Dead of Winter (30 page)

  Cora nodded. "He must be out of his gourd. I ain't never come across no
nosferatu
before."

  "You're sure of this?"

  "I think I'd remember it," Cora said. "Ain't every day I get chatted up by a man while he's laying dead at my feet."

  "Of course," James said, removing his glasses. Cleaning them with the end of his necktie, he continued. "So then, we have only two reasonable options left to explain these eccentricities. The first of these is to assume that the
nosferatu
mistook you for another of his victims and drew on those memories while taunting you."

  "Makes the most sense to me," Cora said, not wanting to hear the other possibility.

  James raised a hand. "The second is to conclude that you did indeed encounter this creature in your past and have somehow forgotten the incident."

  Cora shook her head. "Ain't possible. Like I said, I'd recollect it if I had."

  "There are ways of inducing forced memory loss," James said. "If this
nosferatu
has sufficient knowledge of the Black Arts, he would be able to wipe your memory clean of him." Even as he spoke, James began doubting the idea. "Of course, had he done so, he would not have expected you to remember him. Perhaps the memory loss is due to other influences."

  "I don't see how," Cora said, tapping her forehead. "My cracker barrel ain't got no leaks."

  "I don't mean to imply that it does," James said. "However, certain traumas can have adverse effects on the memory, causing holes in an otherwise sound mind. Such maladies commonly afflict soldiers on the battlefield, for example. A man may be able to tell you what he ate for his breakfast on the morning of a battle, yet not recall how or when a friend died in that same battle. Given the nature of your work, I don't believe it is too outlandish to suggest that something similar may have happened to you."

  "I ain't fought in no battles," Cora said. "At least, I ain't fought no wars. Ben fought the Yankees when we was both sprouts, but he quit the service when General Lee surrendered. We stayed out of them Indian wars, too, so I don't see how I could have lost my memories."

  "It isn't only war that can cause such trauma." James looked at her, his eyes kind and sorrowful behind his glasses. "The loss of a loved one may also create a lapse in memory."

  Cora began to feel the thread of hope slip from her. "I ain't lost no loved one, either."

  James looked back at the fire for a moment, gathering his resolve. "Perhaps there is another way to be sure," he finally said, not looking away from the crackling flames. "You said the vampire made several allusions to your prior meeting occurring ten years ago. Can you remember an incident in your past that might correspond with that time frame?"

  Cora studied the Winchester's barrel while she thought. A scream had been building inside of her for the past hour, and it took most of her concentration to hold it in. Part of her wanted to throw the rifle through one of Harcourt's big glass windows, unleash a torrent of obscenities at James, and storm out of the retreat to continue her search. This was all a waste of time, anyway. While she stood here with James Townsend trying to solve riddles, Ben was no doubt waiting for her back in their hotel room, fretting about the growing vampire threat. The longer she stayed here, the harder it would be to find the rogue
nosferatu
and put an end to him before the night was out. Still, James was only trying to help her.

  Finally, she looked back up at him. "Sorry, George. I can't come up with a single one."

  James sighed. "Perhaps it will come to you."

  "Maybe so," Cora said, "but I can't wait here for it to show up."

  "Where must you go?"

  "Back to town," Cora said. "As you might recollect, there's a vampire on the loose down there, and I don't expect he'll just sit quiet tonight."

  "You won't stay to bolster our defenses here?" James asked.

  Cora shook her head. "You boys should do all right for yourselves if them critters in the mine come calling. No, I'm more worried about the town. All they've got is that touchy marshal and his band of halfwit deputies. Me and Ben will be more use there, I reckon."

  "You and Ben?" James asked.

  "Yep," Cora said. "I expect he'll be back at the hotel waiting for me, champing at the bit to get this hunt underway."

  James offered her a sad smile. "I pray you're right, my dear," he said, holding out his hand.

