The Dead of Winter

ELEVEN



The next morning, Cora met James Townsend at Lord Harcourt's retreat, where he had prepared a coach to take them to the infested mine. He offered her a cup of tea before they set out, but she declined.

"Suit yourself," he said as the coach jerked into motion.

"I hope this ain't far," Cora said, watching tea splash on the floor of the carriage despite his best efforts to hold the cup still. "You're like to be baptized in Earl Grey before much longer."

"I've never quite mastered this art, I'm afraid," James said, drinking what little liquid remained. "I've always taken tea around this time of the morning, however, and old habits die hard."

Cora smiled briefly, then turned her attention out the window. The carriage rumbled along a wide road overlooking a meadow. The morning sun glinted off the snow in a thousand tiny rainbows. In the distance, a dark green carpet of trees draped across the lower slopes of the mountains. Above them, stony peaks towered toward the cloudless sky.

Watching the perfect landscape roll by, Cora had to remind herself that evil slept beneath it somewhere, waiting for the cover of nightfall to pour out. She tried to imagine how much damage a dozen vampires could do to a small place like Leadville, and all she could picture were bloody streets and shrieks of terror.

"That reminds me," she said, turning back to James. "Why ain't these vampires taken over the town yet?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, from what you said, these suckers ain't scared of crosses and garlic and what have you, so why ain't they swarmed all over those helpless folks in town?"

James looked out the window for a moment. "To be honest, I can't say for sure," he finally said. "It's confused me as well. My best explanation is that my efforts have frustrated them, if only somewhat. Even the nosferatu are pained by the presence of such wards, though they possess the cunning to avoid or circumvent them."

"But they can't actually get rid of them?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," James said. "In fact, such weapons are still effective at combating a nosferatu."

Cora blinked. "Is that right? I thought you said they wasn't scared of them."

"I said they are capable of mastering their fear of them and driving the lesser vrykolakas to do the same. You'll find that touching a nosferatu with a crucifix will produce as satisfying a result as it would on their lesser kin."

"Well, that's good," Cora said. "From what you said last night, I was starting to think they was unkillable."

"Don't misunderstand me," James said, looking her in the eye. "They aren't to be taken lightly. The foe we face is possibly the most dangerous one you will encounter in your life. If you approach it with the same jocularity you have displayed thus far, you will end up dead or one of his minions."

"Don't you worry, King George," Cora said. "I aim to do this one sober."

"Do you typically fight the supernatural while intoxicated?"

"It's been known to happen," Cora said, grinning at him.

James shook his head in wonder. "I find it remarkable that you're alive, Mrs Oglesby."

"I could say the same, James. People that take this kind of thing too serious end up killing themselves with worry before the spooks get the chance."

"In order to combat this powerful a menace, one must be methodical and careful in the execution of one's tactics. A single mistake could mean the difference between life and death, or life and unlife, as it were."

Cora rolled her eyes. "That only works until your prey catches wind of your plan. Then it's all up in smoke."

"Which is precisely why you keep your own counsel," James said. "Speaking out of turn is one of those missteps that can lead to your undoing."

"Well, that's the difference between you and me, I guess," Cora said. "I ain't never fought nothing that could think better than a mongrel, so I never had to worry about them figuring out what I was up to."

"You'll need to accustom yourself to the idea if you intend to survive this encounter."

Cora nodded, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence. The carriage rumbled and bounced along the snowy road for another fifteen minutes before coming to a stop. She felt the cab shift as the driver climbed down from his perch. A few moments later, the door swung open, letting in a stream of cold air.

James motioned for her to exit first, and she obliged. Her boots crunched on the fresh snowfall as she stepped into the morning air. The sun hung just above the eastern peaks. She squinted into its glare, her gaze sweeping over the valley below them.

"Mrs Oglesby?" James asked. "This way, please."

