Dead of Winter (28 page)

  Sickened by the glee in his voice, Cora nonetheless found herself drawn to the corpse at her feet. Kneeling down, she looked at his open mouth. His teeth still looked human, not sharp and elongated like those of the vampires she'd killed that day. No blood seeped from the puncture wounds on his neck; his body was completely dry. Cora shook her head. Wash Jones had been an arrogant fool, but he hadn't deserved this. She made the dead man an unspoken promise that she would see his body put to rest.

  "Don't waste any thoughts of pity for Mr Jones," Boots said. "He chose to become one of us so he might settle his score with you. I merely provided him the means by which he could achieve such power."

  "So you're as honest as the serpent in the garden," Cora said. "Can't say I'm surprised."

  "I assure you, I am a man of my word. I did have every intention of allowing him the pleasure of ending your life, but it seems he will not wake up in time. I had not counted on catching you so easily. Still, I suppose I might save some of your blood to serve as the first meal of his new life."

  Cora was getting bored with such threats. "Ain't like he'll be around to enjoy it. James already told me that the weaker vampires ain't got their own minds."

  "I have reason to believe he will be present." The bartender's voice changed as he spoke, becoming deeper and raspier. Cora looked up at him, and her breath caught in her throat.

  In front of her, where Boots had stood a moment ago, the cold blue eyes of Washington Jones looked back her.

  Cora fell back against the wall as the living image of the dead man leaned toward her. His sandy-colored hair framed his face, and the same mocking smile spread beneath his beard.

  "You seem surprised, Cora," the voice of Wash Jones said. "Surely your Mr Townsend informed you that a
nosferatu's
power is far greater than that of a lowly
vrykolakas."

  Cora glanced at the corpse, then back up at the living image of Wash Jones. "He did say that your type could do different things, but he didn't mention taking on a dead man's body. Mostly just that you had your human soul."

  "Correct on both counts," the vampire said. "Let us explore the first mystery, then." Cora was silent, so he continued. "As you know, sunlight is fatal to a
vrykolakas
. We
nosferatu
find it rather uncomfortable as well, so we prefer to use more indirect means to influence the sunlit world. To accomplish this, we have learned to use the souls of those we drink as familiars."

  "The souls?" Cora asked. "Ain't the soul of a vampire stuck in hell?"

  "A common belief, but one I find rather insulting," Wash said. "I prefer to think being subject to my will is more of a divine privilege than an eternity of torment."

  "I think I'd prefer hell," Cora said. "So you take in the soul through the blood, then?"

  "Precisely, and it follows our every command, just as the newborn
vrykolakas
made of the body does. We can conjure these souls to enact our wills during the day, when we ourselves are somewhat more restrained."

  Cora nodded, feigning indifference while her mind raced. The danger of her situation was finally sinking in, stoking the fires of her panic. She was now balancing learning more about her enemy with being devoured and enslaved, and the longer she lingered, the less likely her escape seemed. James needed to know what she knew so he could share it with his friends back in England. If Ben didn't show soon, she would have to make a break for it and hope for the best. Better to go down fighting than to let herself be taken without a struggle. Still, as panicked as she was, she couldn't resist asking one more question. "You all can't drink blood through them souls, right?"

  Wash shook his head. "No. Some
nosferatu
even regret this shortcoming, though I can't fathom why. The thrill of feeling your own lips on a person's pulsing neck, the sweet flow of their lifeblood down your throat, and the screams ebbing to whimpers as you drink them dry simply cannot be replaced."

  "You really are a monster," Cora said.

  "Words spoken in ignorance," the vampire said. "At times, I try to recall my life before my immortality, when my mind was small and my body frail, but the memories always elude me. I imagine it is what the butterfly feels when it tries to remember its life in the chrysalis: fear and confusion and limitations. I suppose I had a clearer memory when I was still young in undeath, but even an immortal mind cannot hold all the history of the universe."

  "Yours sure can hold a lot of bullshit," Cora said.

  Wash's blue eyes grew hungry in the dim light. "And what will yours hold, I wonder?"

