CHAPTER 1

   I remember the first time I had the hunger.  I don't mean the first time I awakened after the rebirth craving blood so bad I thought I'd go insane, though I remember that just as well.  No.  I mean the first time I craved power.  I had the craving long before the Sisters Grim took me into their fold.  But I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let me step back and tell the story from a few weeks prior to that first taste of tangible soul.
   It was spring.  Grandma and I were sowing seeds in the garden while we still had light left in the day.  She had tilled it before the winter set in, and tilled it again when the first rains of the year had fallen.  Grandma had a green thumb like no other.  There were many times that her garden would be overflowing with ripe heavy fruits and healthy colorful vegetables while every other farm in these parts were suffering from drought problems.  Her gardening abilities saved us on more than a few occasions during hard times.
   Grandpa had disappeared around the time the first rains of the season came.  This was fine by me, as he had been a rough old bastard and beat on Grandma occasionally.  She used to defend him by saying that the war turned him mean.
   The war was before my time, but Reconstruction efforts were still underway trying to rebuild the South.  History would later say Reconstruction was finished years before, but that isn't true.  The South never really recovered.
   It didn't affect us much where we lived out west, except that a lot of outlaws migrated our direction.  Some of them made names for themselves.  Almost all of them died trying.  My dad was among those who didn't quite make the papers.
   "What's the matter, Grandma?"
   "You expecting visitors?"  She was staring off toward the eastern horizon.  There was nothing to stare at so far as I could tell.
   "No ma'am."
   "Go in the house, Jessie."  Grandma was the only person I ever let call me Jessie.  "Fetch Edith and make sure she's loaded."  Edith was Grandma's shotgun.
   "Yes'm."
   Grandma loved that shotgun.  It was the one good thing Grandpa gave her before he disappeared.  It wasn't as nice as the Winchester Model 1887 my dad had left to me, but opinions varied.  She loved her shotgun and I loved mine.
   I went inside and grabbed both guns and a box of ammo.  Mine had five shells in the magazine, and one in the chamber.  Hers was a coach gun and was left unloaded at all times, so I cracked it open and popped a pair into the chambers before going back out to give "Edith" to Grandma.
   A haze of dust was being kicked up in the distance as I handed the old double barrel to her.  The sun was just barely kissing the western horizon, but there was still enough light to watch a small group on horseback approach from the east.
   "Let me do the talkin', Jessie."
   "Yes'm."  I wasn't sure what had Grandma spooked, but she had a look I'd never seen her use before.  For lack of a better word, it was the first "serious" look I'd ever seen her use.  Her laugh lines vanished around her eyes.  Her mouth was pursed.  Her jaws were clenched in anticipation.
   I took a few steps back behind Grandma and turned to face the fast approaching riders.  My gun lay cradled in my arms, but I could bring it to shoulder and aim faster than most men I knew.  I tried to appear relaxed, but there was an inward tension I couldn't let go of.  If Grandma was worried, I had no illusions about the people heading our direction.  They were dangerous.
   I tried counting the horses as they came within sight, but the numbers seemed to change.  Sometimes it looked like there were four.  Other times it looked like five.  It was hard to get an accurate count until they slowed to a trot and stopped in front of Grandma.  The four horses snorted and stamped, shaking their heads and blowing hard to clear the dust from their noses.  Even seeing four, I felt disoriented and often felt there was an extra rider there.  If I concentrated too hard on how many there were, I felt queasy.  I finally gave up and concentrated on Grandma, rather than the riders.
   "Hello, Annabelle."
   "What do you want, Justus?"
   "Now is that any way to treat an old family friend?"  Justus slid out of his saddle and slapped his palms together to clean the dust off.  He spoke to Grandma, but he was staring at me when he said, "No introductions?  Then I'll have to take a guess and say this must be Jessie."
   I glared at him and said, "Jessamine.  Nobody calls me Jessie, 'cept Grandma."
   She shot me a "hush" look, and I said, "Sorry, ma'am."
   "The lady has manners."  He grinned, yellowed teeth bared in an almost grimace of a smile.
   "Justus, take your dogs and go on home.  You've got no business here."
   One of the heavier set men turned his head to the side and spit a wad of tobacco on the ground.  He wiped a trail of brown spittle off his chin with the back of his hand and said, "I can't speak for the other boys, but I ain't a dog, ma'am."
   Justus held his hand up to interrupt big and burly.  "Actually, Anna, we do have business here.  We came to visit Eugene."
   Grandma ignored this comment and said, "Jessie, if I tell you to shoot, I want you to put a hole in that pile of pig slop first.  After that, it's first come, first served.  Got it?"  She had pointed at the burly fellow who had been interrupted by Justus.
   "Yes'm."  Now I knew something was definitely wrong, and Grandma wasn't going to discuss it until these people were gone and their dust had settled.  I took another two steps back and felt a punch of adrenaline.  I didn't want to shoot someone, but if Grandma told me to do it, I would act without hesitation.  Big Ugly just grinned at me, brown stains showing between the few teeth he had left.
   "Justus, Eugene left three weeks ago.  I suggest you check every bar and brothel in the next town down the road.  He's probably drownin' in whiskey or suffocatin' in some diseased harlot's bosom."  She spit on the ground in Justus' direction, barely missing his travel worn riding boots.  "Or both."
   Justus' nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.  "You're lying, Anna.  The smell of your lies reeks in my nose.  We're gonna head back into town, but we won't be leavin' until we know where to find Eugene."
   He turned to me, took off his hat, took a handkerchief from one of his pockets, and wiped the sweat and grime from his face.  "We'll be staying for the Spring Fair, at the very least.  Perhaps Jessie," he corrected himself as I began to interrupt, "I mean Jessamine here would care to accompany me?"
   "No, sir, I would not.  I have a date already, and even if I didn't, you do not appeal to my better nature."  I wrinkled my nose, and said, "a barrel of water and a bar of lye wouldn't hurt you any, either."
   I saw something flash in his eyes.  To this day, I'm still not sure if it was anger or amusement.  Either way, he smiled and put his hat back on.  As he pulled himself up into his saddle, the others began turning their horses back the way they had come.
   "Well, in any event, we'll be seeing each other again soon.  I can promise you that.  We're gonna find out what happened to Eugene.  Count on it."
   Grandma spit in his general direction again, and said, "Just get out of here, Justus.  And take your mangy bunch of no good hoodlums with you.  Bring 'em back here and expect to be picking lead out of your shaggy derriere for a month.  Minimum."  Then she smiled.
   Justus' own smile disappeared, and without a word he hauled his horse around and set heels.  The horse kicked up a cloud of dust as he drew further and further away.
   Watching him leave, I could almost count two horses instead of one trying to catch up to the rest of the group who had already departed.
   As Grandma and I turned to enter the house, I saw something that worried me.  Grandma was trying to hide it, but I saw a tear roll down her cheek.  She turned away quickly, and I pretended not to see as we closed the door behind us, and I took the guns to be stored away.