Turning away from the sun, she followed James toward the great frowning wall of the mining complex. A single tower dominated one end of the building, fed by a long ramp built on aging trusses. The roof sloped back toward the mountain's peak in a large black slab. Along the far wall, a low row of windows lingered in the shadow of the overhanging roof.

James unlocked a windowless door at the base of the tower and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Cora noted the large cross nailed above the doorway. Looking closer, she saw that it was made of broken trusses. James Townsend must really be worried if he was making makeshift crosses out of scraps. She wasn't sure what the vampires would make of it, but she wasn't all that impressed. Still, any shelter in a storm, or so her father used to say.

Cora followed her guide into the shadows, leaving the door open behind her. In the dim light, she could see the back of James's tweed jacket as he busied himself lighting lanterns for their trip into the mines.

"You ain't got them fancy electric lights up in here yet?" she asked.

James turned, a surprised look on his face. "Why, no, we don't. I wasn't aware America had electric power in remote locations like this."

"I don't reckon we do," Cora said, "but I figured Lord Harcourt could money up his own if he had a mind."

"There are some things money can't purchase, my dear," James said, "and civilization in America is one of those things."

"I reckon so," Cora said. She waited in silence while James lit a pair of lanterns. In their glow, she could make out the details of the room. It looked like an office, though it was clear it hadn't been used in a few weeks. A thin layer of dust had already settled on the large desk standing in one corner, covering abandoned papers and coffee tins.

"Here you are," James said, handing her a lantern.

"So what exactly is your plan?" Cora asked. "Just charge down there with these lanterns and our good looks and hope they run off?"

James offered her a tight smile. "Hardly, Mrs Oglesby. I will be taking you into the secure area of the mine to show you the environment and the precautions I've already taken."

"You're sure that area is still secure?"

"Of course," James replied. "I make daily rounds here to ensure that Lord Harcourt's property doesn't fall further into their control."

"And I'm sure he's thankful," Cora said. "Let's go, then."

James nodded and led her through another door into a large room. The halos of light from the lanterns glimmered on silver rails. The angular shapes of mine carts lurked in the darkness like sleeping beasts. Stray shafts of sunlight filtered through grimy windows, doing little to cut through the shadows. Cora peered upward, but the ceiling was lost in the darkness. The air was stale and cold, filled with the smell of earth and grease.

James didn't give the processing room a second glance as he stepped over the rails. Cora followed suit, keeping her eyes on her boots in the dim light. The British scholar passed over several tunnels before pausing in front of another. He took a few steps into it, lifted his lantern, and looked around. Nodding to himself, he motioned for her to follow.

This mining tunnel was much more developed than the small one beneath Jules Bartlett's cabin. Wider and taller, it had been carved by dozens of skilled hands. Instead of pine trunks holding up the roof, Harcourt's workers had lined each wall with boards. Archways boasting lanterns loomed at regular intervals. James lit each lantern they came across as they worked their way deeper into the mine. He didn't say why, but Cora was grateful enough for his foresight. The last time she'd been in a tunnel, she hadn't had it, and it had almost cost her her life.

After a short while, the tunnel began opening into a larger space. The light from their lanterns faded into the shadows, as did the cart tracks they had followed. They stood for a moment in silence, the light glinting on the scholar's glasses. From somewhere deep in the cave, Cora thought she could hear the sound of dripping water.

"The miners found this cavern fairly early on in their excavations," James said. Even though he spoke softly, his voice seemed to travel for miles. "They don't know how far it extends, and they didn't much care until recently."

"So you think them vampires came from in here somewhere?" Cora asked.

"No, actually," James replied. "As I said before, this tunnel is still secure, or it was as of yesterday morning, so I can only conclude that this cavern doesn't connect to the other tunnels."

"You've still set up crosses and such, though, right?"

"Of course, my dear. I'm not daft." In the dark, she couldn't make out his expression, but she could picture his indignant look. "I'd rather not lose any more of the mine."

"I didn't see nothing when we came through."

"The wards are further in," James said, his tone patient.

