Episode 1: Annabelle Arrives | Scryer's Gulch

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The day the new teacher was expected, a small knot of local luminaries milled before the Hopewell Hotel, the local stagecoach stop: all to one side were square-sided Mayor Prake, plump and comfortable Mrs Prake, their oldest son Simon and two stiffy-dressed children, along with straight-backed Sheriff Runnels, his shy little boy Jamie hanging behind; suave Jedediah Bonham stood to the other side, holding his daughter Lily’s hand. The girl was turned out as pretty as a doll, but her face was pink with stifled laughter; Georgie Prake, her best friend Amelia’s twin brother, kept making faces at her behind their fathers’ backs.

Julian Hopewell hovered near the door of the hotel that bore his name, his assistant Ralph hovering near him. Hopewell glanced back at him, then turned with a jerk, his usually cheerful face covered in outrage. “Get outta that bib, Ralph, you got pig’s blood all down your front! Don’t want people in the front seeing that, ever! Especially Miss Duniway!”

“I don’t see why this Duniway lady’s so special, boss,” Ralph grumbled, stripping off the offending apron. “Then, I don’t know why you kicked the girls to the curb, neither. They was good custom.”

“They was bringing the tone of the establishment down, is what they was,” snapped Hopewell. “Goodtime girls renting rooms was okay when we started, but new people are coming to town. Respectable people, people with kids. They don’t want some--some woman of ill repute next door, banging the bed against the wall all day, and they don’t all want to spend the kinda money Tony Bonham wants for a night at the LeFay. We can get more money from respectable folks than from those girls, and the teacher on the premises’ll raise our reputation.”

“If you reckon so, boss, but I don’t figure it,” said Ralph, shaking his head. “Them girls paid regular. And I do wonder where they’ll go,” he added in a murmur.

“Some’ll go to Mamzelle’s where they belong, some’ll start their own place, some’ll take to the gutter. Not my lookout. Aw, now, Ralph, don’t look at me like that,” said Hopewell apologetically. “Some things just hafta be done.” He squinted up the road. A promising cloud was moving down the switchback toward town; the roads were still dry in the fall, but soon the stagecoach would be throwing up mud, not dust.

“I just don’t figure it,” said Ralph, looking the other way down the boardwalk. He poked Hopewell in the ribs. “Here comes Tony Bonham, boss, all done up like the President’s coming insteada some old biddy.”

“He always dresses like that,” said Hopewell with a wistful air. “I would too if I had that kinda money.” Tony stationed himself a decent pace down from the hotel, and nodded politely at Hopewell, who gave a faint, nervous grin in return. Hopewell adjusted his collar, shot his cuffs, and kicked behind him at Ralph, who sighed and headed back to the kitchen, bloody apron in hand, just as the stagecoach clattered to a stop before the hotel.

Mayor Prake stepped forward, but Bonham beat him to the coach door. It opened; a blonde head in a modest straw bonnet emerged, followed by the rest of a striking young woman in a dusty blue coat. Her figure was tidy, her ankle well-turned, her nose pert, and her slightly smudged cheeks were roses on porcelain. Hopewell let out a long, almost silent whistle. “I’d go back to school fer that!” said a nearby lollygagger.
Jedediah handed her down from the coach. “Miss Duniway?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered with a flutter. “Oh! Oh, dear. I was hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone until I had freshened up!”

A loud meow came from inside the stagecoach, and a wicker cage came flying through the door; Annabelle barely caught it before it hit the ground. “There’s your infernal cat, miss!” cried the passenger who’d thrown it. He descended from the stagecoach and shook a finger at Annabelle. “Take the creature down the mineshaft and let him return to hell where he belongs!”

“I am sorry, Mister Smith,” she said, “but I did tell you not to stick your fingers in his cage.” Bonham took the wicker enclosure from her; its occupant threw itself against the sides, yowling, and nearly knocking it from Bonham’s grip. He finally got the cage settled on the ground, where the huge black cat inside picked itself up, glared round with slitted amber eyes, then commenced to cleaning its whiskers in an attempt to recover its dignity. Just like that beast to cause a scene, thought Annabelle.

Prake took advantage of the ruckus, and extended his hand before Bonham could finish with the cage. “Miss Duniway, may I welcome you to Scryer’s Gulch. I’m Anatole Prake, and this is my wife, Mary,” he said.

“Ah, Mayor Prake! You are the one who sent for me. I have been anxious to make your acquaintance--sir, Mrs Prake,” smiled Annabelle. She shook the mayor’s hand; it was as gentle and protective as her own father’s, and Mrs Prake beamed at her so sweetly from behind her round spectacles that Annabelle completely warmed to her.

