“Oh, no. No-uh. You’re not welcome here, Demon Hunter. You can just get on. Back to whence you came.”

  The man spoke through the crack of his door, unwilling to even open it all the way, lest I find egress to his building. It was Earl E. Godshalk, a doctor well known throughout the region as being the best, alongside being a bit of an oddball. And the building referenced was his little practice in a greystone near the center of town.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he continued, not even bothering to peer out enough to look Rosa in the eye. “Hate to put you out with him. Baby with bath water and so on. But this is the way of things, you hear?”

  “C’mon, Doc, you can’t still be holding a grudge,” I complained. “It’s been what, ten years?”

  “Ten years, and you haven’t aged a day,” he confirmed. “I believe that’s enough to validate my reasoning.”

  The doc was eccentric, to be sure. He was my kind of people.

  In his studies, he strayed a bit from the traditional. Found himself obsessed with not only the treatment methods of the local celestials—that is, the folks from the Orient—but also some things most would find… disturbing.

  I said most, not me.

  “You say you hunt demons, but you’re the Devil reborn, Mr. Crowley,” he said. “I know it as well as I know myself.”

  Rosa laughed. Actually laughed. A good sign that she’d be able to push through the guilt. And her response forced the doc to make a grave error. He pulled the door open enough for me to shove a boot through the threshold. From there, it was nothing to push my way inside.

  Doc Godshalk was a wee little man. Not a proper dwarf, mind you, just underdeveloped. When he stood, the top of his gray-crowned head came to a few inches below my shoulder. He wore thin, wiry glasses, and his brows were so fine, they were barely there. He was one of those men who couldn’t even grow stubble on his chin. Full of piss and vinegar, though, especially now.

  “I’ll have you arrested!” he shouted as Rosa followed me inside. Then he lowered his voice, “You’re going to disturb my patients.”

  It was as if he didn’t realize he was the only one yammering.

  “Go on, then,” I challenged. “Call the authorities. Tell ’em the Devil’s at your door. I’ll wait. Maybe I’ll tell them to check the basement for some of your more… experimental treatments.”

  He huffed and puffed a bit, ready to respond when he looked over to Rosa.

  “Oh, my sweet dear,” he said as if seeing her for the first time, or eager to change the subject. “What happened to you?”

  Rosa lightly touched her face. She winced when her fingertips grazed one of the many cuts left by the icy locusts.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “Just some scratches.”

  His whole demeanor changed upon realizing I had someone with me in need of his services. “The celestials have a method of torture they call Death by a Thousand Cuts.” He shook his head. “We’ll need to get that looked at.”

  He peered over his shoulder to a room containing a young lady I hadn’t yet noticed. “Just stay here while I attend to my patient.” He turned to stride away, then stopped and added, “Touch nothing.”

  I nodded once. “You got it, Doc. Won’t even move.”

  He looked beyond flabbergasted as he spun once more and made his way toward the young lady. The way he walked, if he was trailing water, he might’ve been mistaken for a duckling.

  “What did you do to that poor man?” Rosa asked, stifling a laugh.

  I chuckled myself. “I might’ve shown up here with a boot and asked him to help put it back on.”

  “That doesn’t send nearly bad en—”

  “Might’ve been that my foot was still in it. Didn’t realize it would heal itself back then.” I laughed again, loud enough to make the doc shoot bullets from his eyes at me.

  That was the short version. The longer tale would’ve taken time. I’d shown up here on Shar’s orders to kill a teihiihan the doc thought to be someone equally vertically challenged as he was. Believed the creature a man who’d merely contracted a rare disease. Thing even tried to eat my foot right from the leg before I plugged its brains full of silver.

  Funny part about it all was I then found out that this curious man of science had, in fact, known what his patient was, or had an inkling at least, and was trying to reverse treat the cannibal bastard. He had a fascination for the unnatural like Bram, however, with a more scientific approach.

  Meeting me was like stumbling upon a gold mine.

  I didn’t tell him much of anything, of course. Just that I was a demon hunter. He sewed me up and doused my limb with all manner of salves. When the severed foot magically healed thanks to me being a Hand of God, he thought he’d stumbled upon some miraculous cure for amputation.

  I fear for the patients who’d come after me whose missing appendages were most assuredly not successfully reattached.

  Rosa looked horror-struck then reeled it in, slapping me on the shoulder. “You’re a bad man, James.”

