Dead of Winter (32 page)

  After a few minutes, the peak of pleasure faded into the steady, familiar stream of vitality. Opening his eyes, Glava gazed down at the naked body of Annabelle Rose. He could leave her here for the brothel's mistress to discover, but they might associate him with her death. Having the law after him would compromise his subtlety, and he didn't want to attract any unwanted attention. Cora Oglesby may have been one of the most obstinate and dangerous hunters in the world, but she wasn't the only one. Some of James Townsend's friends might prove troublesome if they caught wind of his activities. No, it was best to conceal the evidence for now and wait until his tide became too powerful to withstand.

  Glava stood to his feet and wiped his mouth on a corner of the bedsheet. Moving toward the nearest window, he opened it and looked out. Cold night air rushed into the room, bathing his face and neck. A smile bloomed on his red lips as he turned back to Annabelle's body. He wrapped her in the bloodstained sheet and tossed her over one shoulder as if she weighed no more than an empty burlap sack. Then he stepped into his shoes, walked over to the window, and was about to climb through when he heard a sound and turned.

  Jack Evans stood in the doorway, his mouth agape.

  Fodor Glava's golden eyes flashed above his bundle. Despite his need for caution, he couldn't refrain from offering the deputy one of his grins before slipping through the window. Keeping his footsteps light, he ran along the sloped roof covering the brothel's porch. A flying leap carried him on to the roof of the building across the street, and he vanished into the night.

  Jack remained frozen in place for a few moments, unable to process what he had just seen. A breeze wafted through the open window, pulling at the curtains. The deputy felt the cold air on his face, and it roused him from his stupor. He ran over to the window and looked out. The man was long gone. Cursing, he turned back into the room, trying to calm his thoughts enough to take a good look around.

  The bed was empty and stripped of its sheet. The pillows lay against the headboard, undisturbed. Bending down, Jack looked over the rest of the bed for any evidence, but came up empty. In the other room, the bath water was cooling, and a towel lay heaped in the corner.

  Jack slammed his hand into the wall. This was Annabelle's room, and somebody had just jumped out of the window holding what looked like a body. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. No, Annabelle was still alive. She was probably just downstairs having a drink. Still, just to be safe, he should probably tell the marshal that something was fishy in town. Today was supposed to be his day off, and he thought he'd come pay Annabelle a surprise visit. He cursed this miserable town that couldn't give a lawman even one day of peace.

  The cold air burned his ears as he ran through the street toward the station. Bursting through the front door, he gave a brief nod to Sanchez. The seated deputy returned the nod, watching in confusion as his fellow lawman stormed toward the marshal's office.

  "Sir, we got a problem."

  Duggan looked up from the small wooden crucifix he was holding. "We always got a problem, deputy. I'm stewing about one right this minute, as a matter of fact."

  "Well, forget it," Jack said. "We got a worse one."

  "You ain't giving me orders, are you?" Duggan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Jack looked down at his boots. "No, sir."

  "I didn't think you was," Duggan said. "Now then, what's the new problem?"

  "Something's wrong over at the Purdy," Jack said.

  "Ain't something you can fix?"

  Jack shook his head. "No, sir. Ain't no rowdy drunk this time. I think–" He took a deep breath. "I think somebody might have gone and killed one of them whores."

  "Which one?" Duggan asked. When Jack didn't reply, the marshal looked up. Seeing the look on the deputy's face, he groaned. "Jack, tell me it ain't that one you're sweet on."

  "Who said I was sweet on a whore?"

  "Your face just done told me," Duggan said. "Before that, Mrs Oglesby said she saw you outside that brothel when we was fighting that other monster."

  "That bitch," Jack said, shaking his head. "Ain't none of her business where I choose to sit."

  "Don't take no big city detective to make the pieces fit." The marshal sighed and stood to his feet. "What makes you think your sweetheart got herself killed?"

  Jack swallowed, looking at his boots again. "Well, I went in to call on her. The porter, he was busy with somebody else, so I figured I'd just let myself on up to see her. I went up to her room and I opened the door, and there was this strange feller in the room. He was carrying something that looked like a body over his shoulder. I hollered at him, and he just looked over at me and grinned before jumping right out the window."

