The Dead of Winter

SIXTEEN



Fodor Glava stood in front of the Northern Hotel, a grin spread across his red lips. The traffic in the street was beginning to thin as the night grew later. Even still, he could feel heat flowing through the veins of the miners wandering the streets and alleys. Their blood called out to him, promising him satisfaction for his desire, but he held the thirst in check. Behind him, the hunter lay in her room, dead to the world. Were it not for the wards she had placed, she would already be his. That she was safe even in her vulnerability irked him, but he refused to let the thought ruin such a beautiful night.

In a corner of his mind, Glava could feel the body of Washington Jones stirring in the storage room of the Pioneer. Unlife spread through the gunman's cold arms and legs, and his dead fingers began flexing. Glava watched through the newborn vampire's eyes as it rose on unsteady feet. He could feel the ravenous hunger searing the belly of the vrykolakas, but he commanded the slave to wait for his return. The rebirth of Washington Jones as nosferatu would drain Glava's strength; he needed to feed before he could complete the birthing ritual.

The vampire returned his attention to the street, regarding the miners like a butcher sizing up a herd of cows. Any of them would do to satisfy his hunger, but the taste of miner's blood had grown stale in his throat. He longed for younger, sweeter blood.

A group of men stumbled out of a nearby saloon and began ambling off in a common direction. Glava detached himself from the hotel's shadow and followed them. His shoes weren't suited for walking in snow, but wet socks and wet pants didn't bother him. Following the miners was a slow business; the leader kept them more or less together, but their progress was hampered by slips, stumbles, and the occasional quarrel.

After a long walk, they made their way onto the front porch of a building, arguing over who would go first. The vampire grinned again as he looked up at the painted sign of the Purdy brothel. Mortals were so predictable. His unwitting guides struggled through the front door, one of them getting shut out in the process. The straggler hit his head on the closing door and collapsed in a cursing heap. Glava watched the man try to pull himself back up, almost feeling moved to pity. A shadow of a thought to help him flickered through the vampire's mind. Before he could refuse it, a hand reached out into the cold night and pulled the miner inside.

Glava relished the chill of the air for a moment longer before letting himself in. The gaudy lights winked at him as he removed his gloves. A porter moved to greet him.

"Good evening, sir," the man said with a slight bow.

"And to you," Glava replied, offering the man a smile.

"What can I do for you?"

The vampire reached into his pocket and produced a number of bills. "One of your nicer accommodations, if you would be so kind."

"Of course, sir," the porter said, bowing again. "Have you a preference?"

"Something light, I believe."

The young man grinned and turned, leading Glava up the staircase. The vampire followed in silence, reveling in the feeling of so many warm bodies so near to his own. This brothel teemed with life at its most intense, sweaty and passionate, each door glowing with the energy of the men and women within. It was all he could do to keep himself from tearing into his guide as a prelude to a symphony of bloody revelry. All in good time, he reminded himself. Once he'd dealt with the hunter and her smarmy British pet, he would have his pick of the finest morsels this town had to offer.

The porter led him to a door on the second floor, bowed, and returned the way he had come. Glava's eyes lingered on the man's neck for a moment before he opened the door. The walk through the brothel, short though it had been, had worked him into a blood craze.

And there in the room was his first taste. The young woman stood next to a wash tub, her body wrapped in a towel. She glanced up and smiled when he entered. She tossed the towel aside and walked over to him, her body gleaming in the soft light.

"Well, ain't you a fancy one?" she said, running her fingers over his suit. "I reckon you don't even need me to wash you up."

"I do try to keep myself polished," Glava said. The heat from her body called to him. "We can proceed directly to the boudoir if you prefer."

"I just may," she said, lowering her hand to curl around his. When their skin touched, she took a deep breath. "My, but ain't you frozen to the bone! Ain't you got no gloves?"

"My hands prefer their freedom," Glava said.

She giggled. "Well, I hope the rest of you ain't so chilly, or we might have us a problem."

She led him through the archway into the bedroom. Candlelight played on the frosty windows as she laid herself out on the bed. Glava remained on his feet, his skin aflame with lust. She opened her legs slowly, teasing him, but his golden eyes lingered on her neck.

"What are you waiting for, honey?" she asked.

"Just enjoying the moment, my dear," Glava said. "What is your name?"

"Annabelle Rose."

He smiled. "A name as beautiful as its owner."

"Clean, handsome, and sweet," she said. "No wonder I ain't never seen you here before. Your wife probably never lets you out of her sight."

"I doubt she would, if she were alive."

Fine brows arched above her blue eyes. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drudge up the past."

"There is much to uncover," he said, his smile never wavering, "but it is of no concern. She has been gone a long time now."

Annabelle's smile returned. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. No trouble with a jealous old lady, then."

"None at all." Glava lowered himself onto the bed. Annabelle curled up next to him, wrapping a long white leg around both of his. Her breath bathed his neck as her lips hovered by his ear.

"You're a bit over-dressed, honey," she whispered.

"I suppose I am," he said, and he reached down and removed his shoes. She grinned as her hands worked at his tie, the light playing in her blue eyes. Glava returned her smile. It had been many years since he'd been with a woman like this, and he was determined to enjoy it. He hadn't yet decided if he would take her before or after the copulation. Planning too much ahead could ruin the excitement of the moment.

Her fingers began working at the buttons of his suit. "Ain't much of a talker, are you?"

"Your beauty steals my words," Glava said.

