The Dead of Winter

FIFTEEN



Cora's knees gave way. Had it not been for the hand clamped around her neck, the hand of her own husband, she would have collapsed to the floor. Her heart screamed that she was seeing an illusion, some sinister trick played by the vampire, but as the seconds passed, the man standing before her never wavered or disappeared.

"What's wrong?" Ben's voice asked. "You haven't seen me in ten years, and you don't have anything to say? Not even some pithy sentiment about how you've missed me so?"

"No," Cora said.

"How about an apology, then?" The face of her husband leaned in until their noses almost touched. "Can you at least apologize for just letting me die like you did?"

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Who am I?" Ben's other hand grabbed her gun belt. He spun her around and hurled her across the room. "I'm your husband."

Cora slammed into a large crate with a bone-jarring thud. She fell to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest as the monster wearing Ben's face came to stand over her. She shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. It wasn't possible. Ben hadn't been killed by this creature. He was with Mart Duggan right now, making preparations for the coming wave of vampires. She would meet up with him later to defend the town.

"Maybe I was wrong about you," Ben's voice said as the creature knelt next to her. "Maybe you are only suited for life as a slave. I still have time to decide. Perhaps the taste of your soul will tell me what I need to know. Either way, I've grown tired of this conversation." He reached out and grabbed her jaw, pulling her face toward him. "Look at me."

Cora opened her eyes. Ben's face loomed above her, his kind features twisted with hatred.

"I want the last thought of your mortal life to be of your failure," he said. "I want you to look upon the enslaved soul of your husband and carry that sight with you into eternity. Not the eternity of bliss your foolish god promised you, but an eternity as the very thing you most despise."

The hand gripping her jaw let go and cracked across her face. The blow knocked her back into the crate. Her head swam from the impact, and she felt as though she might vomit. She fought the sensation as she lay on the floor, her mind repeating the same thoughts. Ben couldn't be dead. She had just seen him in their room. He was with the marshal. He would come through the door any second. They would kill this vampire just as they had killed so many other monsters.

Standing above her, the image of her husband faded into the gray shadows of the room. A few seconds later, a slow creaking came from somewhere in the darkness. Glowing golden eyes fixed themselves on the fallen hunter.

Fodor Glava stood over his fallen enemy, relishing her suffering and confusion. He always marveled at how easily mortals could be rendered helpless with mere words. It was such a handy tool if used right, but to use it on the Mad Madam herself, one of the most feared hunters in the West, was a special thrill. He could never have predicted her delusions, of course, but he was still pleased with himself for driving the knife through her heart. Her tears would sweeten the taste of her blood, and bringing her into the fold of the undead would make him a legend among nosferatu.

Today was truly a great day.

Glava knelt down and pulled the hunter's head toward him. She seemed only halfway conscious, her eyelids fluttering as the occasional sob escaped her lips. He brushed her disheveled braid off her neck like a lover, caressing her skin with cold fingers. The thirst screamed from every inch of his body, demanding that he drink his fill, but he held it at bay. Holding the helpless form of Cora Oglesby in his arms was intoxicating, sweeter than the taste of any blood. He wanted to savor the moment.

Finally, he gave in to the demand and lowered his face to her neck. Her skin popped beneath his fangs like gossamer. The ecstasy filled his being, spiraling through his limbs, and he surrendered to it. No mortal sensation, no matter how powerful or beautiful, could ever approach the pleasure he now felt.

Lost in his delirium, the vampire didn't hear or feel the shattering of glass against his forehead. A moment later, the bliss in his veins evaporated, replaced by a searing pain that tore across his scalp. The sensation was so alien that for an instant he remained motionless, trying to understand it. Then his instincts kicked in, and he gripped his head in both hands. The pain spread to his palms, and he cried out. Rolling away from his victim, he rubbed his hands on his suit, trying to wipe the unseen fire away, but still it burned.

An impact in his side tore open another torrent of pain. The scent of his own searing flesh filled his nostrils. He rolled onto his back and squinted through the agony at the form of the hunter standing over him. Her brown eyes bored into him with seething hatred.

"Enjoy the pain while you can, you bastard," she said. "It will seem like bliss after you get to where I send you."

Cora's spurs chimed in a brisk rhythm as she left the room to reclaim her weapons. Her head still swam, but she forced herself to remain on her feet. Her saber gleamed a few yards away where it had fallen. She grabbed the hilt in her fingers, relishing the feel of the cold steel against her palm. This sword had been given to Ben during his days in the Confederate army. It was only fitting that it would behead his murderer.

