by Lee Collins
Cora nodded again and recounted the previous night's events for him. As she spoke, she could feel the deep ache in her muscles that she knew would be there. Today's train ride would be uncomfortable. Ben listened intently as she told him about the final fight with the wendigo and how it took a full six shots to bring it down, even with the special bullets.
"Well, I missed twice," she said, "so it was really only four shots."
"Still," Ben said, "that was one tough critter. Tougher than the ones we usually sort out, anyway."
"We'll have to ask Father Baez to send a nice note out to Father Davidson for us. Or maybe you could write him one."
Ben's face lit up. He loved any excuse to put his vocabulary and penmanship to use. "I think I'll do just that."
"While you do that, I think I'll have myself a bath." Cora swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "By the way," she said, "I named that horse of yours for you."
"You did?" Ben looked concerned. "What did you name it?"
"Book," she said, then unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway.
Her muscles creaked as she made her way toward the community bathing room. Poking her head in, she was pleased to see it was empty. The hotel's bellhop had placed a kettle of water next to the stove that stood against the far wall. The fire in the stove burned low, so she added a few pieces of kindling before placing the kettle on top. She grabbed two more kettles in fingers that ached with every movement, made her way down to the kitchen, and filled them from the pump that stood next to the big Dutch oven.
Soon, she was reclining in the tub, everything but her head, elbows, and knees submerged. Little wisps of steam rose from the water's surface, fading into the air like ghosts at the coming of dawn. Outside, she could still hear the muffled sounds of an ordinary day, and she smiled. Those people could continue about their ordinary days and nights free of the wendigo's terror. Mart Duggan could collar his rowdies, Jack Evans could court his whore, and Boots could serve his whiskey.
The thought of Boots made her smile widen. She'd have to stop by the Pioneer before they left town and inform the bartender of her victory so he could go back to being his jolly old self. Seeing men tense up with fear wasn't anything new for her, but it rarely happened to the local whiskey slingers. Such men were usually the ones who kept brave faces on while a town's citizens were vanishing or being eaten by some spook.
Maybe Boots just had a sensitive spirit, too sensitive for that kind of carnage. She'd pegged him as an Army deserter when they first met. She and Ben were on the first Jules Bartlett case then, and word had already spread through the town that a vampire was loose in the woods. The Pioneer was the new watering hole in the growing boom town, and she'd stopped by to wet her whistle. Boots had greeted her warmly despite the general gloom, and his mood had only improved when she ordered from his private stock. The thought of a vampire didn't seem to bother him then, but nobody had been eaten alive outside of his saloon that time, either.
The bath water began growing cold. Reluctantly, Cora roused herself from the tub. She wrapped a rough linen towel around herself, gathered her discarded clothing, and made her way back to the room. Ben hadn't moved from his seat. He glanced up as she entered, and she could feel his eyes lingering on her as she shut the door and knelt beside the bed and pulled out her trunk. She indulged him a little, taking her time as she removed the towel and pulled on her traveling clothes. He watched her all the while, only returning to his book after she fastened her belt.
Cora sat on the bed as she rummaged through her trunk, keeping her head down so he wouldn't see her flushed face. Ben's attentions, silent though they were, always made her feel beautiful. She knew she wasn't. She had looked into a mirror enough times in her life to know that. Her face was too thin, her teeth crooked, and her hair stringy. As a young woman, she would often stare at the pretty girls in town, sick with envy. She'd wanted nothing more than to be a proper Southern belle for a while, even if her family had been far too poor to afford fancy dresses and bonnets. It seemed cruel that the good Lord hadn't even blessed her with a pretty face.
When Ben looked at her that way, though, she felt different. His gaze was intense, almost reverent. She'd seen that look on his face when he watched a desert sunset or read a poem he was fond of. It had been reflected in mountain lakes and stained-glass windows. When he turned it on her, she felt as beautiful and majestic as any of them.
Everything was accounted for in their trunk except one thing. "You still got that knife on you?"
"Right there," Ben said, pointing to the bedside stand.
She picked it up and pulled it out of its sheath. The silver blade shimmered in the faint light. Grinning, she walked over to Ben and knelt in front of him. "You want to do the honors?"
Ben's blue eyes darkened. "You know I don't like that."
"Fine," Cora said. She ran her fingers along the scars on her left cheek, searching for the last one. When she felt it, she raised the knife to her flesh and pressed. The sting made her eyes water, but she drew the point of the blade down her cheek, carving a shallow gash.
Pulling the knife away, she showed her cheek to Ben. "How's that?"
"Fine," Ben said, not looking up.
"You ain't looking," Cora said, poking him. "How many we got now?"
Ben sighed and looked at her bleeding cheek. "With the new one, we got twelve."
"Only twelve?" Cora said, shaking her head. "Seems like we've run twice that many spook jobs since we started this business." She clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go settle up with the marshal."