"You quit that," she said, giving him a playful shove. "I ain't putting up with no sweet talking, not even from you. I already got me a cart full of miners in love with me, not to mention a marshal's deputy. Don't need no fancy dandy getting sweet on me, too, or I might just up and leave with you."

"Leave with me?" he asked. "Why would you choose me over any of your other suitors?"

She laughed again, a lilting sound. "Maybe you ain't as smart as you look. Why, you're the fanciest feller I seen come through here in a great while. You even got that fancy way of talking that says you ain't from around here, and you said you ain't got no wife. Why wouldn't I run off with you?"

Glava smiled at her. "You are unhappy with your life here?"

"I reckon I ain't," Annabelle said, laying back on the mattress and spreading her arms above her head. "I guess it's an okay living. I got it pretty good here, or better than some in the trade anyway. Men come in steady, and the madam looks after us proper. I expect it's better than doing some man's wash for him or digging in one of them mines." She raised herself up on her elbows and looked at him. "Still, I reckon it'd be a sight nicer living as your wife, what with your pretty eyes and pretty words. We'd best get finished with our business before I decide to do just that."

The vampire looked her over, taking in her porcelain skin and full figure. To think that he would start his conquest of this tiny little town with so pretty a girl. The taste of such women was exquisite; their vitality and fertility sweetened the blood in a way nothing else could. A whore's life stole such happiness quickly, leaving behind a broken and bitter shell. Glava smiled to himself. Taking her now only proved his capacity for mercy. She would live on forever as his servant, ignorant of the disillusionment that would have devastated her.

"What're you thinking, honey?" Annabelle asked, running her hand along his arm.

"Actually, I was considering your proposal, my dear."

"Quit your funning, now," she said, laughing again. "A gentleman like you don't want no whore for a wife. You could go get yourself some fancy lady from the opera house or somewhere."

"On the contrary," Glava said, "high-society women bore me."

"Is that right?" she asked



He nodded. So did all other women, but saying so might ruin her mood. "Would you accept such an offer?"

She blinked in surprise. "Well," she said, "I don't rightly know. Ain't never got proposed to by no rich man before." She looked around the room. "You would take me away from here?"

"Far away," he said, his eyes gleaming. Mortals were so predictable. "Taking you from this place would only be the beginning."

"Is that right?" Her eyes lit up. "What else?"

"Are you afraid of dying?"

Annabelle wrinkled her nose. "What kind of a question is that to ask a girl you intend to marry?"

"An honest one," the vampire said.

She thought for a minute, then looked back at him. "Ain't never given it much thought. Still, I reckon I'm about as scared of it as the next girl. Don't want it to happen tomorrow, if that's what you're asking."

He grinned at her. "An honest answer," he said. "In the interest of maintaining this wonderful honesty between us, I would like to tell you something."

"How about your name for a start?" she asked. "I ain't marrying no man that won't tell me his name, no matter how fancy he is."

"My name is Fodor Glava."

"That ain't no kind of name," she said. "How about I call you Theodore instead?"

"If you prefer," Glava said.

"Now what was you going to tell me, Theodore?"

"That I can give more than you imagine," he said.

"I ain't never been used to riches," Annabelle said, "so I'll be real easy to impress. Why, I expect a real mattress with some of them silk sheets and maybe a maid to clean up after me would be enough to make me happy. You look rich enough to manage that."

"When I wish it, yes." The thirst screamed through his body, but his will was stronger. "However, the value of what I offer you now is not measured in gold or possessions, but in life itself." He paused, admiring the innocent eagerness in her eyes. "Annabelle Rose, I offer you a future in which you may live by my side, undying and eternally young, until the world itself crumbles into dust."

Her musical laugh filled the room again. "Who are you, Jesus Christ?"

"No." He winced at the name, his breath hissing between his teeth.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey." Annabelle sat up and pulled him into her arms. "I didn't mean no harm."

Glava drew the fresh scent of her skin into his lungs. "I know, my dear." He kissed her neck, feeling the pulse of her warm blood beneath his lips. Running his fingers through her hair, he brought his mouth to her ear. "My offer still stands. You can have immortality."

Her arms tightened around him. "I'll take it."

The vampire's golden eyes flashed. He brushed his lips across her neck, feeding his appetite with the taste of her sweat. It had been so long since he had tasted human blood sweetened with desire. Most of his victims were filled with fear and loathing, a flavor not without merit, but none the worse for a change. He could taste this woman's lust for his body and his promises on her skin.

Glava ran his fangs behind her ear, taking great care not to pierce the delicate skin. Annabelle giggled, running her hands along his exposed chest and stomach. Pressing his hand into her back, he held her body against his and tilted her head to one side. A sigh escaped her lips as his mouth closed on her neck.

Annabelle gasped, a confused sound born from pleasure and pain. Her sweet blood filled the vampire's mouth and seeped out from under his lips in tiny streams. He leaned into her body, pressing her down onto the bed. Her back arched slightly as the muscles in her arms and legs relaxed.

Soon, the warmth left her body, the last trickle flowing down his throat and into his limbs. Laying her down on the sheets, he brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. She really was a beautiful woman. The warmth of her blood was pure ecstasy, twisting through his body like ropes of black lightning. His toes flexed as he closed his eyes. Even after centuries of unlife, he still found the flavor of a young woman's desire one of the most beautiful things in the world.

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

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

Jack Evans stood in the doorway, his mouth agape.

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, we got a problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ain't something you can fix?"

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

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

"Who said I was sweet on a whore?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Save who?" Sanchez asked, looking alarmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I can't just–"

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

"Where am I?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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