Gripping the saber with white knuckles, Cora smiled. She could already feel the impact of the blade on that bastard's neck and hear the sweet crunch as it bit though the bone. More torture would be in order first, though. Another vial of holy water to the face, perhaps, followed by a few more kicks from her silver spurs. She would see the mighty vampire beg for death before Ben's sword pierced his unholy heart. Cora stormed into the dark storeroom, ready to administer her holy justice.

Her determination quickly turned to confusion. The room had filled with a thick white mist, and the vampire had vanished. As she stood dumbfounded, the mist flowed around her ankles and out the door, forming a river of white cloud down the hallway. Before she could react, it vanished down the stairs, leaving her alone.

Cora stared after the cloud for a moment before turning back into the room. She searched through it, but only found the body of Wash Jones and the vampire's coffin. She gave the pine box a few kicks with her boot before the sword fell from her shaking fingers. She collapsed to her knees and held her face in her hands as powerful sobs shook her body. The memory of Ben's eyes filled with contempt and murderous rage filled her mind. She kept telling herself that it hadn't really been him, that it was just his image being used like a puppet by that monster, but that thought only reminded her that he was gone. His sweet words, his banter, and his smile had been stolen from her, and she would never find them again.

After a few minutes, the storm subsided, and she struggled to her feet. Metal rasped in the silence as she sheathed her saber and walked back into the hallway. Her pistol still lay where the apparition of Boots had thrown it. She slipped it back into its holster, wiped her eyes, and began a slow descent down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairway, a thought brought her up short. What if the vampire had been lying? Maybe Ben wasn't really dead after all. She hadn't found his body when she'd gone through the room, and she would have if the vampire had killed him before capturing her. The image of Ben must have been a trick, some black magic used to catch her off guard and make her easy prey. He had to be with Mart Duggan, setting up defenses for the town.

Her boots pounded down the stairway and out into the cold afternoon. The street bustled with the citizens of Leadville, miners and bankers and whores. Several passersby gave her odd looks as she darted between carts and around slow-moving horses, but she paid them no heed. She needed to see her husband with her own eyes, to touch his face and assure herself that it had all been a cruel trick.

The door to the marshal's station barely withstood her entrance. A deputy she didn't recognize sat at the desk, looking as though he had just soiled himself. He pointed a pistol at her, but the barrel wavered in his hand.

"Where's Duggan?" Cora demanded. The deputy just blinked at her. She stormed past him and threw open the door to the marshal's office.

Duggan was seated behind his desk cleaning his big Colt. "Something I can do for you, Mrs Oglesby?"

"Where's Ben?" she asked.

"Ben?"

"My husband," Cora said, panic and irritation welling up inside her. "Ben Oglesby. A few inches taller than you, blue eyes, neat mustache. He was supposed to drop by and let you know that there's a swarm of vampires that might come calling tonight."

The marshal put his gun on the desk. "Vampires in my town? How many?"

"That ain't important," Cora said. "Have you seen Ben?"

"Can't say I have," Duggan said. He looked back down at his gun. "Come to think of it, I don't think I ever met your husband. You should bring him around some time so we can get acquainted proper."

Cora stood in silence, her mind racing. Had Ben ever met Marshal Duggan? Now that she thought on it, she wasn't sure he ever had. She'd been the one dealing with the marshal most of the time, so maybe Duggan had never actually seen Ben.

"Sir?" a shaky voice said behind her. "Should I arrest her?"

Duggan looked behind her. "Don't fret, Kelley. She ain't no criminal."

Cora turned to see the strange deputy holster his gun. "Ain't seen him before," she said.

The marshal nodded. "Pat Kelley. He's new. Got him to replace George Murray."

"Swell," Cora said. "Hope he can fight vampires." She fixed Duggan with an intense glare. "You've got some visitors coming, so best make ready. They don't take to crosses or garlic, so keep some handy."

She turned to leave, but the marshal's voice stopped her. "That's it? You ain't helping us?"

"I got to find my husband first," Cora said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "He's gone missing. We can't help nobody like that."

Cora left the office without waiting for Duggan's reply. Ignoring the new deputy, she stepped out onto the street and folded her arms, trying to swallow her increasing panic. Where might Ben have gone? He hadn't made it to the marshal's station, and he wasn't given to wandering about. Maybe he hadn't made it out of the hotel yet. She thought she saw him leave, but maybe he forgot something and had to turn back, or maybe he'd run into one of James Townsend's men and gone off to help them at Harcourt's retreat. The situation must have been serious if he'd joined them before checking in with Duggan.