"Good," Cora said. "So when do we see to getting the other areas back?"

"All in good time," James said. "I thought familiarizing yourself with the combat environment would be useful before jumping into the fray."

"Right, a dark, dank mine. And here I thought it was going to be pistols at high noon." She clapped him on the back with her free hand, then reached down to her belt and drew her revolver. "Now let's go jump into that fray."

The lantern light glinted on James's glasses as he shook his head. "Such haste will only get you killed."

"Maybe," Cora said. "Could be that we take them by surprise right here and now and flush the whole lot."

The shadows around them swelled and danced as James turned back toward the tunnel. Cora followed, lantern in one hand and Colt in the other. The tunnel closed in on them and the shimmer of the rock walls returned to the dull brown of boards. James extinguished each lantern as they passed, cloaking the tunnel behind them in shadow.

They stepped out into the ore processing station, the sound of their footsteps fading into the large room. Without a word, James turned to his left and headed back for the office. Cora stepped over a few sets of tracks before pausing and peering into the inky blackness of another tunnel.

"Hey, what's down this one?"

James turned. "That leads deeper into the mountain."

"I figured that much, thanks," Cora said. "I mean, what else is down there?"

"A nest of vampires, most likely. Possibly some silver ore."

"Let's find out," Cora said, stepping into the tunnel.

"Wait, Mrs Oglesby!" James cried, but her lantern had already disappeared from his view. Panicked, he high-stepped over the rails and looked after her. All he could see was her shadow, still crowned by her wide-brimmed hat. "Mrs Oglesby!"

"Don't wait up, George." Her voice echoed down the tunnel. "I aim to bag me a vampire before the day's out."



Wash Jones stared at his reflection in the Pioneer's big mirror. The whiskers on his face had grown shaggy, and his blue eyes were dulled by the whiskey, but he still looked the same. He still looked normal.

"Goddammit, Boots!" he yelled, looking around. The bartender was nowhere to be seen, but a group of miners playing cards glanced over at him. He slammed his empty glass down and staggered his way up the back stairs. They led him to a hallway with doors along both walls. Door after door revealed nothing but storage rooms or empty bedrooms. He slammed the last one shut, roared another curse, and turned back toward the stairs.

Boots was standing in the hallway, his hands clasped in front of his apron.

Wash cursed in surprise as he tripped over his own boots. Sprawled out face-down on the wooden floor, he let out a groan. He opened his eyes to see the bartender's polished boots standing above him.

"Perhaps I have made the wrong choice," Boots said.

The gunman pulled himself up onto his knees. "No, sir, I assure you you ain't. I'm your man."

A grin flickered across the round face. "We shall see."

The polished boots thumped past him. Wash turned to see Boots opening the door he had just slammed. The bartender looked over his shoulder and motioned for the gunfighter to follow. Wash pulled himself to his feet and reeled for a moment before following his host into the darkened room.

"Close the door," Boots said. Wash obeyed, then stood in the semi-dark, his hands fidgeting with the rivets on his pants. The room was empty save for a few large wooden crates. Sunlight seeped in between the cracks of the boards covering the two windows, catching on the floating dust. The bartender stood in the shadows, watching Wash sway.

"Sit down before you fall down," Boots said, pointing to one of the boxes.

Wash stumbled over and sat where the bartender pointed. "What's this about?"

"I sense that you grow impatient with my offer," Boots said.

"With an offer like that, what'd you expect?"

"More self-restraint, for one." Boots stepped closer to the gunman. "This is not a decision I make lightly."

"Me neither," Wash said, "but somebody's got to put that bitch in her place."

"Quite so," Boots said. "However, you are not yet ready to face her."

"I sure am," Wash protested, pulling his gun. "You just point me at her and I'll lay her low."

"Yes, like you did last time." Boots smirked, shaking his head. "No, Mr Jones, you will need more power. Power that only I can give you. But first, you must prove yourself worthy of that power."

"How's that?"