Outside, the day was warm and bright. They pulled their hats low to ward off the glare from the snow and walked to the marshal's station in silence.
Ben paused outside the door. "I reckon I should check the times at the train station."
"Go on, then," Cora said, waving her hand. "I'll take care of our tab."
She pulled open the station door and stepped inside. Jack Evans sat behind the deputy's desk. "Howdy, Mrs Oglesby."
"Howdy, Jack."
"The marshal told me about last night," the deputy said. "That must have been quite a sight."
"Sure was ugly as hell," Cora said.
"But you killed it!" Jack said. "You shot it square in the head."
"Seemed like the best place to shoot it." Cora shifted her weight toward the marshal's office. "Is Duggan about?"
"Sure is," Jack said. He hollered for the marshal, who emerged a few moments later.
"Afternoon, marshal," Cora said, tipping her hat.
"Mrs Oglesby," Duggan replied.
"You got our money?"
Duggan nodded, motioning for her to follow him. Once inside his office, he closed the door and sat behind his desk. "Please, take a seat," he said.
Cora remained standing. "Ain't got time for chat, marshal. Our train pulls out soon, and I still got to swing by and see Boots."
"All right, then," Duggan said, his courtesy spent. He pulled open a drawer and produced a small wad of bills. "Five hundred dollars."
Cora picked up the money, surprised. "Mighty generous of you."
"After last night, I figured it was worth it," Duggan said. He pulled up his sleeve and showed her his forearm. Dark bruises in the shape of long fingers colored his fair skin. "That thing had me pinned and would have ate me if you hadn't drawn it off."
"Just doing my job, marshal."
Duggan nodded. "Maybe so, but I never forget a man who saves my life. Or a woman."
"Glad to be of service, then," Cora said, extending her hand. The marshal rose to his feet and shook it. "Maybe you'll repay the favor one day." She tipped her hat and let herself out of the office. As she passed Jack, she shot him a grin. "Good luck with that whore of yours, deputy."
Jack blushed, pulling his hat down over his face. She chuckled to herself as she stepped out into the street. Her boots had turned toward the Pioneer when Ben's voice stopped her.
"Ain't got time for that."
>
She turned toward him. "Train's about to leave?"
Ben nodded. Cora looked toward the saloon with a sigh. "They better have whiskey on board, then." She picked up the trunk. "Let's fetch the horses."
Fifteen minutes later, they stood on the station platform. Their horses were already dozing in a livestock car, none the worse for the previous night. Ben examined their tickets, then walked down the length of the train, looking for their car. When he found it, he waved her over. She hoisted the trunk with a grunt and started toward him.
"You! Cora Oglesby! Wait a moment!"
The voice came from behind her. Even before she turned around, she knew who was hollering for her.
"Well, if it ain't King George himself."
There stood James Townsend, looking winded in his tweed jacket and tie. After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he stood upright and adjusted his glasses. "Might I request a moment of your time?"
"We're a bit tight on time," Cora said. "Train's about to leave."
"Exactly the reason for my rush," James replied. "I have a business proposition for you."
"Is that right?" Cora set down the trunk so she could fold her arms. "Well, we just settled with the marshal, so I think we're set for awhile."
James mimicked her posture, his elbows resting on his belly. "Don't misunderstand me, Mrs Oglesby. Had I a choice in the matter, I would gladly let you board that train for parts unknown. I am, however, here at the behest of Lord Harcourt."
"Your boss, huh? What's he want with us?"
"Well," James said, lowering his voice, "I'm afraid there's been something of an incident inside Lord Harcourt's primary mining interest." He adjusted his glasses and peered at her. "I have reason to believe that a nest of vrykolakas may have taken up residence there."
"Vampires?" Cora asked. "Ain't they your specialty?"
"Precisely so," James said, looking indignant. "However, this infestation is rather extensive, and Lord Harcourt believes it would be prudent to seek outside assistance."
Cora burst out laughing.
"I hardly find this amusing," James said. "My lord's mining investment is in grave danger. We've already lost at least a dozen workers to these monsters, and the rest of his miners are refusing to return to work for fear of being killed or turned. Unless we take action, and quickly, the vampires will overrun the entire mining complex."
"Quite a fix," Cora said, "but I don't see how it's any of our concern. We ain't in the business of saving silver mines."
"Well, there is the matter of Lord Harcourt's generous offer. In addition, it is highly likely the vampires will continue multiplying until the entire town is overrun and destroyed."
Cora sighed. "What's the offer?"
"Lord Harcourt insisted on negotiating with you personally," James said. "He's waiting at his manor north of town."
"I thought you said he was still in England. Don't want to get his coat dusty or some such, right?"
James looked down for a moment. "Yes, well," he said, "he doesn't wish for the knowledge of this misfortune to become public. I'm not at liberty to discuss his doings with strangers."
"You just told me about the vampires."