Her spurs sang her alarm as she ran toward the Northern Hotel. If Ben wasn't there, she would fetch Our Lady from the stable and head out to the retreat. James must need help to hold back the vampires if he was desperate enough to spare a man to look for her and Ben. She hoped she wouldn't be too late.

Cora threw open the hotel's front door and took the stairs two at a time. Their room was empty. She checked to make sure that their wards were still in place, then knelt down by the trunk, set the crucifix aside, and raised the lid. It didn't look as though Ben had taken anything out of it, though there wasn't much left that he could have used. His rusty revolver lay at the bottom of the trunk amid spare rounds and vials of holy water. She tucked a few more rounds into her belt pouch and prepared to close the trunk when something caught her eye.

There, half-covered by silver bullets, lay the silver dagger Ben had carried that morning. The weapon glimmered in her hand as she picked it up. If the blade was here, Ben must be out there with no weapon at all. What possessed him to ride out to the retreat unarmed was beyond her, but the sooner she found him, the better.

Cora slipped the dagger into her boot before closing the trunk and propping the crucifix up against it. She thundered back down the stairs and made for the door. Thinking twice, she turned and walked over to the desk.

"Make sure nobody goes into our room," she said.

"OK," the clerk answered. "Which room is it?"

"Twenty-four," Cora said. "The only ones allowed in there are me and my husband."

The clerk dipped a quill into his inkwell and made a note. "What does your husband look like?"

"You ain't seen him?" she asked. "We came through here about an hour ago. Was you sleeping on the job?"

"No, ma'am," the clerk replied, looking uncomfortable. "I seen you walk in here awhile back, but there wasn't nobody with you."

Cora pounded the desk with her fist. "Dammit, man, you must be blind."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I must have just missed him. If you tell me what he looks like, I'll be sure to let him into your room when he gets back."

Cora gave him a brief description, then turned to leave. Pausing at the door, she looked over her shoulder. "If he comes by, tell him to head upstairs and stay put. I'll be back after I see to the retreat."

The clerk nodded, but Cora didn't see it. She was already on her way to the hotel stable, her breath streaming in thin clouds as she muttered to herself. What was the matter with everyone? Ben's quiet nature could have him fall by the wayside in any conversation, but it wasn't like he was invisible. She'd make sure to kick him in the pants every so often to make him speak up in the future. People ignoring him like this made him hard to track down.

Our Lady and Book nickered at her when she entered the stable. She shook her head again. Ben was too shortsighted to even take his horse. Panic gave her lungs another squeeze as she saddled up her mare. Ben had to be up at the retreat helping James hold the line against the vampires. Townsend must have sent a wagon, so Ben hadn't bothered with Book. When she finally found her husband, she would show him new ways to commit the sin of wrath before making him buy her a full quart of whiskey to calm her nerves.

Cora fitted Book with a bridle, but there wasn't time to worry about a saddle. Once she made it up to the retreat and took care of the vampires, he could borrow a saddle from Harcourt's stable. It would probably be one of those worthless English saddles, but he deserved to ride back in shame. Maybe it would teach him not to disappear on her.

Once she was clear of town, Cora pushed Our Lady into a full gallop. The mare flew over the icy road, her breath coming in great clouds that streamed out behind them. Book, having no rider, wanted to set a faster pace, but Cora held him in check. Together, the three of them thundered into the winter evening, hoping to reach Harcourt's retreat before time ran out.

As the cold wind pummeled Cora's face, she began working on a strategy to defeat the master vampire. The upcoming fight at the retreat would destroy the rest of his army from the mines, but as long as the nosferatu remained alive the army of vampires wouldn't end. She wasn't sure how much damage he could do to the townsfolk while she and Ben were away, but she didn't think Mart Duggan and his boys could to do much to stop them. She and Ben would have to return to Leadville and try to sort out this mess before they could go to bed.

Cora's shoulders slumped at the thought. Her arms and legs ached from the long day of riding, shooting, and swordplay. She longed for a soak in a hot tub and a good night's sleep, but it didn't look like either was in the cards for her tonight. The bottle she would make Ben buy her would have to do.

The last of the afternoon sun glimmered on the manor's windows as she rode up. She dismounted and flipped both sets of reins over a spike in the iron fence. The horses were in a lather from the hard run, though Book still held his head high. Cora pulled her Winchester from Our Lady's saddle and chambered a round before running for the door.

