Dead of Winter (36 page)

  Wash grinned, and his fingers flexed in anticipation. "Where's that?"

  "To the priest who fought with her ten years ago," Glava said. "While she is with him, we have little chance of success, but she will leave there soon and return here."

  "How do you know that?"

  "That is her way, to return," Glava said. "Just as she did ten years ago, so will she now. Her mind is weak, but her nature is unchanged. She is tenacious to a fault. This time, it will be her undoing."

  "Good," Wash said. "How long till she gets back?"

  "She will crawl into a bottle for a day or two until she loses herself to her rage. When she does, she will return to us, drunk and blinded by anger, and we will take her."

  "What will we do till then?"

  "We will attend to other business." Glava motioned with his arm. "Come. Once it is concluded, we will slake our lust with the blood of these fools."

  The elder vampire walked out the door, and his apprentice followed. Glava's dark hair seemed to absorb the light of the hallway as they made their way toward the saloon. "I had the misfortune of being disturbed while obtaining my meal last night," Glava said. "Worse, the intruder was a member of the local law. Much as I prefer to remain subtle, this unfortunate event has alerted the lawgivers to our presence."

  "That ain't no problem," Wash said as his boots began thumping down the stairs. "We should just go kill the lot and settle it right now."

  "You have much to learn of subtlety," Glava said. "In this case, however, your solution is almost practical." Reaching the main room, the vampire paused for a moment and looked back at Wash Jones. "We will eliminate them, but we must keep up appearances lest we draw even more attention to ourselves."

  "What's that mean?" Wash asked. Despite his recent meal, he still felt a strong desire to claim another victim, and the heat of human blood in the room fought for his attention.

  "It means you will learn the first of the many abilities that I have given you." Before Glava could continue, a shout rang out from the bar. Both vampires looked over to see a young man staring at them, his face twisted with rage.

  "You!" the man yelled, pointing his finger at Glava. "You're the one that killed my Annabelle."

  "And who might you be?" Glava asked.

  "Deputy Jack Evans, and I'm going to put you in your grave right now for what you done."

  "You are a number of years too late for that, good sir," Glava replied, turning to leave. Wash stood where he was, eyes wide as Jack Evans pulled his revolver and took aim. Gamblers and miners dove for cover behind the tables.

  The slug hit Glava between the shoulder blades and exploded from his chest, burying itself in the door. Turning, Glava looked down at the hole in his chest. "Unpleasant," he said, his golden eyes regarding the deputy. Silence and blue smoke filled the air between them. After a moment, he looked at his apprentice and motioned with a gloved hand. "Come, Mr Jones."

  The vampire opened the door and stepped out into the night. Wash followed, keenly aware of the eyes watching them depart. Looking over his shoulder, he offered the room a big grin before leaving. Jack Evans still stood at the bar with his gun raised, dumbfounded.

  "You see the unwelcome attention we are prone to attract," Glava said when Wash caught up. "Not only do the people in that bar now know we are something more than we appear, but I shall also need to have this suit tailored."

  "Why not just buy a new one?" Wash asked. "If you ain't got no money, just kill a rich man and take his."

  "A man's dress is an important component of his presence, be he human or vampire," Glava replied, "and I don't much care for your American fashions."

  Behind them, the door to the Pioneer flew open, and Jack Evans stumbled into the street. After a moment of confusion, he caught sight of the two men walking toward the marshal's station. Coaxing his drunken legs into a run, he took after them, his revolver still in his hand. It went off before he could take aim, and the bullet soared over the vampires' heads. They both turned to face him. Jack skidded to a halt a few yards from them, his vision swimming. He took aim at Glava, but before he could pull the trigger, a gloved hand clamped down on his wrist and twisted. There was a snapping sound.

  "Your persistence is admirable, but also irritating," Glava said, twisting the arm further. Jack cried out in pain. Around them, people stopped to watch the scene unfold.

  Another twist brought the deputy to his knees. "You were fond of the whore, were you?" Glava asked. Jack managed a nod, the fire in his eyes replaced by tears. The vampire looked up at his apprentice, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Then perhaps you should be reunited."

