Dead of Winter (9 page)

  "Did you notice anything else about it?" Father Baez asked.

  "It made my hands and feet go all chilled, like I was standing outside in a blizzard without gloves or boots. Had itself a big old mouth, too. Bigger than it should be." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Didn't smell like much of anything, which is rather irregular. This thing has a taste for people, so it should have the smell of death on it, but it just smelled cold."

  "I see." The priest stroked his beard with one hand as he considered her story. "And you said it looked human?"

  "Yessir," Cora said. "Was human at one point, in fact. The body belonged to Jules Bartlett, a hermit-style miner that lived near town. I ran into him before a few years back when the sheriff of those parts thought he was a vampire."

  "A vampire?" The white eyebrows arched. "What gave him that impression?"

  "His own cowardice tossed in with the old coot's habit of hunting for his keep at night. That sheriff felt a mighty fool when I dragged the hermit into his office, but he was grateful all the same." She grinned at the priest. "Or maybe the sheriff's instincts were spot on and it just took the miner a bit to catch up."

  Father Baez shook his head even though he knew she was joking. "No, not unless the sheriff himself turned the miner into what he is. Might that be a possibility? The sheriff may be looking for revenge on the man who humiliated him."

  Cora laughed at the thought. "Ain't no way old Jim Barnes would go and do a thing like that. The man is as yellow as they come. He might have been sore about it awhile, but he wouldn't go making trouble for himself. The only reason he's kept his seat as long as he has is thanks to the toughs he's got working for him. They take care of the dirty work while he cools his heels wherever he sees fit. Without Mart Duggan and that herd of deputies he's got, there'd be no Sheriff Barnes."

  The priest's dark eyes reflected the candlelight as he stared at the crucifix hanging above them. Vampirism, curses, necromancy; none of the usual suspects matched what the hunter was telling him. He supposed it could be some new creature, but that seemed unlikely. Evil had been crawling all over the face of the earth since its creation, and most of the demons in the world were as old or older. They always found new bodies, new servants, and new lairs, but their nature never changed. Yet whatever Cora Oglesby had encountered was a creature he had never heard of before.

  He thought of something else and turned back to her. "You fought this thing, didn't you?" She nodded. "How did you manage to escape when you encountered it?"

  "A number of ways, really," Cora said. "For one, it didn't seem to appreciate my silver bullets. I shot it full in the face half a dozen times and made it bleed some black molasses. It carried on a good deal about it, but it didn't roll over and die like it should have. Seemed right scared of fire and sunlight, too, from what I could see."

  "Most creatures of the darkness are."

  Cora nodded. "One thing was funny, though. I tried to cut it up with my saber, the one I have a blessing on, but it was like trying to cut through a cannon. Blade just bounced right off."

  "The blessing was still good?"

  "Yep. Had Father Brown over in Dodge see to it not four weeks ago."

  Cora's news troubled the little priest. What sort of evil creature could defend against a blessing placed by a servant of the Most High? Unless she had crossed paths with Lucifer himself, he didn't see how it was possible.

  The priest looked at Cora and spread his hands out. "Well, I'm sorry, my dear, but I really don't know what it could be."

  Cora's shoulders slumped. "Not even a hint?"

  "I'm afraid not," he replied. "It is clearly a powerful creature, and very dangerous, but beyond that, I can't say much."

  "All right, then," she said. "Ain't sure what I'm going to do now, though."

  "Not to worry, my child," the old man said, patting her hand. "I will send telegraphs to some of my friends back East. They have a lot more experience dealing with these sorts of things than I do. I'll send it first thing in the morning, so it should only take a couple of days to find your answer."

  Cora smiled. "My thanks, Father."

  He smiled back at her, then his face grew serious again. "Have the years been hard since our last meeting?"

  "Oh, ain't got much to complain about," she said. "Still living with my virtues and building on my vices, just like always."

  "It's been a long time since you fought the vampires here," Father Baez said. "Have you found your peace with it?"