  Before I could respond, telling her she wasn’t wrong, Godshalk’s voice echoed down the hall. “Now, Mrs. Whittington, you have a simple case of feminine hysterics. This here is laudanum. You can take it as a tincture—right there under the tongue—or if you prefer, in your tea. Twice a day. Thrice if needed. Be careful not to neglect it.”

  The woman said something in a whisper even my refined ears couldn’t hear.

  “Yes, yes,” Godshalk replied, helping her off the table. “It will help that indeed. I dare say your husband will wish to thank me in person! Now, go on. It’s late. A lady shouldn’t be traveling alone in the dark.”

  The young woman passed us in the hallway, making more than a small effort not to make eye contact with either of us. Once the front door shut behind her, Doc Godshalk returned to our conversation.

  “She a local?” I asked.

  Godshalk shook his head. “No, but she’s found a place to stay. Sadly, my extra rooms are occupied.”

  “Ever thought of moving somewhere… bigger than Golden River? Someplace that could really benefit from your services?”

  The doc gave me a stern glare. “You know damn well I need my privacy. Besides, people are more than willing to travel. Now, now…” He made a show of hovering his hand over Rosa’s face and scratches, yet not touching. He ticked his tongue, then looked me up and down. “Seems all your parts are intact. Unless…” He gazed down at my trousers and Rosa snickered.

  “That’s enough of that,” I said, giving her that same stern look I’d just been on the receiving end of. Though I had to admit, it was nice seeing her in good spirits. “Doc, we’re really just looking for somewhere safe to stay the night—”

  “You just saw me turn away that fine young woman due to the constraints in my lodging. No amount of persuasion will change the facts.”

  “James, it’s fine,” Rosa said.

  “It ain’t,” I said. “Doc, you’re gonna turn down an injured woman in need?”

  Godshalk screwed up his face, then bit his lip. “I would never, but there’s a nice cottage inn run by—”

  “We need someone without loose lips.”

  “You know full well the oath I swear upon my patients. But you are no longer a patient of mine.”

  I gave him a slap on the back. “Once a patient, always a patient.”

  “Whatever worked for you, I cannot seem to replicate. Hard to say you ever were a patient. A swindler perhaps.”

  “Swindler?” I put on a face of mock horror. “I paid you in bona fide gold!”

  He playfully shook his head. “Hope is the most burdensome charge of all.”

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  “Look, we helped each other once, no questions asked. Now, I’m asking again. I’ve seen enough killing for a month.”

  He adjusted his glasses. “Is that a threat, demon hunter?”

  “Not at all. Simply the truth. My friend here is in desperate need of a comfortable night’s sleep. I fear without it, she’ll grow deathly ill. However, we find ourselves short on greenbacks. We’ll be out of your hair at dawn’s light, but I’d consider this a great favor.”

  “First, my hair has long since passed the stage at which you could find yourself entangled. Second, by the look of things, this young lady…”

  “Rosa,” she filled in.

  Godshalk sighed, as if resigning to the fact that he had no choice. “Follow me. Follow me.”

  He led us into a large room toward the back of the building. Rosa gasped upon entry, and I had to admit, I was a bit in awe as well. The walls, floor to ceiling, were lined with bookshelves. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of books filled them. They were so tall, the doc had several ladders on rollers that he could guide around the room. Now, true, I’d said he wasn’t very tall, but I’d wager I couldn’t reach the topmost shelf without assistance either.

  Visible around the bottom were texts from all over the world about medical arts. From voodoo arts like Madame Laveau would have enjoyed, to eastern practices and everything in between. The top row, by contrast, was reserved for content about my particular and peculiar domain. The otherworldly. Myths and mysticism. Most of it was utter nonsense, though I’m sure there were some truths sprinkled about. Folklore wouldn’t exist without hints of truth.

  In one corner, some sort of cabinet was draped under a velvet blanket. Probably one of the doc’s oddities. In the center of the room, not far from the hearth, stood four lonely different colored chairs. They looked plush and comfortable, and though I wouldn’t need such luxury, I was sure Rosa wouldn’t mind.

  “Please, sit. Sit. I’ll return in short order with a balm.”

  Rosa sat in the black chair, which left white, red, and blue. The blue one looked well used, as if that was Godshalk’s preference. I sure as hell wasn’t sitting on a white throne, and I figured I’d seen enough blood in my days that red suited me just fine, so I made myself comfortable there. The room was decorated like that, all sorts of colors and patterns on wallpapers and tapestries. It was all quite… a lot.

