Lourdes: A Vampire In The Old West

17. Exposed King

Dawn. No trace of Lourdes remains on the road. No trace of Lourdes remains in the Guinevere. No trace of Lourdes, that is, except his pocket watch. The precious thing sleeps on a windowsill, and its clockwork heart ticks away. Yet these beats go unnoticed by the girl they're meant for. Katterina, in a dressing gown, sits atop her bed. Her hair's half made for the day. Unfinished makeup adorns her face. Tears mixed with mascara dribble onto her sheets.

To her left, Emma sits, holding her hand. To her right, Jane's fingers are intertwined with her own.

"I thought he... I thought he might... I thought we..." Katterina whispers.

"We all get our hearts broken," Emma tells. She pets Katterina's head. "We all believe in love when we're little girls, but you become a woman the day you realize that's the stuff of fairy tales. All men are the same, whether living or dead. They're rubbish. They want. They take. They use. And when their bellies are full and cocks gone dry, they run for the nearest door and leave without ever looking you in the eye." Emma sips from a flask. She offers it to the red-headed girl. Katterina shakes her head. She offers it to Madam Jane. Another no. Emma shrugs and takes a long, slow sip. "I've got to say, I'm surprised, though, by the man who took your heart. I figured he'd be a bronze-skinned rancher or, if you were really smart, a fat old banker you could use as he used you. I thought whoever it was would promise you the moon and the stars... Your boy looked like he fell from them..."

Jane wipes Katterina's eyes.

"What Emma's trying to say is you and Lourdes are from two different worlds," Jane interprets. "He saved you. He saved us all. And that's nothing to forget, but you can't forget how he was able to. He's a monster inside."

"I saw his scars... I saw his fangs..." Katterina breathes. "He told me where he came from and what he is. I'm not stupid. I just want to know why he didn't say goodbye."

"Because he's a pig," Emma spits.

Jane touches Katterina's shoulders. She looks at her. She studies her. She wipes the rouge from the girl's cheeks. Jane kisses her as a mother would.

"Katterina, do you know all my secrets?" Jane asks. Katterina's response is large eyes and an uneven brow. "No, you don't. You've known me far longer than this boy, but there are things locked in my bosom that neither you nor any of the women in the Guinevere are privy to. While I have no doubt Lourdes shared a few words about the places he's been and lives he's led, you didn't unlock his heart. You've not seen and you don't want to see what's in that cage." Katterina spies a scar atop Jane's forehead she never noticed before. "And while Emma's frank choice of words around men are normally beyond reproach, in this case, in this one instance, Lourdes may not have said goodbye because he wanted to protect you."

"So, what do I do now?" Katterina asks.

Emma again shakes her flask at the girl. Jane pushes it away.

"You live," Jane offers. "You live as best you can. God knows I've made mistakes, and Satan knows Emma's invented sins. I can't give you any answer better or more honest than that. You get out of bed, aware of your hurt, your failings, your trespasses, and your heartbreaks, and you try to live today better than the day before."

"Get out of bed, huh..." Katterina breathes. She wiggles her toes. She looks down at them and stretches her arms. She grunts as her fingers touch her feet. "I think I can do that."

"Good," Jane smiles. "Come on down whenever you're ready." The woman stands. She crosses to Emma and brings her, too, to the door. Before she's gone, though, Emma sets her flask atop the girl's pillow and leaves with a wink. And then all alone, Katterina comes to her feet. One foot on the floor. And then the next. A step. Two. She rubs her eyes. Three. Four. Katterina comes to her wardrobe. Her gown drops away, replaced with satin and lace. Her hair's pulled back, and her face is made to look like a child's doll. She inspects herself in her mirror. While she's ornamented with all the things men want, in the stark morning light, she sees a reflection that is everything but beautiful. Still, she breathes. Still, she smiles.