be one hell of a ride.”
-------------------------
Author's note:
Pullman Porters!! At the risk of being an irritating History geek - how cool were they? Tho they were only allowed 3 hours of sleep per night and were paid next to nothing, they survived on tips and paved the way for the black middle class in America. They also established the first black labor union. When Rosa Parks was arrested - guess who was the first person she called? The local leader of Pullman Porters. His name was not George.