  “He has an… eclectic taste in literature,” Rosa commented.

  “That’s a word for it. More like an obsession.”

  “He knows what you are?”

  “Not really. But he knows what I’m not.”

  The doc came shuffling back in, finger-deep in some sort of gelatinous goo.

  “Now, this’ll spread on nice and thick. Don’t worry, you’ll be good as new in no time at all. Do you mind?” He asked the question while standing before Rosa with a glob of the stuff on the tip of his finger, so close to her face, a light breeze would have rendered her consent moot.

  She nodded. Ever the kind one, my Rosa. “Please.”

  When it touched her skin, she sucked in through her teeth.

  “I’m sorry, does that hurt?” The doc pulled his finger back.

  “It’s just cold,” she admitted.

  “Ah, yes. I should have warned you. Just sit tight.” He dabbed the balm over each of her cuts, making sure not to miss any. “This stuff is like magic.”

  At those words, he looked to me as if he’d said something wrong or offensive. I gave him a little smile, and he continued.

  When he was through, Rosa said, “Thank you,” and he staggered back to plop down on the blue chair opposite her.

  “I also have some laudanum if you’d like something for the pain,” he said, as if only now remembering.

  Rosa raised her hands, palm out, and I recalled the damage she’d done last time she performed that particular motion—this time, it was benign. “No, thank you. Truly. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “Suit yourself. Suit yourself.” He leaned back and crossed one of his stubby legs. “So, since your friend here has already assured me he has nothing with which to pay me for my services, how about you regale me with the tale of how these injuries came to be?”

  Rosa looked at me as if to pass the buck my direction.

  “I know prying is your nature, Doc, but not today,” I said.

  “Funny. Mrs. Whittington—that lovely young lady that just left—was just telling me about this ghost train that rolled in town, covered in blood and ashes. Apparently, two people were seen fleeing the scene. One of them, a pale man in a hat and duster. The other, a woman of more… ethnic persuasion. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

  “Careful, Doc. That sounds like some sort of blackmail. Remember that oath of yours?”

  He smiled, and it held some warmth. “On the contrary. I need a cure for my boredom. Time passes and all the mystery this town once had went with it. The sad state of things, Mr. Crowley, is that my basement is bare these days. I long for curiosity.”

  “Civilization is a pest, eh?”

  He nodded.

  “Alright, I’ll give you your weird thrills.”

  Rosa shot me a worried look. “Are you sure?”

  “Who’s he gonna tell?” I replied. “Everyone’s after us anyway. The good doc is a regular encyclopedia on this sort of argle-bargle bullshit.”

  “Eloquent as always, Mr. Crowley,” Godshalk remarked. “You should seek more enviable company, milady. I fear his black heart will stain yours like ink to parchment.”

  “You haven’t seen mine,” she said. Her words were playful, though her grim expression told another story.

  Godshalk shivered. He’d already seen enough to know things in my life weren’t exactly run-of-the-mill. Still, I wasn’t sure how to explain today’s events. Honestly, wasn’t even convinced I had to. He’d patched Rosa up, and I was confident I could force him to lend us one of his beds for the night in the end—even if it was his very own.

  As for me, sleep wasn’t in the cards. I’d be in this chair, guns out, staring at the door in wait of whatever the next supernatural monster was who wanted Rosa.

  Although, there was one thing that still had my long-johns bunched, and it was why I’d thought to come to Doc Godshalk in the first place, beyond a good hideaway. This was one of those rare situations where having Shargrafein in my pocket would’ve alleviated some of my considerable confusion, damnable a thought as that was.

  I normally had a good handle on things of Hellish origin, but those riders who attacked the train, those who Chekoketh called his own… I hadn’t even a starting place, and like I said, he had books on everything imaginable and had likely read them all countless times.

  So, I told the good doc everything. Well, almost everything. He still didn’t know precisely what I was. And I didn’t bother evoking Chekoketh’s name, but I gave him the rundown of the attack on the train. Didn’t tell him about Rosa’s power either. Left that for his imagination to fill in.

  When I was done, he scratched his hairless chin. “Horsemen, you say?” That was it, his only response. Which was good because that was where my mind remained perplexed. “And you are certain they weren’t mere men? Perhaps done up in elaborate costumes?

  “Would have been one hell of a trick to get a horse to act like a giant dragonfly,” I said.

