Page 2 of Captured Desires

“Volunteers?”

“I don’t understand it either. But some people liken a vampire’s bite to drinking a bottle of whisky. It’s probably cheaper too.”

“There’s more than one price to pay for that,” Pearl said with a grunt.

Sarah continued, “We’ll also provide him with safe lodgings. In return, his nights belong to us as a Pinkerton employee.”

“Do you really think he’ll go for it?” Pearl knew that a lot of human outlaws would rather shoot it out with her to the death than join up with the law.

“Maverick isn’t the only vampire we’re courting,” Sarah said. “But he’s our best shot.”

“Why is that?” Pearl thought one fangster was as good as the next.

“He fought alongside George Washington as a Revolutionary War soldier.”

“What?”

“He was on the good side of the law for a while.”

“What happened to him?”

Sarah handed Pearl a well-worn journal. “You can read all about it here. It has everything we know about Maverick Richman and vampires in general. We think he’s hunkered down a few hours away. You should start your search there.” Sarah pointed to a town on a roughly sketched map.

Pearl flipped through the journal and shook her head. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. If he wants to come quietly, we’ll travel by night and meet you at the Pine Valley Pinkerton’s office. If he wants to put up a fight, I’ll stake him.” She was happy that her voice sounded matter-of-fact. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull this one off. Any vampire she’d ever gone after had immediately attacked. They were fast and deadly. Pearl didn’t think she’d even get a chance to give Maverick the Pinkertons’ offer.

Sarah remounted her horse. “Good hunting.”

As Sarah rode off in a cloud of dust, Pearl studied the journal. It was detailed and organized, like Sarah’s brain. There were sketches taken from Maverick’s wanted poster. Even rendered in stark ink, his presence was magnetic, dangerous. She traced a finger over the bold letters proclaiming his crimes: murder, theft, devilry.

But Pearl was no stranger to danger. She'd faced down human monsters and inhuman beasts alike, always emerging victorious. This mission would be no different. As she swung into the saddle of her faithful steed, Pearl felt a grim sense of purpose settle over her like a mantle. She urged her horse forward, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as they set off toward the unknown. The sun beat down mercilessly overhead, baking the cracked earth and shimmering off the distant mesas. Sweat trickled down Pearl's neck, but she didn’t pay it any mind. Discomfort was an old companion, a reminder that she was alive and on the hunt.

Mile after mile fell away beneath her steed's relentless pace. The landscape shifted from sun-bleached plains to jagged canyons, prickly pear giving way to twisted scrub brush. Pearl kept a watchful eye as she rode, knowing that danger could lurk behind any rock or in any gully.

As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, Pearl reined in her horse at the outskirts of the ramshackle settlement where Maverick was last reported to have been seen. Dilapidated buildings huddled together like wary conspirators, their weathered façades speaking of hard times and harder people.

The scent of horse manure and body sweat hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of whiskey drifting from the nearby saloon. In the distance, a dog barked, its cry echoing through the sparse expanse.

Pearl dismounted, her spurs jangling as her boots hit the dusty ground. She tied her horse to the hitching post outside the saloon, giving his flank a reassuring pat. The faded sign above the bat-wing doors proclaimed the establishment as the Rusty Spur, though the lettering was barely legible through the grime.

Pearl pushed through the doors into the dingy interior. The saloon fell silent as every head turned to stare at her. Pearl met their gazes with a steely one of her own, her hand resting casually on the butt of her pistol.

She strode up to the bar, ignoring the suspicious glares and whispered speculations. The bartender, a grizzled man with a scar bisecting his right cheek, eyed her warily as he polished a cloudy glass.

"What'll it be?"

Pearl tossed a coin on the scarred bar top. "Information."

The bartender raised a bushy eyebrow. "In these parts, information costs more than a drink."

"I'm looking for Maverick Richman." Pearl held the man's gaze, unwavering.

A hush fell over the saloon, thick with unspoken tension. The bartender's eyes darted nervously to the shadowed corners of the room before leaning in close.

"Best forget that name, missy." His breath was sour with cheap whiskey. "Maverick ain't the sort you want to tangle with. They say he's not...natural. Got darkness in him."

Pearl's lips curled in a mirthless smile. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

The bartender shrugged, his expression closing off. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."

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