"A simple task," the bartender said. "All I need is for you to retrieve something for me and bring it here. Are you familiar with the Harcourt mine?"

"No."

"It is a large mining interest located north of Leadville. A British lord owns it, though he seldom deigns to visit."

"OK," Wash said. He couldn't care less who owned it. "So what you want me to get?"

"Inside the mine, deep in one of its many caverns, there is a coffin."

"What's inside?"

"Nothing that concerns you yet," Boots replied. "All you need to do is bring that coffin to this room."

"What for?"

"Because it is in danger." Boots closed his eyes for a moment. Wash thought he saw the bartender's form start to fade, but before he could be sure, Boots opened his eyes again. "Yes, she is in the adjacent tunnel, though I don't believe she knows of the coffin's existence."

"She? You mean Cora Oglesby?"

Boots nodded, his eyes glinting in the shadows. "Yes. If she manages to find the coffin before you do, I won't be able to fulfill my end of the bargain, leaving you weak and mortal should your path cross hers again."

Wash rose to his feet, holstering his gun. "All right, so where do I go?"

"Ride north from here, following the railroad. A few miles out, you will come to a fork in the road, and there you will turn west. This road will lead you to the mine."

"Seems simple enough."

"The British aren't known for their love of complexity," Boots said.

"Right," Wash said. "Where do I find the coffin?"

"Follow the first set of mine car tracks into the mountain. You will find it hidden behind a row of large boulders near the end of the rails."

Wash nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Boot said. "You may encounter some objects blocking the tunnel on your way in. Please make sure to dispose of them before you leave."

Wash nodded again, turning toward the door. "I'll see you in a few hours with your pine box."

"I will be waiting for you," Boots said. "Oh, and if you should encounter Cora Oglesby while you are there, please try to contain her in the mines. I won't be able to help you if you don't."

Wash gave him a funny look, then took his leave. Boots watched the door close behind him, then turned his gaze toward the narrow shafts of sunlight and smiled.

"What the hell is this, George?" Cora's voice rang out in the darkness.

"Please, Mrs Oglesby, do keep quiet," James said, looking around. "We don't want to draw them down on us."

"Then please explain what I'm looking at."

In front of them, several large beams stood upright in the tunnel. A horizontal board was nailed to each one, forming a crude set of crosses. Withered cloves of garlic hung from the wooden arms, filling the air with their scent.

"This is my barricade, madam," James said. "It keeps the vampires from leaving this tunnel and gaining access to the mine entrance."

"I see," Cora said. "And what's to stop them from just stepping around them?"

"Their unholy fear of a holy God."

"Well, couldn't they just throw rocks or something from further back and knock them down?"

James paused in mid-step. "Well," he said after a moment, "perhaps they haven't thought of it yet." Another pause. "I believe the scent of the garlic would keep them from passing through even if they managed to destroy the crosses."

"Good for us, then," Cora said. Careful not to disturb the crosses, they worked their way to the other side of the barricade. The rails beneath their feet continued on into shadows. "Any more farther down?"

"I'm afraid not," James said. "After all, they were rather hastily constructed."

Cora lifted her lantern and peered forward into the darkness. This tunnel was much like the other, stable and straight. James had continued his habit of lighting the lanterns along the way, allowing them a visible retreat if things turned sour.

She turned to him. "Here, take this," she said, offering him her lantern.

"Why?" James asked, taking it in his free hand.

"I need my other hand," she replied. With a fluid motion, she drew her saber and turned back toward the darkness. "Come on, George, let's find us a spook."

Her boots crunched along the sandy floor as she advanced into the shadows. James followed, the light from his lanterns playing along the length of her saber. Aside from their footsteps and his nervous breathing, the mine was as silent as a tomb.

Soon, the tunnel widened, opening up into another cavern. The rails snaked off ahead, vanishing into the bowels of the mountain. To their left, a small wooden platform led to a series of stairs descending down a steep slope.