"Lord Harcourt heard of your exploits with the monstrosity last night. He's quite intrigued by your ability to contain and eliminate supernatural threats."
Cora could feel Ben staring at her back from the train car and sense his impatience. They'd already bought their tickets, their horses were already on board, everything was set to go. Ben hated the cold as much as she did, and they had enough money to spend a few months in San Antonio drinking and gambling before they took on another job.
But the uptight Englishman standing in front of her had an even bigger deal for them. Smoking out a nest of vampires was easy work, and this Lord Harcourt would probably reward them handsomely. Maybe enough to start Ben's print shop when they finally grew too old to smoke out vampires. What was a few more weeks of cold compared to a large sum and a future like that?
"Ben," she called, turning to look at her distraught husband, "get over here."
Ben walked up to her. "What is it?"
"Well," Cora said, nodding at Townsend, "this man here has another job for us."
TEN
The butler graced them with a low bow. Cora grabbed a handful of her buffalo-hide coat in either hand and responded with a curtsy. She straightened out of it before he came back up, her hands clasped demurely in front of her.
"Please, come in," he said, standing to one side and waving his hand.
James Townsend led the way into the front hall of Lord Harcourt's private retreat. Cora followed him, and Ben brought up the rear. The butler closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold mountain air, then turned to them with a polite smile.
Cora didn't see it. Her gaze was sweeping around the hall, taking in the overwhelming if not unexpected opulence. The ceiling sloped upward above them in graceful arches of richly stained wood. To the right of the front landing, a carpeted staircase ascended along one wall, bordered by a carved railing. Paintings of garden parties and old men in fine suits dotted the walls. Above their heads, candles winked down at them from behind clusters of star-cut glass.
"If you'll follow me, please," the butler said, passing through the group to take the lead. His shoes made no sound on the thick carpet. As they walked, Cora became acutely aware of her buckskin pants and worn flannel shirt. Most of their jobs came from men as rustic as they were, so she never felt the need to dandy herself up. She didn't even own a dress anymore. However, judging from the look of this place, Lord Harcourt wouldn't be overly impressed with her riding boots and hand-stitched gloves.
The butler opened a set of brass-knobbed doors and ushered them into a large sitting room. A small fire popped in a marble fireplace as they entered. In the flickering shadows, Cora could see rows upon rows of books lining the room, gold titles glimmering. Windows bordered by heavy red curtains peered out into the winter night. Two high-backed chairs faced the fire, casting long shadows across the carpet. Flanked by a number of smaller glasses, a bottle filled with a dark liquid stood ready on a small table between the chairs.
Ben immediately lost himself in the books on the nearest shelf, his fingers hovering near their spines. Cora rolled her eyes, then noticed that the butler had vanished. She looked around the room, hoping he would reappear with a glass of whiskey.
James kept his back straight as a rod as he walked over to the fire and began to warm his hands. "Lord Harcourt will be with us shortly. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
"I ain't sure about that," Cora said, advancing into the room. "I ain't never comfortable in a place where my boots don't make noise." She stamped her feet several times to illustrate.
"Hardly a reason not to enjoy yourself," said a voice from the corner of the room. Cora spun toward it, drawing her pistol. A tall figure in a well-tailored suit emerged from the shadows, a brandy snifter in his hand. "Mrs Cora Oglesby, I presume."
"My lord," James said, bowing his head. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I was here before you arrived, Mr Townsend," Lord Harcourt replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe I was introducing myself to the lady."
"Of course," James said, bowing again. "My apologies, my lord."
"Accepted," Lord Harcourt said. "Now then, my lady?"
"You presume right," Cora said, holstering her gun. The exchange between the two Englishmen was already boring her. "I'm Cora Oglesby." She looked for her husband, but Ben had already disappeared into the shadows. "My husband's taken a fancy to your books here. You'll meet him once he's done drooling."
Lord Harcourt offered a slight bow. "I am Lord Alberick Harcourt." He took her gloved hand in his and brought it up to his mouth.
"A pleasure," Cora said, retrieving her hand. "I hear you've got yourself a slight problem."
"Straight to business, I see," Harcourt said. "I believe James has informed you of the basic situation."
"I have, my lord," James said. "Cora has agreed to assist us with the matter."
"I said I'd hear you out," Cora said, shooting James a look.
"More couldn't be expected at this juncture," Harcourt said. "Might I offer you a glass of brandy?"
"Well, I suppose, if that's all you got," Cora said.
Lord Harcourt looked at James, who shuffled over to the small table. He filled a glass from the bottle and brought it to her. "Here you are, Cora."
"Thanks, George," she said. She took a gulp and swallowed, grimacing. "This is the best you got?"
"It is," Harcourt replied, arching an eyebrow. He shot a quizzical look at James. "Did she call you George?"
"Yes," James replied, attempting to smile. "A nickname."