  "No prayer needed," Cora said, shaking the scholar's hand. She turned and made her way out of the British lord's retreat, ignoring the curious eyes that followed her. A shock of cold air greeted her when she opened the front door. She pulled her bandana back over her nose and stood on the porch for a few moments while her eyes grew accustomed to the fading light. A near-full moon rose above the eastern peaks, bathing the landscape in blue light. The evening stars answered with their own icy glitter. As she walked toward the horses, Cora marveled at how a peaceful night could harbor such horrors in its shadows.

  The animals seemed irritated at being left to stand out in the cold. Cora patted Our Lady's neck in apology as she slid the rifle back into the saddle sheath. She swung herself into the saddle, pointed the mare's head in the direction of Leadville, and eased her into a trot. She kept a tight grip on Book's reins, making sure the gelding didn't get it into his head to race them back to town. After a short while, she urged Our Lady into her easy canter and gave Book a bit more slack.

  Settling into the saddle, she let her thoughts wander back to what James had said. Surely the vampire had confused her for someone else when he claimed to have killed her husband. The image of Ben that she had seen must have been some black magic spell designed to take the form of anyone's husband or wife. A nasty trick, but that's all it had been. She smiled beneath her bandana, picturing Ben sitting up in their room, buried in a book. A good rap on the head with it and a quart of whiskey would set things right, and then they could go after the vampire bastard that started all of this.

  As she neared town, Cora began giving honest thought to the question the scholar had asked right before she left. The
nosferatu
had seemed quite certain that they had met each other ten years before, but she couldn't place when or where. Only a handful of the monsters she and Ben had killed over the years had been any smarter than a cougar, and none of those had been vampires. The clever enemies were always humans dabbling in necromancy.

  The answer hit her as she was riding up to the hotel stable, and she nearly fell out of the saddle at her own stupidity. She and Ben had smoked out a vampire nest near Denver about ten years ago with Father Baez. A raucous laugh erupted from her lungs. How could she have not realized it sooner? The vampires in that nest must have been other servants of this
nosferatu
, so of course it was out for revenge. Once they took care of it here in Leadville, they would have to stop in and tell Father Baez the good news. She led the horses into the stable and bedded them down, grinning to herself.

  Her grin stayed with her as she entered the hotel and stamped her boots on the entry rug, drawing irritated looks from the few patrons sitting in the front room. She waved at the clerk behind the desk. Making no effort to be discreet, she thumped her way up the stairs to their room, and pulled the key from her pocket. The lock clicked, and she pushed open the door.

  "Welcome back," said a voice behind her. She turned, her grin spreading into a genuine smile with the expectation of seeing her husband's face.

  Golden eyes gazed back at her.

  Hollering in surprise, she fell backward into the room, knocking the crucifix aside. The vampire remained in the hall, a smirk twisting his lips. "You seem surprised to see me, Cora. Were you expecting someone else? Your husband, perhaps?"

  Cora yanked the revolver from her belt, pulled back the hammer, took aim at the smirk and fired. Blue smoke and thunder filled the room. When it cleared, her target had vanished. Cora pulled the hammer back a second time and got to her feet. The gunshot still rang in her ears. She strained through it, listening for any sign of the vampire's movements.

  After a few moments, the mocking voice echoed down the hallway. "Still as quick as ever. I am glad to see that age and grief haven't slowed your wits."

  "I can't see how happy you are," Cora said. "Why don't you show me that pretty smile of yours?"

  "And let you draw the curtain before the final act is done? After a ten-year intermission, I should think you would want to relish this performance of a lifetime. Unless, of course, you have forgotten your lines."

  "Never gave two shakes for no theatrics," Cora said.

  "Not even your own tragedy?" he asked.

  "Every life's a tragedy," Cora said. "Only thing that matters is making sure you ain't in the role of the bad guy."

  "Ah, but who determines which role is the villain and which is the hero?"

  "As I see it, the villain's the cocky bastard that goes around killing innocent folk."

  A rolling laugh echoed down the hallway. "'Innocent' is such a human word. Does the fox care for the innocence of the hare? Can a wolf weigh the iniquities of the elk? No, it is only man, burdened by the weight of his mortality, who sews morality into his life as a miser sews gold into his bedclothes."