"Which way should we go?" Cora asked.

"Back," James replied in a whisper. "We're quite unprepared for this."

"Suit yourself," Cora said, "but I'm going this way."

She thumped across the wooden platform toward the stairs. Taking them one at a time, she listened for any new sound, but all she could hear was James muttering to himself. The stairs bottomed out on the rocky floor of the cavern, which was strewn with sand and pebbles. Cora motioned for James to hold his lanterns higher. In their glow, she could see the floor slope upward into the cave wall. At regular intervals, square beams braced the rocky surface, holding back potential cave-ins. Several picks and a small shovel lay on the floor, evidently dropped by panicked miners in their retreat.

"You boys sure are sloppy," she remarked.

"Yes, well, it's hard to remain organized while your comrades are being eaten alive," James replied.

"If you say so," Cora said. "I still ain't seen no sign of these vampires."

"With the way you keep yammering, I expect they will show themselves shortly."

"Maybe they're all asleep."

"I suppose that's a possibility," James said, "though without the threat of sunlight, I don't see–"

Cora held up her gun, cutting him off. In the silence that followed, she could only hear the sound of the blood rushing through her ears. Yet she thought she had heard something else, a faint shuffling. Her gaze swept over the blackness surrounding them. Maybe it was nothing, just the echoes playing tricks on her.

No, there it was again: the soft sound of skin on stone. She pictured cold flesh stepping across the cavern floor, and she tightened her grip on the revolver.

Another step. The echoes and the darkness made it impossible to know where it was coming from. She strained her eyes against the shadows, searching for a telltale glow of undead eyes or the glimmer of the lamplight on glistening fangs. Even if she couldn't see them, she could sense them. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

They were being hunted.

Cora looked at James. His eyes were white behind his spectacles. Pointing with the barrel of her revolver, she first indicated a lantern, then the staircase they had just descended. He nodded and tiptoed over to the wooden stairs. He placed a lantern on a step about chest high and looked back at her. She nodded, then pointed to a large rock just in front of her. The scholar set the second lantern down and stepped back to stand beside her.

The sound of the approaching footsteps was uneven, like a drunkard's staggering walk, but it was drawing nearer. Cora turned her back on James and tapped the butt of her Winchester with her pistol. After a moment's hesitation, the rifle's weight lifted as James pulled it from the scabbard. Twisting to face him, she saw him turning the weapon over in his hands. She nudged him and with her saber mimicked pumping the action. A loud click echoed through the darkness as he chambered a round. Nodding, she pulled back the hammer of her Colt. They took up stations with their backs as close to the cavern's wall as they could, the light from the lanterns glowing on their guns.

They waited.

Cora's pulse thundered in her ears. From the sounds, it was only a single creature, but that would be enough. Vampires were fast and strong, able to tear off an arm or a head in seconds. If it caught her off-guard, they would both die. James was just as likely to shoot himself or her as he was to hit the monster. She crossed herself with her pistol, praying that he at least had the sense to carry some sort of ward with him.

The sound changed, shifting to the dull thud of footsteps on wood. The creature was following their trail. Soon, she could hear hesitant steps on the wooden stairs. She turned to face the lantern James had placed there, raised her pistol, and waited for the creature to show itself.

A shadow erupted from beyond the lantern's glow, hurtling toward James with blinding speed. James toppled backward with a cry, the monster on top of him. Cora could see the pale fingers tangled in the scholar's hair, pulling his chin up. With a howl of hunger, the vampire sank its teeth into the soft flesh of his exposed neck.

A moment later, another howl shook the cavern as Cora's saber clove the undead flesh. She brought her sword arm around for another strike, but the vampire's clawed fingers gouged at her face. The impact knocked her backward as the saber clattered to the stone floor. Before she could recover, the vampire's weight slammed into her chest. A cold hand clamped onto her skull like a bear trap, forcing her head backward. In desperation, she dropped her pistol and wrapped her fingers around the vampire's throat, pushing against it as needle-sharp fangs snapped inches above her throat.