  The doc’s face paled. “A dragonfly?” He licked his lips and swallowed as if his mouth had gone dry.

  Guess I’d forgotten that detail.

  “That’s what it looked like,” I admitted.

  “Agreed,” Rosa interjected, having seen it herself.

  Godshalk rose without preamble and rushed to his bookcases. He paced back and forth, eyes scanning until, finally, he stopped. Pulling one of the ladders toward him, he muttered under his breath, then climbed. The ladder shifted unsteadily under his weight, and I could see the nerves on Rosa’s balm-covered face each time the man ascended to a new rung.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, and nearly fell.

  Rosa gasped.

  The good doc descended, an old tome clutched to his chest like a priceless treasure. He was already flipping through worn, yellow pages before he reached us, and took a seat, this time in the white chair across from me. He licked his thumb before rifling through yet more pages. Then, he slapped his palm against the open book and asked, “This… is this what you saw?” He held the book out for me to see.

  Etched on the page was a drawing that eerily reminded me of the work Mr. Harker had done for Bram Stoker’s book. In fact, Bram’s book would have fit nicely amongst the collection. The artwork depicted a charcoal representation of a cloaked rider perched on the back of—you guessed it—an overgrown dragonfly.

  “Saints and Elders,” I said. “That’s as close as we’d get without one of them cameras city folks love so much.”

  “Christ crucified,” Godshalk swore.

  I flipped the page forward and spotted the other rider I’d observed. “And this.”

  “Mr. Crowley, this isn’t good.”

  “What is it?” Rosa asked.

  “Flip back a few pages,” he told me.

  I did as he suggested and read the headline out loud. “‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.’”

  As any man who found themselves in the midst of a war between the forces of Heaven and Hell, I’d done my due diligence. “This ain’t how the Bible describes them.”

  “And didn’t you tell me Hell is cold?” Rosa interjected as if to show me how the Good Book and all its many translations had gotten a few things off kilter.

  “Touché.”

  “Hold on.” The doc sat forward. “Hell is cold, you say?”

  “Icy as a winter blizzard,” I answered.

  “Fascinating.”

  At this point, he didn’t even think to ask me how I could know such a thing. Then again, he was convinced I was the Father of Lies himself. Or, maybe, he truly was bored and enjoyed my stories.

  “To that point,” he continued, grabbing the book. He hooked his index finger like a bookmark as to not lose our place as he closed it to show me the cover.

  “‘The Apocryphal writings of Lord Byron,’” I read.

  I wouldn’t consider myself a learned man, and hadn’t heard of such a person. I told the good doctor as much.

  He smiled like he knew a secret. “Byron was a wonderful English poet. He wrote many works, but I believe this to be his greatest achievement. And it is the only of its kind.”

  He then splayed the book open, returning to the section about the Four Horsemen. That was when I noticed the words written on each page, arranged like poetry.

  “‘Three plus another

  Yet not always as one.

  In the night when it’s darkest,

  They revel in fun.

  Cast deep upon shadow

  Their furriest of rides

  Hatred of mankind

  Bleeds through each stride.

  The frigidity doth proceed

  Then appeareth the steed

  Black as the night

  Then cometh the sight

  Of another on frost-covered wings in flight.

  The third called Calamity,

  Skin soaked in profanity,

  Shall tear the whole world asunder

  The sky glowing with lightning

  A vision most frighting

  The road carved for a final in Thunder.

  Last shall come Death

  The head of the rest

  The sum of their chaos complete

  All humanity cries

  As snow fills the skies

  And the face of their maker they meet.’”

  He finished reading, and I looked over at Rosa. She was pale as a ghost. I probably would have been too if it were possible.

  The Four Horsemen, huh? That meant Chekoketh had a bit more sway in the icy pits than I’d originally believed. A regular old demon wouldn’t have authority over the Four Horsemen, no siree. For them to obey, the orders had to be coming from the top down.

  “Do you not see what you’ve done, Mr. Crowley?” Godshalk asked, eyes pleading as he staggered backward. He bumped into his covered cabinet and accidentally knocked the blanket off.

  Rosa gasped in fright. My proverbial heart stopped as I watched it reveal not a cabinet at all, but a pristine standing mirror facing us, polished and shiny thanks to the fabric’s protection. An unlife’s worth of memories overtook my senses, and I expected to see Shar’s reflection, bigger than life.

  “You are damned,” Godshalk said. “Calamity comes.”