“May I also present my son Simon, John Runnels our sheriff, and our most prominent citizen, Mister Jedediah Bonham, owner of the Big Blavatsky Mine, to which we all owe our...prosperity.” Was that a sour note at the last?

Annabelle went round the circle.

Simon Prake is not supposed to be here, she thought. He was supposed to be in Jackson, working at an ethergraph research firm. Why was he back in Scryer’s Gulch? He was close to her own age--no older than 24, she’d forgotten exactly. Had she packed his dossier? Misi would know. She smoothed the surprise from her face. Simon’s smile was warm, genuine, a little shy; he was in the tail end of his reedy youth, but already showing signs of filling out into the kind of well-built man his father had probably been in his prime. Good-looking, too, with lovely brown eyes in a guileless face, and his handshake was as gentle as his father’s. She turned to the next man.

John Runnels was as grim a man as she had expected: upright, brooding, angular, watchful, and tense as a spring. Sun and grief had etched lines on his face before his time, and she felt the hardness of his hand even through her glove. When their eyes met, she felt a shock and did her best to suppress a blush, and from his face, he felt it too; the sheriff gazed at her as if he were taking her measure from the inside out. Even standing on a massive hermetauxite deposit she had no mind-reading abilities, but she could almost hear his questions: Was she trustworthy? Was she what she seemed? Or would he have to watch her--the same questions she asked herself about him, and about everyone else she would meet here. Even so, she found herself drawn to him; in his suspicion and watchfulness, he was a kindred soul. She already wanted to confide in him, to trust him, though she knew she couldn’t.

Jedediah took her proffered hand in both of his, and Annabelle’s guard went straight back up. Here was a man who expected obedience, hard-eyed and yet charming; the first thing he said in his smooth voice was, “Miss Annabelle, what a pleasure. I do hope you’ll accept my invitation to stay at our family’s hotel, the LeFay--gratis, of course. My son, Anthony, is the proprietor,” he added, gesturing to the dapper young man standing on the boardwalk.

The young man strode into the street, and said, “Miss Duniway, while my father’s invitation stands, it would not be an offer from the Bonham family, but from myself. I am the sole owner of the LeFay. My father forgets himself. Please, though, feel free to consider the hotel your home here.” Annabelle smiled inwardly. Everything she’d read about the strained relationship between Anthony and Jed Bonham was apparently true. Perhaps they were too much alike; the younger Bonham didn’t take her hand in that proprietary way, but he had his father’s smooth, hard surface and hooded eyes.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about staying at a hotel, Mr Bonham,” Annabelle demurred. “I expected to stay at the schoolhouse. Is there not a room attached to it for me?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Jedediah smiled.

Her heart sank; this was not the plan. “I would feel obligated and awkward, accepting a free room at your hotel,” she said, turning to Anthony. “And I am afraid I could not pay you for such a grand accommodation. Perhaps I might let a room somewhere? Surely there is a boarding house?”

“I would certainly be happy to let you a room in my house, Miss Annabelle,” said Jedediah. Anthony shot him a startled glance.

“Oh, I could not impose on a private family--”

“Miss Duniway!” came a voice. “Miss Duniway!” She looked up to see a genial man in a checkered waistcoat, coming down the hotel steps. “Julian Hopewell, miss, the proprietor of the Hopewell Hotel behind me. I have the perfect rooms for you, a little suite, very private, convenient to everything, and while I would never insult you by offering you free accomodation”--he gave Anthony a significant glare--”I will say that the Hopewell’s rates are quite reasonable. Board included, and chits for the bath house.”

Annabelle smiled up at him. While she wanted to get close to the Bonhams, resting under their roof was a little too close; she would never feel safe. If she was going to be observed, better to hide in plain sight, observed by all and not just Jedediah. “I think your establishment will do nicely, sir, thank you!” she told the ecstatic Hopewell. She looked around. “And you would be some of my scholars?” she said to the Prake children.

“Yes’m,” said the boy. “I’m Georgie and this is my sister Amelia. We’re ten. That’s Jamie. He’s only eight.” Jamie hid himself further behind his father’s pant leg, only to have the sheriff push him back to the front.

“And this is Lily, she’s our age,” said Amelia, ignoring Jedediah’s cold stare and crossing to take her friend by the hand.

“Is that your kitty?” said Lily.

“Yes, his name is Misi,” answered Annabelle.

