The Dead of Winter

EIGHTEEN



Wash Jones stood in front of the Pioneer saloon, his blue eyes glowing in the evening light. He watched the miners, the businessmen, and the whores shuffle through the saloon's door, feeling the warmth of their blood in his teeth. Each one glowed with a new vitality that his mortal eyes had never seen. Better yet, that vitality existed for the one reason of satisfying his hunger.

Even as he stood exposed to the winter night of a mountain town, Wash felt no cold. The freezing air felt as comfortable as a firelit room had in his previous life. Ever since Fodor Glava had awakened him to his eternal life, his true life, Wash had never stopped marveling at the new power and perceptions coursing through his body. His eyes pierced the deepest shadows, and his arms could easily heft a horse and throw it across the street. He truly possessed the power of a god, and he loved every second of it.

Wash felt a presence lingering near him. Turning his head, he saw a young whore leaning against a hitching rail, watching him. Her face was plain and her figure bony, but Wash no longer lusted after such things. The blood in her veins flowed hot and sweet.

"You look awful lonely out here," she said.

"Care to relieve me of that?" he asked with a grin, his fingers twitching.

She smiled and took his arm, and he led her into the saloon. Patrons filled the room, laughing, drinking, and arguing over cards. Somewhere in the room, the piano tinkled away at a melody, its notes lost beneath the din. Wash stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sounds of life, and his grin widened. Glava had promised him that they would soon rule this town as kings, dictating who would live and who would die to feed their hunger. Mere humans, so weak and ignorant, served no other purpose to him now.

His whore tugged at his arm, urging him toward the stairs. The heat from her body drove him mad with desire. Watching her slim figure ahead of him, he trembled with anticipation at the thought of his first kill. Glava had taken him to feed the night before, but this would be his first time alone with his victim. The elder vampire had also told him of how the bodies of his victims would rise again to serve him, an unquestioning army to eliminate his enemies and bring him fresh meals. Skinny though she was, the whore would make a fine slave, the first of many.

She led him into an empty bedroom, and he closed the door behind them. The bed was unmade and the sheets dirty, but he didn't mind. They wouldn't be in use for long.

The whore turned to him. "So, you got your money?"

"Let me see what I'm buying first," Wash said.

"Fair enough," she said, her pale arms reaching down and pulling her dress up over her head. Her cotton undergarments were stained from many months of use. They fell to her mid-thigh, leaving her knees and lower legs exposed. Holding her hands out, she gave a quick turn, allowing him to get a good look at her. "Well?"

Wash didn't reply as his hands fished around in his pocket, jingling the coins inside. His eyes burned with desire. She noticed, and a grin spread across her face. Slipping her shift off of one shoulder, she approached him, swinging her slim hips.

With a cry of desire, he rushed at her, pushing her backward onto the bed. His hand clamped down on her mouth to stifle her scream. He savored the feeling of her warm body squirming beneath him for a moment. She was fighting with all of her strength, but it took little effort to keep her pinned. He grinned at her, baring his fangs, and watched terror fill her eyes. Her screams emerged as pitiful squeaks from beneath his hand, and he laughed.

Then the hunger overtook him, and he sank his teeth into her neck. The taste of his first kill flooded his mouth, filling every fiber of his being with pleasure. Her vitality flowed into him, and he could feel his body being reborn, tingling with sweetness and warmth. The whore's final breath ebbed out over his fingers, and still he drank.

When her body had given up the last of her blood, Wash stood to his feet. He ran his tongue along his mouth, collecting the stray drops that lingered on his lips. He grinned. This new life was going to be perfect. He could kill whoever he wanted, turn them into his slaves, and bring himself to the heights of delight whenever he wished. He looked down at the whore's body. She was but the first of many, and it was time to add to that count.

"I am glad to see you have no reservations about killing."

Wash turned to see Glava's golden eyes gleaming at him from the shadows. "I didn't in life, and I ain't got no reason to change now." He offered his sire a bloody grin. "Hell, if I'd known that being undead was such a thrill, I'd have found one of you vampires to make me into one a long time ago."

"You would not be what you are now," Glava said. "Your fate would be like hers."