  Cora crossed her arms. "Nothing but my own self till the day I die, which will be well after I put you in your grave."

  "Defiant even in the face of certain defeat." The vampire bared Wash's teeth in a smile. "Such willpower is far too valuable to waste in such a miserable shell. I had thought to make you my slave, but you have moved me."

  Quicker than a striking diamondback, Wash's hand shot out and grabbed her throat. He pushed her against the wall, his eyes burning with hunger. "No, I shall usher you into the ranks of the
nosferatu
, and you shall learn to walk the shadows as a true ruler of the night. In time, you will understand the weakness of humanity and their puny gods. We are the gods who shall rule the world, Cora Oglesby."

  Cora didn't answer, and silence filled the room. She knew her time had run out, and she struggled to quiet her frantic thoughts enough to prepare for a last stand. Overpowering the vampire was impossible, but it couldn't use the body of Wash Jones to turn her, meaning it would have to come in its own body. When it did, she might be able to get the jump on it and escape. If it left her conscious.

  In the silence, she thought she heard footsteps in the hallway. They were slow and intermittent, as if searching for something. She heard a door creak somewhere nearby, and she grinned. She looked into Wash's cold blue eyes and lifted her chin.

  "You hear that, spooky?" she said. "That's the sound of my husband looking for me. I hope you got a plan for when he comes through that door and sticks you with a silver dagger."

  "Your husband?" the vampire asked. "Surely you don't mean Benjamin Oglesby?"

  "The one and only," Cora said. "Even the big bad vampire is scared of him, I see."

  "He was never the threat you are," the vampire said.

  "Well, that's about to change."

  Confusion flickered in the borrowed eyes. "You truly believe he is in that hallway looking for you?" Cora nodded, and the confusion melted into glee. "How absolutely delicious! I heard tales of your madness in the wake of our previous meeting, but I never imagined I could have so thoroughly broken your mind."

  "I ain't the one with the touched mind," Cora said. "You ain't hearing me spouting nonsense."

  "Oh, but you are," the vampire said. "I cannot begin to tell you the joy that this moment brings me. It will be like reliving ten years past and our first fateful encounter. To break the same hunter twice in one lifetime is a rare thrill even among the immortal." He looked down at her, his face ecstatic. "Cora Oglesby, Mad Madam, scourge of the unholy West, I believe I have some bad news for you."

  As he spoke, the face in front of hers changed. The sandy blond beard faded into a well-trimmed brown mustache, and the deep blue eyes of the young gunman gave way to a lighter shade of blue she knew as well as her own brown eyes. The mouth below the mustache twisted into a sadistic grin she had never seen on those lips. All of her fight and spirit evaporated in a single flash of recognition.

  "Your husband," said the voice of Benjamin Oglesby, "has already found you."

 
 

 
 
 

Cora's knees gave way. Had it not been for the hand clamped around her neck, the hand of her own husband, she would have collapsed to the floor. Her heart screamed that she was seeing an illusion, some sinister trick played by the vampire, but as the seconds passed, the man standing before her never wavered or disappeared.

  "What's wrong?" Ben's voice asked. "You haven't seen me in ten years, and you don't have anything to say? Not even some pithy sentiment about how you've missed me so?"

  "No," Cora said.

  "How about an apology, then?" The face of her husband leaned in until their noses almost touched. "Can you at least apologize for just letting me die like you did?"

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "Who am I?" Ben's other hand grabbed her gun belt. He spun her around and hurled her across the room. "I'm your husband."

  Cora slammed into a large crate with a bone-jarring thud. She fell to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest as the monster wearing Ben's face came to stand over her. She shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. It wasn't possible. Ben hadn't been killed by this creature. He was with Mart Duggan right now, making preparations for the coming wave of vampires. She would meet up with him later to defend the town.

  "Maybe I was wrong about you," Ben's voice said as the creature knelt next to her. "Maybe you are only suited for life as a slave. I still have time to decide. Perhaps the taste of your soul will tell me what I need to know. Either way, I've grown tired of this conversation." He reached out and grabbed her jaw, pulling her face toward him. "Look at me."