The strain on her arms suddenly lifted as the vampire let out a bellow. It staggered to its feet and turned toward James, hissing in anger. As it turned, Cora could see a small wooden cross protruding from its back. The flesh around the wound smoked and sizzled as the monster crouched, preparing to launch itself at the frightened scholar.

A brilliant flash blinded them all for a moment as the thunder of Cora's Colt filled the cavern. The sacred bullet punched through the vampire's leg, and the monster let out a screech of pain. Cora pulled back the hammer. When the vampire turned toward her, she fired again, aiming for its heart. The impact blew it backward over James's prostrate form and into the stone wall. Cora hauled herself to her feet, recovered her saber, and drove the tip into the vampire's chest. The life faded from its eyes, and the empty body tumbled to the floor of the cavern.

Cora holstered her revolver, rolled the body over, and pulled the still-smoking cross from its flesh. She wiped both the cross and her saber on the vampire's ragged pants, then looked over her shoulder at James.

"You still with me, George?"

"I'm not sure," James replied. He rose on unsteady legs and braced himself against a boulder. Once on his feet, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his bleeding neck.

She grinned and tossed him the cross. "Not bad for a greenhorn."

The Englishman fumbled with the cross, and it clattered to the stone floor. He retrieved it and tucked it away inside his tweed jacket. "Yes, well, I figured it was safer than my trying to shoot it."

Cora nodded. Her blade shimmered in the lamplight as she raised it high and brought it down on the vampire's neck. The head tumbled away, and she grinned again. "I'd say today was a good day."

"Only if we leave before the rest of the brood arrives," James said, picking up a lantern. As he turned, his foot accidentally kicked the vampire's head toward Cora. He stumbled and nearly fell. Even in the dim light, Cora could see his pale face. She bent over, picked up the vampire's head by one ear, turned it toward the light for a good look at its face, and felt her own knees go weak. She slid her saber back into its scabbard, took the head in both hands, and turned it right side up. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into the lifeless eyes of the creature she had just killed. The jagged mass of fangs protruding from its red lips turned the dead face into a nightmare mask, but she would have recognized those round cheeks and that bald patch anywhere.

It was Boots.

Her throat worked at swallowing for a few moments. "Hey, James," she finally said, "I don't suppose you can tell me how long this one's been a vampire?"

"Perhaps, but not here," James said, picking up the second lantern from its place on the stairs.

"Right," Cora said. Holding the head in one hand, she retrieved her Winchester from where James had dropped it. She kept it in her hand as she followed James up the stairs and into the mining tunnel. The Englishman set a brisk pace, slowing only for the barricade in the tunnel. He didn't turn back to her until they were in the foreman's office.

"Now, then," he said, setting down the lanterns, "let's have a look."

Cora set the head on the desk, and James bent over and looked into the dead face. He grimaced as he took it in one hand and rotated it from side to side. Cora waited by the door to the processing station, keeping an ear open for any sound of pursuit. Finally, the scholar nodded to himself and stood upright.

"Well, I'm no physician," he said, "but I'd say this fellow's been dead for at least a week."

"You sure?" Cora asked, coming to take a closer look.

"Well, this isn't a fresh kill, by any account," James said. "Once a human has its blood drained by a vampire – vrykolakas or nosferatu, it makes no difference – the transformation into an undead will occur at the next sunset. The corpse must be shielded from sunlight during that time, or the change will not take place." He pointed to the dead man's jumble of elongated teeth. "However, this specimen exhibits an advanced degree of mandibular development, though not as advanced as some I've seen. Still, I'd say this man has been a vampire, and a well-fed one at that, for at least five days."

"So you're telling me Boots had been dead for five days?" Cora asked. James nodded as he extinguished the lanterns and prepared to close up the mine. He picked up the bartender's head with his handkerchief and tossed it through the open door, where the morning sun reduced it to a flurry of ashes. Taking one last look around, James motioned for her to follow him.