  Duggan's eyebrows arched over his blue eyes. "You say he jumped out the window?"

  "Yes, sir," Jack said, nodding. "It's a second-story window, and he hopped on out like he was jumping a fence rail."

  "Well, ain't that odd?" Duggan said, looking down at the cross in his hands. "You didn't find him limping around in the street afterward?"

  "Didn't think to look," Jack said. "Ain't heard nobody say nothing about it, though." Jack watched the memory in his mind and shook his head. "It's like he just sprouted wings and flew off into the sky."

  Duggan nodded without looking up. Sighing through his nose, he twirled the cross in his fingers. No man he knew could jump out of a second-story window onto a snow-packed street without breaking his legs, and no man anywhere could simply vanish into thin air. If what Jack said was true, their suspect wasn't a man. He didn't want to believe it, but it seemed as though Cora Oglesby's warning was well-founded. Again.

  He looked up at his deputy. "You a praying man, Jack Evans?"

  The question took Jack by surprise. "Why, I don't attend church regular, but I was raised in the faith."

  "Well, that's something, at least," Duggan said. "Don't suppose it matters much which one, neither. My ma raised me Catholic, and I expect Sanchez out there will say the same."

  "What difference does it make?" Jack asked. "How will that help us bag this feller?"

  "You wasn't here when Mrs Oglesby stopped by," Duggan said, "so I'll give it to you quick."

  The marshal summed up Cora's brief visit, explaining what she had said about crosses and garlic. When he finished, Jack's face was pale. "You mean to tell me my Annabelle Rose got killed by a vampire?"

  "Ain't nothing sure about it," Duggan said, "but if what you said about him jumping out the window is true, I expect it's at least a possibility."

  "Shit, marshal, we got to get moving," Jack said, heading out of the marshal's office. He paused at the front door and looked back. "Well, come on! We got to save her."

  "Save who?" Sanchez asked, looking alarmed.

  "Annabelle," Jack said, but Sanchez just gave him a blank look.

  Duggan's boots thumped on the floor as he walked toward his deputies. "Jack," he said, "I don't reckon there's much we can do for her."

  "What do you mean?" Jack asked. "We can't just leave her out there to get killed."

  "I expect she's already dead," Duggan said.

  "But you ain't sure of that," Jack said. "I didn't see no dead body, just some sack over his shoulder. Until we know for sure, it's our duty as lawmen to find and protect her."

  "There's more folk in this town besides your whore," Duggan said. "I ain't about to run all three of us after some spook just because you was dumb enough to fall for a whore. My duty is to all the people of Leadville, and so is yours. Don't you forget it."

  "Hunting down that vampire would make the whole town safer," Jack said. "The sooner we do it, the sooner we do our duty."

  "
Madre de Dios,"
Sanchez whispered from the desk. "There is a vampire here?"

  "At least one," Duggan said, not taking his eyes off of Jack. "Mrs Oglesby said there might be more. Jack here seems to think one just jumped out a window with his sweetheart over one shoulder."

  "What do we do,
señor
?" Sanchez asked.

  "We stay right where we are," the marshal said. He raised a hand to halt Jack's outburst. "Won't do no good to charge off after a vampire at night, son. Even if you did find him, you'd only end up killed yourself."

  "But I can't just–"

  "What you can't do is save that woman." Duggan looked at his deputy, a mixture of pity and irritation on his face. Jack Evans was a good man, if a little slow in the head. Duggan didn't want to lose him, but the fool had gone and fallen for a whore. The marshal had been a lawman long enough to have seen many a fight over a whore's love. Sometimes, it was two men that broke out in fisticuffs for a girl's affections. Other times, a man turned violent on a girl who didn't return his feeling. Either way, such affairs always ended with a fight and time spent in a jail cell. Duggan had never seen a happy ending to a man's love for a whore, and he didn't think Jack's would be the first.

  Jack set his jaw. "Well, I ain't just going to leave her, sir. If you ain't going to do your duty, then I'll do it my own self."