A young face answered her frantic knocking. When the boy saw her, he seemed to deflate with relief. She clapped him on the shoulder, knocking him to the floor. Other faces peered at her from various doors as she passed. Making eye contact with one, she pulled her bandana down from her face.

"Where's Ben Oglesby?" she asked. The man replied with a blank look. "How about Townsend? You seen him?"

That got her a nod and a finger pointing further down the hall. Cora followed the silent directions, her rifle still in her hands. As she walked, she took note of the retreat's condition. The defenders watching her pass looked tired but still wary, and none of the furnishings looked disturbed. If there had been a fight here, it must not have been serious.

She found James Townsend in Harcourt's study, seated in one of the chairs facing the fire. He looked up as she approached. "Cora? What brings you here?"

"Where's my husband?" she asked.

"Your husband?" James looked confused. "I haven't seen him. I thought I told you as much earlier."

"You did," Cora said, "but now he ain't anywhere." The panic in her voice became impossible to hide. "You're sure you ain't seen him around? I thought he might have come up here to help you out."

"I'm sorry, but he hasn't stopped by," James said. He rose out of his chair, a concerned look on his face. "What made you think he was here?"

"Because he ain't anywhere else," Cora said. "He ain't anywhere, and that vampire said that he…" she trailed off, unable to say the words aloud.

"What vampire?" James said. "Surely you don't mean the nosferatu?"

"You know another vampire that talks?" Cora asked.

"Well, I just wanted to be sure–"

"Ain't nothing that's sure now," Cora said, her breath coming in gasps. "My husband may have been killed by that monster, and I need to find out for sure."

"My God," James said. "Are you sure you heard right?"

"I seen it with my own eyes," Cora said, the rifle shaking in her hands. "If it wasn't a trick, anyway. First, I saw old Boots, then he turned into that Wash Jones feller, then he" – she took a breath – "he turned into the spitting image of my Ben."

James raised his hands. "Just calm down for a minute. You're not making any sense."

"Then you ain't listening to me!"

"I assure you, I am," James said. "Take a deep breath and tell me everything that happened."

Cora wrung the barrel of her rifle. Her voice wavered as she recounted the details of that afternoon. The memory of seeing Ben's eyes filled with such murderous hatred nearly choked off her tale, but she took another breath and forced herself through it. When she finished, she looked down at her rifle so the brim of her hat would hide her tears.

James stared into the fire, digesting her story. After a few moments, he turned back to her. "This is quite dire news. You're sure you've left nothing out?"

"Not a thing," Cora said, bringing her head up.

"My colleagues will want to hear this information at once," James said. "Your research has provided us with a critical piece of the nosferatu puzzle. With it, we will be able to better equip hunters and protect the innocent from this menace."

"I don't much care about all that," Cora said, anger swelling in her chest. "All I care about is finding my husband. Did anything that bastard said sound like a clue?"

"Of course," James said. "My apologies. Tell me what he said again." Cora did, and he stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger. "From what you say, he sounded rather surprised that you believed your husband would rescue you from his clutches. That strikes me as more than a little odd."

"Why's that?"

"If the vampire had murdered your husband recently, he couldn't have expected you to know of Benjamin's death." The firelight danced in James's spectacles as he thought. "We must conclude that the creature believed you had prior knowledge of the event."

"How could he?" Cora asked. "I'd seen Ben maybe fifteen minutes before my showdown with that spook." James's words gave her a thread of hope, and she clung to it with everything she had.

"A curiosity, to be sure," James said, "but something else about your account bothers me as well. You say the vampire spoke as if the two of you had previously met, correct?"

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.

If he was alive.

Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She had to wait for him, but there was no reason she couldn't entertain herself while she did. The brown liquid burned her throat, sending waves of comforting warmth through her restless limbs. After a few swallows, she felt herself beginning to relax. A smile came to her lips as she thought of the things she'd say to Ben when he came through the door. Maybe she would even tie him to the bed all night just to make sure he didn't wander off again. She could untie him once she worked out a strategy for taking care of Fodor Glava. Ben wouldn't appreciate it, but it would keep him out of trouble.

Half an hour later, the bottle fell to the wooden floor with a clunk, its remaining contents darkening the floorboards beneath it. Cora's snores filled the small room. Aided by the alcohol, her fatigue had finally overcome her worry and drawn her into a deep and dreamless slumber.

Through the frosted glass of the window, gleaming eyes watched her sleep before slipping away into shadow.