Cora didn't say a word as they climbed back into the coach and started for Harcourt's retreat. James contented himself with staring out the window at the passing scenery. Cora tried to enjoy it, too, but her mind kept returning to Boots. She'd stood at his bar, drank his private stock of rotgut, and played cards in his saloon. Boots, who was always so carefree and happy, a man too soft for the army. A man whose body had just tried to drink her neck dry.

What James had said troubled her, too. Mart Duggan had mentioned speaking to Boots about that Wash Jones character only two days ago, but if the bartender had been dead for at least five days, that couldn't have happened. Either James was wrong about the time it took to turn into a vampire, or Duggan hadn't actually spoken to Boots.

"Hey, George," Cora said. The scholar turned from the window to look at her. "You're sure about the five days thing? Boots couldn't have turned vampire any later?"

"Well, my estimation wasn't precise," James replied, "but I would stake my life on at least three days. A freshlyturned vampire would not have exhibited such an extent of fang growth."

"Right," Cora said, "so here's a stumper for you. What if I said the marshal in town, Mart Duggan, talked to Boots, the dead feller, two days ago?"

James blinked a few times. "Well, I would say you were mistaken."

"There's no way for that to happen?"

"None," James said. He opened his mouth to continue when the coach pitched to one side, slamming his head into the wall. At the same time, a shadow swept past the window. James fell back into his seat, holding his palm to his head and cursing. Despite her worries, Cora laughed. James answered her laughter with a tight grin, then looked out the window, careful not to get too close. After a moment, he leaned back again and shook his head.

"What is it?" Cora asked.

"I think someone just passed us," James said.

"Passed us?" Cora asked, sitting upright. "You mean they're heading back toward the mine?"

"Yes," James said, then shrugged. "Perhaps Lord Harcourt has sent the foreman to retrieve something."

They fell back into silence as the coach continued to sway and rumble along the road. When they arrived back at the retreat, Cora headed straight for the stable to collect her mare. She cinched up the saddle, led Our Lady around to the front of the retreat, and swung herself across the horse's back. As she turned back toward town, James emerged from the front door and called to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I just spoke with Lord Harcourt," James said, approaching her. "He hasn't ordered anyone aside from us to the mine."

"Any reason one of your boys would head out there on his own?"

James shook his head. "They know of the dangers. Most of them think we should just abandon the mine altogether."

"Maybe some fool heard about the rout and thought to swipe himself some silver while you're away."

"Perhaps," James said. "If such is the case, he'll have a nasty surprise in store for him." He allowed himself a small smile. "I suppose the vampires are good for that much, at least."

"At least until they eat so many bandits that they start to outnumber the townsfolk," Cora said.

James pondered that for a moment. "Well, if we act quickly, they won't have the chance to grow their numbers. How soon can you make your preparations?"

"Well," Cora said, watching Our Lady's ears twitch, "I ought to let the marshal know that his bartender ain't his bartender no more. After that, all I'll need to do is round up a few things from the hotel and fetch my husband."

James consulted his pocket watch. "Can you return in an hour?" Cora nodded. "Very good. I shall see about recruiting some volunteers to accompany us."

"Not too many, thanks," Cora said.

"Of course not," James said. "Just enough to provide some backup."

"Good enough." She tipped her hat to the scholar, gave Our Lady her heels, and headed south. Above her head, the sun was nearing its noonday summit. Glancing up at it, she prayed they could settle the vampires and make it back out of the mine before nightfall. She pulled her hat down over her brow and urged Our Lady forward.



Wash Jones thundered up to the mine in his stolen wagon, pulling back on the team's reins at the last minute. The horses reared in protest, but he didn't care. He'd nearly rammed that coach on the narrow road, and he knew when he saw it that he'd missed his chance to trap the bitch in the mine. That put him in a sour mood, and the fear that she'd found and stolen the coffin only made it worse.