  "Don't matter how you cut it," Cora said. "Them miners you killed didn't deserve it."

  "Of course they didn't."

  The voice came from behind her. She spun around and swept over the empty room with the barrel of her gun. Nothing. "Then why'd you kill them?" she asked.

  "Because the world is unfair," Glava said. His voice seeped in through the window like the cold night air. Stepping toward the sound, Cora tried to make out his shape, but saw only shadows and the lights from across the street.

  "Ain't no reason to kill folk," Cora said.

  "I was hungry, and they were plentiful. Should I be denied my own right to life because I must kill men in order to live? What are the lives of a few miners? They would have spent them drinking and whoring only to die in a cave-in or a fever. What does it matter that I ended such worthless existences?"

  "You ain't God."

  "Now you disappoint me, Cora. Have you not yet learned that the
nosferatu
are the only gods humanity need concern itself with? I believe I said as much to you only this afternoon."

  "I wasn't listening all that close," Cora said. "Don't put no stock in what a madman says."

  "You're one to speak of madness," the vampire said. "Do give my regards to your husband when you see him next."

  A well of dread sank into Cora's gut. "What do you know about Ben?"

  "The perfect question for that meddlesome priest."

  "What priest?"

  Cora heard the vampire sigh. "Perhaps your mind has been addled with time after all. I had hoped for a refreshing sparring of wit, the parry and repartee of mortal enemies before the final battle, but here you are, sober and dull. Your husband always was the sharper half of you. I had so looked forward to an eternity of his conversation. It is a shame you cut it short."

  The vampire fell silent. Cora leaned toward the window, searching the shadows for any sign of her enemy. All she could see was her own reflection, fogged by her breath. After a few minutes of silence, she holstered her pistol and turned away from the window.

  "Tell the priest that Fodor Glava sends his regards." Golden eyes flashed at her from the doorway. Cora pulled her gun again, but the vampire vanished before she could get a shot off. Silence filled the room. After a moment, Cora stepped back to the doorway and peered out into the hallway. It was empty.

  Cora kept the revolver in her hand as she locked the door and leaned against it. Fodor Glava. The name didn't ring any bells in her memory, but nothing about him did. He seemed to know who she was, though. Townsend's theory that he had somehow mixed her up with somebody else seemed less and less likely. The vampire knew her name well enough to find the hotel room, and he knew about events in her past that she hadn't told a soul in Leadville.

  The mattress rustled beneath her as she sat on the bed, unable to stand any longer. The vampire hadn't called the priest by name, but she knew he meant Father Baez. She and Ben had met many priests in the long years since they came west, but the kind old man in Denver was the one who had helped them with the nest of vampires. Glava's words confirmed her earlier suspicion: the incident near Denver was connected to this
nosferatu
in some way.

  Cora looked at Ben's pillow and felt a familiar panic begin twisting her stomach. She hadn't seen him since she left to confront Boots, which already felt like days ago. It wasn't like Ben to simply disappear, so she had to believe he was caught up somehow. Where or by whom, she couldn't begin to guess. He wasn't with the marshal or the Englishmen, and Glava seemed sure he was dead. For all its saloons and brothels, Leadville hadn't seen fit to establish a public library, so he couldn't be there. Her list of possibilities had all but run out, and she wasn't any closer to finding him.

  The panic continued to pull at her, demanding more and more of her attention. She took a deep breath, trying to force it down. Ben would come through that door any minute now. She would give him a good tongue-lashing and then they would be off to take care of Glava.

  Minutes passed. In the silence of the room, she could hear her own heartbeat flowing through her ears. She was used to hearing the soft sounds of Ben's breathing and the rustling as he turned pages in one of his books. Without them, each beat of her heart seemed to bring her panic a little closer to spilling over. Her arms and legs twitched, urging her to get up, to stop sitting around and go find her husband, but she ignored them. He had to come back sometime tonight. Waiting in the room was the fastest way to find him.