  "That's your business, then," Duggan said. "But if you do plan on saving that woman, go prepared. This ain't like cracking some drunk over the head and hauling him off to jail."

  "Don't you worry, marshal," Jack said, drawing his pistol and giving it a spin. "I ain't stupid."

  Duggan opened his mouth to reply, but his deputy had already slammed the door. The marshal stared after him for a moment, then sighed and looked at Sanchez, who met his gaze with fearful eyes.

  "Well, deputy," Duggan said, clapping him on the shoulder, "looks like it's just you and me tonight."

 

When Washington Jones came to himself, his mouth was full of blood. The taste filled him with a strange new excitement. Opening his eyes, he saw a figure standing before him. The man's wrist was in Wash's mouth, leaking blood from a deep cut.

  When Glava saw awareness in his disciple, he pulled his arm away. "Welcome to your new life, my child."

  "Where am I?"

  "Where you died," the vampire replied. "Where you have now been reborn as a true master of the night."

  Wash ran a hand along his neck, feeling the small wounds there, and the memories of the afternoon returned. "You killed me, didn't you?"

  "And gave you new life." Glava held out his injured arm, and Wash watched in amazement as the gash closed in on itself, vanishing within a matter of moments. "This power is now yours, along with many others. You are a new man, Washington Jones, one that need not fear the trappings of mortality."

  A thrill ran through Wash's body as his mind worked to understand it. "So you're saying I can't be killed no more? Not by anything?"

  The vampire's hand snatched the bowie knife from Wash's belt with the speed of a striking snake, yet Wash found he could follow it along every inch of its journey, as if Glava were casually reaching for a match. The elder vampire twirled the blade in his hands for a moment. Then, with Wash's blue eyes still watching the blade, Glava plunged the knife into his disciple's chest.

  Wash felt the impact and looked down. The knife handle protruded from his ribs. He could feel the blade in his body, but the sensation was nothing more than a slight irritation. After a few moments, he reached up and pulled the blade free. It came out clean, and a small trickle of blood oozed from the wound. The skin soon closed in on itself, leaving behind no trace of the wound.

  Wash looked up at Glava in amazement. "Did that just happen?"

  "You are not blind," Glava said, "though you are still an idiot." His golden eyes flashed in the dim light for a moment before he turned toward the door. "Come. It is time for your first feeding."

 
 

 
 
 

Cora pulled her hat down over her brow. The afternoon sun gleamed on the golden cross crowning the church's steeple, hurting her eyes. Despite sleeping through the night and most of the morning's train ride into Denver, she'd kept her head down through the streets, trying to hide from both her hangover and her growing dread.

  Her boots clapped against the stone steps, bringing her up to the wooden doors. Closing her eyes, she gave a deep sigh, trying to exhale her panic and despair with the white cloud of breath that poured from her lips. It didn't work. Her hand paused on the door handle for a moment before she opened it and escaped into the darkness of the vestibule.

  The thick carpet muffled her footsteps as she approached the altar and knelt before the crucifix. Closing her eyes, she savored the silence of this place of worship, willing it into her turbulent soul. After a few minutes, the throbbing in her head subsided, leaving her alone with her panic.

  "Cora? Is that you?"

  She turned her head and saw Father Baez approaching. "Yeah, it's me, Father. Forgive me, but I think I forgot to cross myself when I entered today."

  A smile spread beneath his white beard. "I do believe the good Lord can find it in His heart, my dear. Now tell me, what brings you to my door?"

  "Well," Cora said, "I got me a bit of a problem, and I heard tell you can give me some answers."

  "I'll do what I can," Father Baez said, offering her a hand. "Come, sit and we'll talk."

  He led her over to a pew. Cora sat down, wringing her hands despite herself. She looked at them for a few minutes, trying to find enough courage to speak. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into the priest's kind eyes. She needed the answers he could provide, no matter what they might be.

  "Well, Father," she began, "I had me a run-in with a vampire yesterday, and he said something funny. About Ben." The priest's face grew grave, and Cora noticed. "So you do know something, then?"