Wash looked at the corpse on the bed. "So why am I different now?"

"Because my needs are different," Glava said. "This town is overflowing with degenerates and hedonists of every trade, each looking for quick riches, quick pleasures, and quick thrills. They are easy to tempt and easy to trick, so I have all the necessary ingredients to build myself an army."

"Sweet, ain't it?" Wash said. "Why, the two of us will be unstoppable. Them damn lawmen ain't got what it takes to bring us down now."

"I did not turn you so you might have your petty vengeance," Glava said. "You are what you are because I have need of another nosferatu at my side if I am to defeat the hunter."

"The hunter? Who's that?"

Glava's eyes burned with hatred. "Cora Oglesby."

"That's right," Wash said. "I owe her one, too. What was it she did to you?"

"She destroyed my fledgling army ten years ago," Glava said, "and with it my most promising acolyte."

"Your what, now?"

"My apprentice," Glava said. "Had she not killed his mortal form, he would be the one at my right hand, not you."

"Guess that's good for me, then," Wash said. "Who was he?"

"Her very own husband," Glava said. "I took a calculated risk when I should not have. Years ago, she and her husband hunted our kind together. The two of them separated in my nest, and I saw my chance. Assuming the guise of the family's late butler, I lured him to me and fed on his lifeblood. He rose again a short while later."

Glava's gaze took on a distant look. "I should have made him nosferatu then, but I felt it would have been too hasty. The honor of a vampiric rebirth does not always appeal to some when their souls are first restored, and so it would have been with Benjamin Oglesby. He was a religious man, wholly dedicated to his self-righteous cause of hunting our kind. Had I restored his soul to him that night, he might have attempted to rejoin his wife, or even destroyed himself out of loathing.

"To make his transition easier, I attempted to kill Cora using his soulless body. She had fled my nest when confronted with my vrykolakas, and I figured she would quickly fall without her husband at her side. My army followed her to a nearby farmhouse, but when they attacked, she and a local priest managed to destroy them. She even brought herself to shoot her own husband in the head, something I had not believed any mortal woman could do. Soon afterward, she and the priest came to my nest, and I was forced to retreat from that place and wait for a more opportune time. I slept for many years, rebuilding my strength, letting the poisons of age and loneliness seep into her bones.

"But now," Glava said, turning his golden gaze back on his apprentice, "now my waiting is over. I have a powerful base here, and a new apprentice to train in the ways of the night. Now, I have broken her mind, and her days are numbered."

"You broke her mind?" Wash asked. "How'd you manage that?"

Glava allowed himself a short laugh. "Her mortal mind was feebler than I knew. Somehow, she had come to believe her husband was still alive. When I summoned his familiar, she became hysterical, and I nearly consumed her." A brief contortion passed over his face as he remembered the burning of the holy water. "She managed to escape again, but her mind is weak, and I know where she has gone."

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

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

"How do you know that?"

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

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

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

"What will we do till then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And who might you be?" Glava asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I already do," Duggan said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You seem alarmed, marshal," Glava said.

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

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

"You are outnumbered and outmatched, marshal," Glava continued, his voice calm. "Look around you. None of the people you have risked your life to protect are willing to return the favor."

Duggan glaced to either side, and his heart sank. Sure enough, the townsfolk had all but disappeared from the streets. Frightened faces peered out of the windows lining the road, watching the terrifying scene unfold. Behind him, he could hear the frantic prayers of his deputy, but it was just the two of them against an army of creatures he'd only heard about in children's stories. Duggan whispered a prayer himself as he stared into the vampire's golden eyes. He always knew that being marshal in such a rowdy town might well be his death, but he never imagined it playing out like this.

"I've spent four years protecting the people of this town," he said aloud, drawing his big Colt. "I ain't about to stand down now. I don't care if you're some fairy-tale monster with the strength of a thousand men. I don't see nothing but a swell-headed son of a bitch just like any other I've whipped, and you ain't getting me without a fight."