  "I reckon so," Cora said, finding the question strange. "I ain't the type to let myself get all in a sulk on account of shooting a few monsters, Father."

  "No, I suppose not," the priest replied. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

  "Me too." Cora stood to her feet and offered her hand. Father Baez accepted it and accompanied her to the front door.

  "Well, as I said, I expect to hear back from New York or Philadelphia within a day or two, so stop by tomorrow evening." He patted her on the back and smiled. "Maybe I'll even have time for a confession."

  "The good Lord knows I need one," she replied, "but I don't think it does any good if you ain't looking to change your ways. If I didn't have whiskey and poker, why, I'd have to take up reading like Ben does just to pass the time."

  A shadow passed over the priest's face, but it cleared within the span of a breath. "Well, if you change your mind, I will be here to listen."

  Cora nodded, smiling as she pulled the door open. Father Baez watched her saunter down the front walk, a prayer coming to his lips.

  "Heavenly Father, lover of all and defender of the weak, bless Cora in Your love. Accept her offering of dedication and service, and help her to give You praise, to pray for Your church and the world, and to serve Your people in peace and joy. I ask this grace through Christ my Brother and my Lord, amen."

 

Jack Evans lowered his head as he walked by the Pioneer. Despite the powerful thirst in his throat, he kept his eyes pointed straight ahead down the dark street. He could hear the piano plinking away at some classic tune, accompanied by a chorus of miners well past their first drinks. Picturing a row of glistening beards on either side of the old upright, Jack broke into a grin. He longed to toss his arm around the shoulders of the last man in line and sing along, all his worries of monsters in the woods forgotten.

  His boots slowed down as his thirst began overpowering his will. He came to a stop and had started to turn back when he heard a tinkling crash and a stream of shouting. More voices rose in answer, drowning out the piano in an avalanche of slurred cursing. They rose in pitch until the roar of a 12-gauge cut them off. The shot echoed in the street, causing a few to duck for cover, and Jack knew Mart Duggan and his on-duty deputies would soon arrive to break up the fight. As a lawman, he knew he should fetch the marshal himself, even if he was off-duty. It was his responsibility and might earn him another free drink from the bartender. Had it been any other night, he might have done just that. Duggan could probably use another hand in keeping the rowdy miners under control. Still, that's what he had the on-duty deputies for. Let them deal with the situation.

  He had somewhere else to be tonight.

  His boots crunched through the dirty snow, leaving footprints in a straight line away from the Pioneer. He wondered how many times he'd left a sober trail from the saloon since he and the marshal found that clearing. No more than the fingers on one hand could count, he was sure.

  The thought of what Cora Oglesby had said about the monster wouldn't leave his mind. She seemed sure of herself, and was probably as good a shot as she claimed to be. If she, a self-proclaimed expert at dealing with monsters, could be bested by this one, what chance did the rest of them have?

  He glanced over his shoulder, more in response to his thoughts than to any sound or sense of danger. The street behind him stretched out into the shadows of the night. Lanterns and candlelit windows floated in the darkness, strongholds of warmth in the cold expanse. He imagined the creature watching from its mountain. To those hungry eyes, the town would shimmer like a glowing feast in the dark night. It was a wonder it hadn't started making a habit of preying on lonely men wandering the streets.

  Men like him.

  His pace quickened as he tried to put thoughts of the monster out of his mind. Cora Oglesby had told them she would take care of it, and he had no choice but to trust her. She was gone now, though. Off on a train ride up to Denver with her husband. It occurred to him that he'd never actually met the man married to such an unusual woman. He would have thought that her husband would have been as loud as she was, but maybe he was the quiet one of the pair. Jack couldn't figure out how that would work for a married couple, but he'd never been married himself, so he couldn't call himself an authority on the subject.

  The thought of marriage put a bit of a bounce in his step. He was on his way to visit the girl he intended to marry one day, and maybe tonight would be the night he would win her over. He had stayed out of the Pioneer because he knew she didn't take to the smell of whiskey on a man's breath. Staying sober was a strain, especially with the thoughts of Leadville's local terror running through his mind, but she was worth it.