  Cora opened her eyes. Ben's face loomed above her, his kind features twisted with hatred.

  "I want the last thought of your mortal life to be of your failure," he said. "I want you to look upon the enslaved soul of your husband and carry that sight with you into eternity. Not the eternity of bliss your foolish god promised you, but an eternity as the very thing you most despise."

  The hand gripping her jaw let go and cracked across her face. The blow knocked her back into the crate. Her head swam from the impact, and she felt as though she might vomit. She fought the sensation as she lay on the floor, her mind repeating the same thoughts. Ben couldn't be dead. She had just seen him in their room. He was with the marshal. He would come through the door any second. They would kill this vampire just as they had killed so many other monsters.

  Standing above her, the image of her husband faded into the gray shadows of the room. A few seconds later, a slow creaking came from somewhere in the darkness. Glowing golden eyes fixed themselves on the fallen hunter.

  Fodor Glava stood over his fallen enemy, relishing her suffering and confusion. He always marveled at how easily mortals could be rendered helpless with mere words. It was such a handy tool if used right, but to use it on the Mad Madam herself, one of the most feared hunters in the West, was a special thrill. He could never have predicted her delusions, of course, but he was still pleased with himself for driving the knife through her heart. Her tears would sweeten the taste of her blood, and bringing her into the fold of the undead would make him a legend among
nosferatu
.

  Today was truly a great day.

  Glava knelt down and pulled the hunter's head toward him. She seemed only halfway conscious, her eyelids fluttering as the occasional sob escaped her lips. He brushed her disheveled braid off her neck like a lover, caressing her skin with cold fingers. The thirst screamed from every inch of his body, demanding that he drink his fill, but he held it at bay. Holding the helpless form of Cora Oglesby in his arms was intoxicating, sweeter than the taste of any blood. He wanted to savor the moment.

  Finally, he gave in to the demand and lowered his face to her neck. Her skin popped beneath his fangs like gossamer. The ecstasy filled his being, spiraling through his limbs, and he surrendered to it. No mortal sensation, no matter how powerful or beautiful, could ever approach the pleasure he now felt.

  Lost in his delirium, the vampire didn't hear or feel the shattering of glass against his forehead. A moment later, the bliss in his veins evaporated, replaced by a searing pain that tore across his scalp. The sensation was so alien that for an instant he remained motionless, trying to understand it. Then his instincts kicked in, and he gripped his head in both hands. The pain spread to his palms, and he cried out. Rolling away from his victim, he rubbed his hands on his suit, trying to wipe the unseen fire away, but still it burned.

  An impact in his side tore open another torrent of pain. The scent of his own searing flesh filled his nostrils. He rolled onto his back and squinted through the agony at the form of the hunter standing over him. Her brown eyes bored into him with seething hatred.

  "Enjoy the pain while you can, you bastard," she said. "It will seem like bliss after you get to where I send you."

  Cora's spurs chimed in a brisk rhythm as she left the room to reclaim her weapons. Her head still swam, but she forced herself to remain on her feet. Her saber gleamed a few yards away where it had fallen. She grabbed the hilt in her fingers, relishing the feel of the cold steel against her palm. This sword had been given to Ben during his days in the Confederate army. It was only fitting that it would behead his murderer.

  Gripping the saber with white knuckles, Cora smiled. She could already feel the impact of the blade on that bastard's neck and hear the sweet crunch as it bit though the bone. More torture would be in order first, though. Another vial of holy water to the face, perhaps, followed by a few more kicks from her silver spurs. She would see the mighty vampire beg for death before Ben's sword pierced his unholy heart. Cora stormed into the dark storeroom, ready to administer her holy justice.

  Her determination quickly turned to confusion. The room had filled with a thick white mist, and the vampire had vanished. As she stood dumbfounded, the mist flowed around her ankles and out the door, forming a river of white cloud down the hallway. Before she could react, it vanished down the stairs, leaving her alone.