  Glava's free hand grabbed a fistful of Jack's shirt and hauled him to his feet. With a shove, he began marching the deputy back toward the saloon. Behind him, Wash picked up Jack's fallen pistol and stuck it in his belt. He had taken two steps toward the saloon when another shout rang out. Turning, he saw a short man with a fiery red beard running toward him at full speed, a big revolver in each hand.

  Glava turned as well, Jack's shirt still firmly in his grip. The man stopped a few feet from them, aiming one pistol at each vampire. "Just where do you boys think you're going with my deputy?"

  "To reunite him with his whore," Glava said. "You must be the local marshal."

  "Mart Duggan," the marshal replied. "I have it on good authority that his whore is dead, so you best start talking sense before I put a bullet in each of you."

  Glava looked at Wash. "Might you care to handle this situation, Mr Jones? I am so looking forward to bringing these two lovers back together."

  The vampire turned and began walking with his captive again. Duggan took careful aim at the dark hair and pulled back the hammer. Before he could fire, Wash Jones appeared in front of him and knocked the pistol from his grip. Without thinking, the marshal swung his other revolver toward those grinning blue eyes. He made contact, the barrel smashing into Wash's temple, but the vampire absorbed the blow without taking a step. Wash reached up and tore the second pistol from Duggan's hand. He tossed it aside, then wrapped his fingers around the marshal's neck and pulled him close.

  "I never liked lawmen," Wash said. He shoved Duggan backward, sending him sprawling in the snow. The impact jarred the marshal's bones, sending spikes of pain through his body. Before he could recover, Wash Jones stood over him, blue eyes alight with pleasure. The vampire bent down, grabbed two fistfuls of Duggan's shirt, and pulled him to his feet.

  "You should know, marshal, that you ain't the first lawman I've done in," Wash said, "but you're the first I aim to make my slave." His grin widened, revealing his fangs. "Why, I reckon you ought to be honored by that. You get to live forever in the cause of serving a higher being."

  "I already do," Duggan said.

  Wash laughed in his face. He placed a cold hand on the marshal's forehead, pushing his chin up. Duggan's neck pulsed with the blood flowing beneath it. Wash took a moment to prepare himself for the bliss to come, then lowered his face to the lawman's neck.

  Before his fangs could pierce the marshal's skin, a wave of nausea hit Wash like a flash flood. The strength evaporated from his limbs. Confused, he dropped the marshal in the snow and backed away. After a few steps, the sensation subsided. Regaining his bearings, Wash made to charge back toward the marshal when the nausea hit him again. He crumpled to the ground, holding his stomach, pale face twisted in pain and surprise. His immortal body was above disease and even death. Nothing should be able to cause any pain to him now, yet here he was, lying helpless in the snow. His stomach heaved, trying to vomit out its contents, but nothing came.

  Boots crunched in the snow near his head. Through his agony, he looked up at the form of Mart Duggan standing over him, a crucifix in his outstretched hand. The sight of the holy symbol made Wash's stomach give another lurch, and he rolled away from the marshal.

  "Ain't so big now, are you?" Duggan said, kicking the vampire's back. "Go on, boy. Make me your slave. Clap me in chains and drag me away."

  Wash groaned in reply and began crawling through the snow. The marshal followed him for a few paces, keeping the crucifix pointed at his back. People were openly staring at the strange spectacle now, but Duggan paid them no heed. He kept his eyes on the retreating monster, his face full of cautious satisfaction. He was driving the vampire away, but he didn't know how to kill it. He needed Cora's help for that, and God only knew where she was.

  Duggan gave Wash Jones one last kick in the ribs. "Go on and get yourself out of my town. I ain't likely to be so forgiving next time."

  Wash swayed with the impact, but he kept crawling. After a few yards, the nausea started to fade. He rose on shaky legs and took a step. The strength began returning to his limbs. A few more steps, and he felt strong enough to turn and glare at the lawman. Mart Duggan was still pointing that horrible cross at him. Wash winced in pain and turned away. Let the lawman think he'd won. He and Glava would soon prove who ran this town.

  The effects of the crucifix had all but disappeared by the time Wash made it back to the Pioneer. Ignoring the stares he drew when he entered, he climbed the stairs and made his way to the storage room where Glava had hidden the first whore's body. As he approached, his keen ears could hear shouts and growls coming from behind the closed door, and he grinned.