Slapping the reins over the team's back, he nudged the wagon up to the door and climbed down. He didn't bother to hobble the horses, instead checking on the burlap sheets in the back of the wagon. He'd added them as a last-minute consideration, thinking that it wouldn't do to ride into town with a coffin in plain sight. The sheets were still tucked beneath the seat. Satisfied, he made his way to the door. It was locked, but his pistol reduced the knob to a smoking hole. Once inside, he found a pair of lanterns sitting on a desk, still warm to the touch. He lit one and held it up in front of him. A door stood at the other end of the room, and he walked through it into the processing station.

Wash found the first set of rails easily enough. He started making his way into the tunnel when he paused. Finding the coffin would be simple, but hauling it out to the wagon by himself would be damn near impossible. He walked back, following the rails, until he found a mine cart. It was empty except for a discarded pick. Grinning at his own cleverness, he set the lantern down inside and gave it a good pull. The metal wheels groaned in protest, but the cart moved. He retrieved the lantern, got behind the cart, and began pushing it down the tunnel.

A hundred yards into the tunnel, he brought the cart to a halt. Something was in his way. Squeezing past the cart's rim, he lifted the lantern above his head and peered at the objects in the tunnel. These must have been what Boots had been talking about. Not much by way of barriers; just a few beams of wood nailed together standing upright along the tracks. Crouching down, he saw that each of the three contraptions stood on a misshapen wooden base held together by a few nails. He noticed a strong smell, like garlic, and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Wash set the lantern down and picked up the closest roadblock. It was lighter than it looked, but awkward in the small tunnel. He maneuvered it over to the mine cart and dropped it inside. After wiping his hands together, he lifted the second one and deposited it on top of the first, then crossed his arms and looked at the third. The mine cart wasn't big enough to hold it, but he couldn't just leave it after what Boots had said.

After a few moments, he thought of a solution. He leaned the cross against the wall of the tunnel and began smashing it with the heel of his boot. The pounding echoed throughout the tunnel as the boards cracked beneath his blows. He kept it up until the entire thing had been reduced to kindling. Wash tossed a few pieces into the cart, picked up the lantern, and continued down the tunnel.

As he walked, the gunman began wondering what on earth he was doing. He had blasted his way into a locked mine and spent the last half hour pushing a mine cart down a tunnel so he could steal a coffin and bring it back to a touched bartender. This wasn't the sort of fame and glory he wanted. To win a shooting match or even a duel against Cora Oglesby would earn him bragging rights for years to come. For the second time that day, he cursed his bad luck for letting her slip away. If he hadn't needed that stupid wagon, he could have made it in time and not be bothering with this little errand.

The cart's wheels continued to groan along the tracks, sending echoes bouncing off into the shadows. He just had to be patient. Boots had promised to give him power beyond what he could fathom if he could bring back the coffin. Wash wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he knew he could feel something strong and sinister whenever the bartender was around. If the bartender's promise had something to do with that power, Wash would gladly take it and show the Mad Madam who was the better fighter.

At long last, the tunnel opened into a cavern. The sounds of the cart's wheels and his own footsteps faded into the blackness around him. Wash lifted the lantern and peered to either side of him as he pushed the cart. He couldn't see anything except shattered rock and pebbles, but a tinge of fear twisted at him in the pit of his stomach. Something was lurking in those shadows; he could feel it.

The mine cart jerked to a halt, and he nearly toppled forward into the ruined crosses. He caught himself with his free hand and swung the lantern forward. The rails ended in a metal wall right in front of the cart. Wash grinned. Boots had said the coffin was near the end of the cart tracks. All he had to do now was find it and haul it out of here.

He lifted the crosses out of the cart and tossed them into the shadows. Holding the lantern in front of him, he started looking for the row of boulders Boots had mentioned. Unseen eyes, glistening with hunger, watched him from shadowy perches as he wandered. A will stronger than their own held them in check, whispering promises of feasts to come.