“Missy? That’s a strange name for a tomcat,” sniffed Georgie.

The cat hissed. “Not ‘Missy,’ Georgie--M-I-S-I. Mee-see,” laughed Annabelle. She shook the hands of her new students, and then excused herself from company; she’d had a long journey and wanted nothing more than to refresh herself and perhaps rest a bit in her new rooms. Hopewell triumphantly called for Ralph, who came stumping out of the building sans apron to cart Miss Duniway’s trunks to her rooms. The schoolteacher herself followed behind, carrying her cat in its wicker cage, and Hopewell brought up the rear, smirking coolly over his shoulder at the furious Jed Bonham. “You can’t have everyone under your thumb all the time, Jed,” he heard Anatole Prake say just as the doors swung shut.

Annabelle found her rooms just as Hopewell had promised: a clean, modestly but decently appointed sitting room and bedroom, on the second floor of a little addition to the side of the building. Hopewell’s own apartment was on the ground floor, and her rooms were directly above. It was quiet, and private--perhaps not as private as she’d hoped the schoolhouse would be, but it would do. And there were measures she could take, after all. She thanked Hopewell, pressed some coins into Ralph’s hand for carrying her luggage into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Once alone, she carried the cat’s cage to the bedroom and put it on the bed. She took a pair of small, elegant goggles from a case in her breast pocket, and held them up to her face without bothering to strap them on. She scanned the rooms, looking under furniture, inside all the drawers, into all the corners, until she was satisfied the rooms were unobserved; she was unsuspected.

On the side board in the bedroom, in hopeful anticipation of her residency, stood a vase of haphazard wildflowers, a full water pitcher, and a basin. She pulled off her gloves, hung the dusty coat on a peg, and tossed her hat on the bed, then washed her face and neck with a happy groan.

“You can let me out any time, really,” said the cat. “No hurry. I’ll just piss on your hat here.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Misi,” said Annabelle, absently tidying her hair in a little mirror on the wall, “or I’ll order you to clean my shoes with your tongue again.”

The cat scowled. “I really do need to pee, Annie.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming.” She lifted the latch on the cage door, and the big cat came bounding out. He seemed to grow as he stretched, until Annabelle opened the window and said, “Go do your business and then change.” The grumbling cat stalked out the window and came back a moment later. Annabelle closed the window and curtains, and nodded.

Misi arched his back and flexed his paws. He took one great bound into the air, and landed lightly back down on the carpet--a man now, covered in silky black fur but for the pads of his fingers and toes, the heels of his hands and feet, and the shell-pink insides of his triangular ears. His eyes remained the same malicious amber. “I still have some of that foul Smith under my fingernails,” he frowned, examining one hand.

“You shouldn’t attract attention like that.”

“If I didn’t scratch someone now and again, I’d attract attention. People would think I’m the kind of cat you can pet, and I prefer that you be the only one that rubs me behind the ears. It’s humiliating. Though it does feel good. Speaking of which, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” he said, presenting the top of his head.

“You can reach them yourself in that form,” said Annabelle, unlatching her carpet bag.

“Feh.” Misi sat down on the floor cross-legged. “The worst part of this form is that I can’t lick my balls. The second worst part is that I can only get this far from cat. Annie,” he wheedled, “I can be more use to you if you let me be something else now and again!”

“I don’t have use for you as anything else. As a cat, you draw no attention as my traveling companion, you aren’t anything’s prey but dogs--and I know you can handle any dog. You can still do a great deal of spying for me, and you can lick your balls. And I like cats best. Don’t complain, or I’ll make you be a canary bird.”

“Helluva life for a demon, this is,” he said, stretching out on the floor. “When I’m free, I’ll kill you, you know. Oh, this is a good spot, I can see up your skirts. Are those new bloomers?”

Annabelle ignored him and opened her carpet bag wide; all of her equipment had come through its travels safely. She pulled out a handful of tiny, spidery doodads, each with a body made of a single matte hermetauxite cabochon. She dropped one on Misi’s stomach. “Up with you, furry pervert.”

Misi sighed, got to his feet, and leaped into the air, sticking the minute spider into the far corner of the ceiling. Soon, every corner of both rooms contained the inconspicuous devices. “There. No snoopers, no scanners, no eavesdroppers. Now we can get down to work in safety, Misi old friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” muttered the demon, taking up his position on the floor again. “Can we just go home? All this hermetauxite is making me antsy.”

“As soon as we finish what we came for,” said Annabelle. “We find out who’s trying to take over the world, and then we go home.”

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