Glava clapped his hands together. "Such an indomitable spirit. I have a mind to make you my new apprentice and tie that addle-witted Washington Jones to a rock for the noonday sun." As he spoke, the vampires in front of Sanchez spread out, forming a large semi-circle around the desperate lawmen. The deputy's prayers grew louder as he tried to keep his crucifix pointed at all of the snarling faces at once. They began closing in on him, their fangs gnashing together in anticipation. At the same time, Annabelle Rose began circling to Duggan's left, her eyes fixed on his crucifix. The marshal began alternating the crucifix between her and her master, panic swelling in his chest.

He was going to die.

Duggan watched the naked woman continue to circle him, knuckles crunching in the snow. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the golden-eyed man make a move. He spun toward him, cross held high. The nosferatu simply gazed back at him.

Behind him, the woman let out a howl and charged. He brought the holy symbol back around, but it was too late. She was already in the air, hands outstretched, flying toward him with murder in her eyes.

The monster jerked to one side in mid-air as if kicked, and fell in a heap beside him. Duggan stared in disbelief at the smoking hole in her side as she struggled to her feet. The crack of a rifle echoed from somewhere behind the elder vampire, followed by a loud curse. Looking up, he saw the golden eyes vanish in a whirl of dark hair. The nosferatu dodged to the left as another shot rang out. The bullet punched a hole in the snarling woman's skull. Pale limbs flailed in the snow, and her final howl ended in a choking gurgle. Looking up the street, Duggan could make out a small figure in a wide-brimmed hat.

Cora Oglesby trained her Winchester on the glowing golden eyes, her rosary dangling from her left hand. Behind her, Our Lady stood in the street, her breath streaming into the night air.

"Well, now, if it ain't my old friend Mr Fodor Glava," she said, chambering a round. "Nice to see you showing your real face to the world for a change."

Glava's eyes burned with hatred. "Welcome back, widow. I hope you are prepared to join your husband in hell."

"That ain't no kind of greeting, now," Cora said. Her boots crunched through the snow toward the vampire. "And here I was hoping for an apology."

Before Glava could answer, Cora's hand dropped to her belt. She pulled out her revolver and tossed it over to Mart Duggan. "Here, marshal. You lick them spooks behind you while me and Mr Glava here have ourselves a nice chat."

Keeping a wary eye on the vampire, Duggan picked up the revolver. He whispered an order to his frightened deputy and the two men traded places. Sanchez's frightened brown eyes locked on Fodor Glava while the marshal raised pistol and crucifix at the nearest vrykolakas. The Colt's roar echoed off of the surrounding buildings, and the monster collapsed. The rest of the vrykolakas began backing away from the marshal.

Glava could feel the terror rising in his minions. He longed to charge at this hateful woman and snap her neck, but the rosary in her hand held him at bay. In his mind, he screamed for Wash Jones to come to his aid. The apprentice heard the master's call, rising from the bed of a fresh kill, and a grin returned to the master's face. Even with their holy symbols and holy weapons, Cora Oglesby and her little marshal could not hope to withstand both nosferatu at once.

The grin vanished from Glava's face a moment later as pain and confusion exploded through the minds of his vrykolakas. Through their eyes, he could see a line of men on horseback galloping up the street. Their leader held a large cross in his raised hand. The lesser vampires panicked, turning back the way they had come only to cower before Mart Duggan's upraised crucifix. Their combined terror and pain flooded Glava's mind, threatening to overwhelm his hold on them. Forgetting himself, his golden eyes slid closed as he attempted to tighten his grip on them.

A moment later, he heard the crack of Cora's rifle. He dodged to the left, but the chaos in his mind slowed his reflexes. The silver bullet caught him just below the shoulder, tearing another hole in the breast of his suit. Searing pain flooded his body, and his mind shook loose of the vrykolakas. He could hear the Colt's booming voice as the marshal cut down his army, but he no longer felt their pain. Blinded by his own suffering, he stumbled and nearly fell. The hunter's rifle cracked again, and pain sliced through his leg.

Fodor Glava fell to his knees, unable to understand the waves of pain flowing through his immortal body. Behind him, the revolver's echoes vanished beneath the thundering of horses. The ground beneath him shook, and he forced his eyes open. No fewer than half a dozen mounted men surrounded him, all with crosses raised. The holy symbols wracked his body with fire, sapping what strength remained in him.