  Annabelle Rose. He whispered her name, enjoying how it felt on his tongue. He could picture her bright blue eyes looking his way, a smile on her lips. Honey-colored hair spilled down around her face in gentle waves. Her cheeks would be flushed, their red blossoms standing out against the creamy whiteness of her skin like the sunrise peeking over the mountains. She would say his name in her soft voice, extending a small hand for him to kiss.

  Yellow lamplight spilled across the snow on his boots. His thoughts of Annabelle had carried him all the way to her. He adjusted his hat and smoothed down his mustache, planning out what he would say in his head. His nervous hands, having made him as presentable as they could, began fingering the bullets in his belt. Taking a deep breath, he tried to stop them from shaking and reached to open the front door of the Purdy, one of Leadville's finest brothels.

  A rush of warm air enveloped him, carrying the scent of flowers and the plinking of another piano. Red carpet flowed up the central staircase of the house like a trail of rose petals. Elsewhere, the floor's polished shine reflected light from dozens of candles hanging in ornate candelabras. Around the room, paintings of gray-haired men watched him from the walls. Jack had never taken to such paintings himself, but most people seemed to think they were in good taste. He didn't figure he'd ever earn enough money as a lawman to put such things in his own home, so he didn't pay them much attention.

  A handsome black man in a porter's suit walked up to him. "Good evening, Mr Evans." Jack nodded in response and removed his hat and coat. The porter bowed as he took them, then vanished through a side door. A few of the house's ladies lounged on overstuffed couches, wisps of hair draped across their faces. Bosoms strained against corsets of red and white and black while thick dresses covered dark stockings. Their red lips smiled at him, but he only answered with a polite nod. Each girl had her charms, but none were for him. He was here for Annabelle.

  The porter returned, his smile wide and white. "If you'll follow me, Mr Evans."

  Jack nodded, trying to keep a silly grin off his face as he followed the porter. It was all he could do not to shove the man aside, take the stairs two at a time, and gallop down to Annabelle's room. The porter's footfalls were slow and deliberate, as if he knew of Jack's mounting excitement and wanted to make him sweat. Jack took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

  When they finally reached Annabelle's door, the porter bowed with another smile before taking his leave. Jack stared at the door, listening to the sound of the porter's retreating footsteps. His stomach felt like it was going to jump out of his mouth and go flopping down the hall. Closing his eyes, he gave his head a shake, then turned the knob.

  The aroma of perfume and scented candles filled the steamy air, inviting him into the room. He stood in the doorway instead, wishing he'd kept his hat so his hands would have something to do. He let them fidget around his ammo belt for a moment before shoving them in his pockets.

  He could hear the sound of splashing coming from the room, and although he couldn't see the bathtub from where he stood, he knew exactly where it was. He could picture Annabelle in that tub, soapy bubbles climbing up to perch on her bare shoulders. Hot blood flooded his cheeks at the thought, and he looked down at his boots.

  "Is that you, Jack?" Her voice floated out to greet him.

  "Yep, yessir, it's me," he said.

  "Well, why don't you come on in?"

  "OK, then." Shutting the door behind him, he walked down the short hallway, his boots sounding to his ears like a herd of buffalo. When he came around the corner, his foot caught on the floor, tripping him up. He recovered himself before he fell, but he could feel his cheeks burning. The burn grew hotter when he looked up to find her blue eyes watching him.

  A smile played about her full lips. "You might want to take them boots off."

  He nodded and sat down in the nearest chair. His feet, still cold from the walk through the snow, throbbed in protest as he wrenched his boots off. The sour tang of his sweat cut through the sweetness in the air. He shoved his feet as far as they would go under the chair, hoping she wouldn't notice.

  "Are you going to stop there?" she asked, her smile lingering. "You're welcome to, of course, but you might not enjoy yourself quite the same." She rose to her feet and stepped out of the tub, water running down her white sides. "Come on, let's get you out of them clothes."