worlds of pain. Although Victoria hadn't been able to understand what the hunter had yelled, she recognized the anger in Cora's voice. Anyone or anything on the receiving end of that anger could not hope to survive the night.
The thought made Victoria smile. As if in reply, a small glimmer of moonlight winked at her from the bushes. Pushing a branch aside, she felt her smile widen. Never had the sight of a firearm brought such comfort to her heart. Kneeling down, she picked it up reverently. The weight of the gleaming cylinder, each chamber housing a sacred silver bullet, promised a swift death to Washington Jones and his pet monster. With any luck, the vampire was still reeling from the holy water and wouldn't be able to defend himself. One clean shot, and Victoria would be free to return home with Cora in tow. The thought of England made her ache with longing. Closing her eyes, she let herself slip far away from this scorched wasteland for a moment. A warm green light filtered down through poplar leaves as a breeze carried the scent of grass and blooming daisies. She was back under her favorite tree, a book and a packed lunch beside her, ready to let another lazy afternoon pass by around her. The promise of such days ahead gave her courage. Once she silenced these nightmares once and for all, she could return to that world. Her world. Victoria opened her eyes, ready to send Washington Jones home to the devil.
Red eyes gleamed back at her.
Victoria let out a short shriek and jumped to her feet. The revolver seemed to come up of its own will, its barrel pointing between those animal eyes. Her finger pressed against the trigger, but she didn't pull through.
"Where is Cora?"
"The hunter has rejoined the cycle."
"What the devil does that mean?" Victoria asked, ignoring the shadow of dread growing in her mind.
"She lost herself for only a moment, but it was enough," Anaba said. "When two hunters circle each other, the smallest weakness is death. So it was with her."
"Impossible," Victoria said. "Cora would not let herself lose to the likes of you."
"She did not like to lose, but she did all the same. Her blood will join with this sacred place, and her spirit will return to the Great Cycle. Perhaps she will be reborn as Dine and will learn of our ways. That would be a fitting end for one such as her."
The gun sight wavered from its mark. She tried to hold it steady. "So she's dead."
The witch nodded.
"Then this is her vengeance."
Victoria squeezed the trigger, her entire being thirsting for the sight of the skin-walker's blood.
Click.
The ominous silence that followed mirrored her own overwhelming disappointment and confusion. She tried again. The cylinder turned smoothly, moonlight sliding along its nickel finish, but nothing else. No brilliant flame erupted from the barrel to announce the witch's death in the deep rolling thunder of its voice. There was only another terrible silence.
In that silence, Victoria wilted. The revolver hung loosely from her fingers, its barrel pointing at her boots. Her knees threatened to give way; her vision grew blurry. The great dark shadow that had been looming over her spirit now descended, crushing her under its weight. Her holy weapon had failed. Cora Oglesby, the herald of evil's bane, had fallen and left Victoria at the mercy of those who had none. The memory of sunlit fields in Oxford became a poison, taunting her with beauty and peace she would never see again.
"Now I understand."
The skin-walker's voice reached through the haze of despair, pulling Victoria back into the present. Her eyes refocused on her adversary, and she forced her mouth to move. "What do you understand?"
"You have the hunter's gun."
Victoria looked at the revolver in her hand. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Cora...she let me have hers and bought a new one when we rode out today." It seemed like half a lifetime ago, not mere hours.
"Unexpected," Anaba said, "and unlucky for you."
"What do you mean?"
The animal eyes gleamed in the darkness. "The weapon will not fire. I have seen to it. The one the hunter carried tonight was different. I did not expect it to fire."
Something in the witch's voice stirred the last vestige of Victoria's resolve. She brought the Colt up once more, leveling the barrel at the skin-walker.
"Still you fight," Anaba said, her face betraying no sign of fear. "The hunter, too, fought with the last of