The horses began shuffling as the group parted, clearing the way for someone to come through. The golden eyes closed for a moment as Glava reached out one last, desperate time for his apprentice. He could feel Wash Jones nearby; he could see the group of men on horseback through his eyes. He could also sense the man's fear. Glava burned Wash's mind, commanding him to take the group in the back, to create a distraction, to do anything at all, but the former gunman remained where he stood. The elder vampire watched in despair as Wash finally took to his heels, holy terror lending speed to his flight.

Glava opened his eyes at the sound of approaching boots. Raising his head, he stared into the cold brown eyes of the hunter. Mart Duggan stood beside her, his raised crucifix sending more waves of crippling pain through the vampire's body. Cora Oglesby held only her saber. Around them, the night was silent, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Not even the stamping of a horse's hoof disturbed the frigid air as vampire and hunter regarded each other.

"How the mighty are fallen," Cora finally said.

"Just like your husband," Glava replied, managing a sneer through his pain. "Did you say those same words to him as you shot him in the face?"

"Wasn't no need," Cora said. "He wouldn't have heard me if I had, not with his soul trapped inside your filthy body."

"Where he has served me for ten years," the vampire said. "If you kill me now, his soul will be forever lost to this world. You will never see his face again."

Cora drew her arm back and slapped him across the cheek with the flat of her blade. Glava tumbled sideways, landing face-first in the packed snow. "I ain't about to let him suffer just to give my own selfish self peace of mind." She knelt down, grabbed a fistful of Glava's hair, and jerked him upright. She pressed the point of her sword into the vampire's suit just above his heart.

"This is for my Ben."

Cora slid the saber through his chest in one fluid motion even as Glava opened his mouth. His reply became a hell ish wail, thin and piercing, that filled the empty streets with the voice of the damned. The men on horseback clapped their hands over their ears, and Mart Duggan winced and turned his head, but Cora Oglesby never flinched. She kept the sacred blade in her hand as the vampire's body writhed around it. Smoke burst forth from Glava's mouth and nose, rising in a great cloud above their heads. As it rose, the cries of a thousand liberated souls filled the air. Their voices grew fainter as the smoke, caught in the breath of a night breeze, melted into the stars. When the last voice had faded into the distance, the golden glow was gone from Glava's eyes.

Planting a boot on the vampire's shoulder, Cora pulled the saber out of the lifeless corpse. The blade shimmered in the moonlight as she brought it down once more. She wiped it clean on the hem of Glava's suit, slid the blade home, and turned to face the cluster of men. They all stared at her open-mouthed, faces frozen in amazement. Even Mart Duggan's blue eyes were wide in his pale face.

A grin blossomed across her lips. "Why the long faces, boys?" Kicking back with her heel, she drove a silver spur into the dead vampire's side. "Ain't got nothing to worry about no more." She held out her hand toward the marshal, and he handed her the spent revolver. She slipped the silver barrel back into her holster and pressed her way through the crowd of horses to where her own mare stood waiting. The two lawmen followed, quiet prayers still falling from Sanchez's lips.

Cora climbed into the saddle and looked down at them, her grin never wavering. "Go on home, you two. Get some sleep for a change." She tapped Our Lady's sides with her heels and walked the mare back to the group of men on horseback. James Townsend sat atop his big carriage horse, the cross in his hand all but forgotten.

"My God, Cora," he said when she rode up next to him.

"Why is your jaw hanging?" she asked. "Ain't that what you and Harcourt wanted?"

"Yes, but to have witnessed such an event…" James said, his empty hand groping for words. "The scholars at Oxford will never believe my account of this."

"Don't forget to talk up your part in it," she said. "If you boys hadn't been awake when I came calling tonight, I might have had to do all the work myself."

James let out a small chuckle. "I will be hard-pressed to convince them of my credentials as a vampire killer."

Cora shrugged. "I'm sure you'll bring them around." She held up a hand to halt his reply. "Before you get to all that writing and talking, though, I do hope you'll join me for one last ride. I'm of a mind to call on Lord Harcourt tonight and settle up about my payment."