  Glava looked up when Wash entered. "Ah, Mr Jones, you have arrived just in time. Please, take a seat and enjoy the unfolding drama."

  He motioned toward the far corner of the room, where Jack Evans cowered behind a crate. The deputy cradled his broken wrist, whimpering in terror. Above him, crouched on the crate like a cat about to pounce, was Annabelle Rose. She bared her teeth and snarled at her former lover. Blonde locks still framed her face, but her naked body had faded to the ashen gray of the dead.

  After a few moments, Glava stood and approached the deputy. "You see, Mr Evans, it does not do to make spectacles of those that wish to remain unnoticed." The vampire smiled at the feral prostitute. "I so often forget how beautiful your human love affairs can be. The very body you coveted so shall be your death. I imagine you long dreamed of her flesh being the last thing you felt on this earth, so perhaps you will find pleasure in this dream coming to pass."

  Glava glanced at Wash as the
vrykolakas
pounced on the deputy. She buried her face in his neck, her arms wrapping around his body with a passion greater than any lover's. Together, the two
nosferatu
watched the life fade from Jack Evans. His screams ebbed into pitiful whimpers as Annabelle drained his body, slurping and sucking with the fervor of a wild animal. After a few minutes, her face emerged from the bloody spectacle and peered at them. Streaks of red ran down her neck as her eyes looked to Glava for his next command. The
nosferatu
smiled at her and pointed toward another corner of the room. She crawled over to it and sat down, licking the blood from her arms.

  Glava turned back to Wash. "You see how useful the
vrykolakas
can be."

  "You got a mess of them handy?" Wash asked.

  "Why?"

  Wash looked down at his boots. "That fool marshal pulled a cross on me. I couldn't go nowhere near him without going all weak and shaky."

  Glava's golden eyes blazed. He cracked Wash across the cheek with the back of his hand. "You fool! How could you have let that happen? Why did you not snap his neck at once when I told you to kill him?"

  "I wanted to drink him and make him a slave," Wash said. "Ain't that what we're supposed to do?"

  "Only if we can succeed," Glava said, "which is clearly beyond your grasp." The elder vampire waved his hand, dismissing him. "Return to your whoring and increase your strength. I will see to the problem you have created."

  Glava stormed out of the room and down the hallway, reaching out for his servant
vrykolakas
with his mind. Just north of town, hidden in an abandoned building, the remaining monsters from the mine stirred. Hearing their master's summons, they crawled from their shelter and sprinted toward town as one. Glava could feel the snow crunch beneath their hands and feet. Through their ears, he could hear the startled screams of the townsfolk as they charged into the streets of Leadville.

  The
nosferatu
descended the stairs and exited through the Pioneer's front door. Behind him, he could hear surprised shouts from the saloon. The cries spread through the traffic on the street as the naked prostitute emerged to her master, snarling like a rabid dog. Women screamed and men hollered, their voices creating a cacophony of fear in the cold night air. Despite his fury, Glava allowed himself a small smile. Though he preferred to work in secret, the chorus of terror from these mortals was not without merit. It was but the prelude to the symphony he would conduct in this small town. Let all who beheld him tremble and cower, for he was Fodor Glava, a god of blood and death made flesh.

  Up the street, Mart Duggan and a frightened Mexican deputy stood outside the marshal's station, preparing to investigate the commotion. When the marshal saw Glava approach, he cursed and raised his crucifix. Glava stopped a safe distance from the symbol and smiled, his golden eyes flashing in the night.

  "You seem alarmed, marshal," Glava said.

  Duggan kept the crucifix held aloft. Annabelle growled in reply, and the marshal's eyes darted toward her with a hint of fear. "This ain't nothing in this town. Why, compared to a full-blown miners' riot, the two of you ain't nothing but donkey piss."

  Behind the marshal, Deputy Sanchez cried out as half a dozen vampires came loping up the street from the opposite direction, driving a herd of terrified townsfolk before them. He raised the small golden crucifix he kept around his neck, an "Our Father" in Spanish tumbling out of his mouth. The
vrykolakas
stopped up a few yards short of him, pacing and snarling like a pack of wolves. Inhuman fangs glistened in their almost-human faces.