Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  "How pleasant," Harcourt said, sitting in the nearest chair. "Please, Mrs Oglesby, come and have a seat."

  Cora accepted his offer and felt herself sink into the cushion. She cautiously leaned against the back, unsure if she was committing some offense, but Lord Harcourt seemed unconcerned. The firelight gleamed off of his silver hair as he turned toward his retainer.

  "James, might you stoke the fire for us?" Harcourt asked.

  James blinked, then stepped over to the fire. He picked up a gold-handled poker and poked at the dying flames. Unsatisfied, he tossed a few logs on the fire, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. The fire sputtered back to life, and James took up a post next to Lord Harcourt's chair, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Now, Mrs Oglesby," Harcourt said, crossing his legs. "As James has already told you, I have a rather urgent predicament on my hands."

  "Yeah," Cora said. "You got yourself a nasty pack of vampires eating your miners."

  "Yes, to put it bluntly." Harcourt took a sip of brandy. "Ordinarily, I could rely on James to handle this situation. He's quite knowledgeable about these creatures, which is why I keep him on as a retainer."

  "Is that right?" Cora asked.

  "Indeed," Harcourt said. "Of course, this isn't to imply that we attract an unusual amount of attention from the undead. It's a rare occurrence, actually, but remarkably inconvenient. Typically, we only have a solitary perpetrator, which James is certainly capable of handling. However, this particular infestation is quite extensive, so I deemed it prudent to request outside assistance."

  "And George told you about us?"

  Harcourt nodded. "He mentioned meeting you on the rail from Denver, where that reprehensible orator kept him overlate."

  "Who's that?" Cora asked.

  "Oscar Wilde," James replied before Harcourt could. "He was giving a lecture in Denver and I thought to stop by on my way here. I must admit, I'm a fan of his work."

  "Inexplicable, if you ask me," Harcourt said. "I do not understand what you see in the man."

  "I appreciate his wit, my lord."

  "As compensation for your lack of it, I imagine," Harcourt said with a wave of his hand. "It's not pertinent to the matter at hand."

  "I reckon we should set a deal, then," Cora said, draining her glass. James reached over and refilled it.

  "Of course," Harcourt said. "I'll get right to the point, then. I am prepared to offer you a total sum of four thousand American dollars if you manage to eliminate this threat to my investment."

  Cora's glass paused on the way to her lips. "Come again?"

  "I take this matter quite seriously, madam. If word of this were to reach the Court, I would become the laughing stock of Buckingham."

  "Really?" Cora asked, her right eyebrow arching. "You all take vampires lightly over yonder?"

  "Vampires are not considered a proper topic for discussion among nobility," Harcourt said, his tone indignant. "I am not so daft as to complain of my problems with the undead to the House of Lords. No, madam, the source of my humiliation would be the failure of my venture here. There are some who believe speculation in the American silver panic is foolhardy, and the loss of my mine would provide them with ample reason to question my judgment."

  "OK," Cora said. The word hung in the air for a second. "What's the matter with that?"

  Harcourt lifted his chin. "The problem with that, my dear, is that the political situation at court is remarkably delicate. Were my judgment in financial matters to be called into question, it might upset the balance of power in the House of Lords and destabilize the British government."

  "You've got that much clout, huh?"

  "I may be flattering myself, but yes, I believe so." Harcourt took a sip of brandy, staring into the fire. Cora watched the firelight play in the old man's spectacles. She shifted in her chair and emptied her glass, but he didn't stir. The fire snapped and sparked. She glanced at James, but he just returned an even gaze.

  Harcourt finally took a deep breath and looked back up at her. "Regardless of my reasons, Mrs Oglesby, I want those monsters out of my mines so my workers can return to their jobs. Are you willing to help me or not?"

  Cora grinned at the British lord as she set her empty glass on the table. "Cleaning out a nest of vampires is powerful dangerous work, Mr Harcourt, so I'll tell you what: throw in another thousand dollars and I'll make sure your boy George there is still alive and well when the job's done."

  "I doubt he's worth that much," Harcourt replied.

  "I must respectfully disagree, my lord," James said, his face breaking out in red spots.

  Harcourt regarded Cora with narrow eyes. The fire popped. James Townsend quietly cleared his throat. "Very well," Harcourt said at last. "A bonus of one thousand American dollars if you keep my retainer alive."

  "Glad to hear it," Cora said. "Now, what exactly are we up against?"

  "James can explain the particulars of the situation," Harcourt said.

  James cleared his throat again. "The first victim was discovered three weeks ago in one of the recent expansion tunnels. After eliminating all known natural causes of death from the list of possibilities, the foreman contacted me, requesting my expertise to confirm supernatural involvement. In the time it took me to travel from London to Leadville, an additional seven miners were discovered diseased, and all of the victims had become reanimated.

  "Upon my arrival, I immediately recognized the signs of a vrykolakas attack and took appropriate measures. The infected wing of the mine was quarantined, I erected crosses and cloves of garlic at each access point, and equipped the crews working the other wings with holy water."

  "Sounds right so far," Cora said. "So what went wrong?"

  "Well," James said, looking down at his hands, "what I had believed to be a single vrykolakas turned out to be an entire nest of them. I haven't determined the exact number, though I believe their ranks to have grown since the attacks began. Several more miners disappeared in the mines after my arrival."

  "Why is that?" Cora asked. "Don't matter if it's one or a hundred vampires if you've got the crosses and other truck in place."

  "That was exactly my line of thinking," James said. "I was at a loss to explain their constant advancements into the other areas of the mine despite my efforts."

  "So what was the problem?"

  James looked at Lord Harcourt, who nodded. He took a deep breath and looked back at Cora. "I have reason to believe a nosferatu is at the heart of this infestation."

  "That's one of your special vampires, right?"

  "Yes, an intelligent, powerful being," James said. "The nosferatu possess the ability to control the lesser vrykolakas like extensions of their own bodies. I believe this control is what allowed them to bypass the wards I set up in the mine."

  "Ah," Cora said, "so they're too tough for stuff like that when they've got a big bad at their heels."

  "Essentially, though it is more accurate to say that they are simply no longer frightened by them," James said. "Contact with these elements can still injure and kill them, but the nosferatu's influence may be capable of overpowering their instinctive fear of death."

  "Good." Cora nodded in satisfaction. "I hate fighting monsters I can't kill." Her face clouded over as a thought struck her. "So why do you need my help, again? You got it figured out what's causing this, and you know how to kill it. Where do I come in?"

  "Well," James said, looking at his hands again, "I'm afraid I am unable to contain the vrykolakas through my efforts alone. Their lack of inhibition is quite problematic, and…" He trailed off.

  "Spit it out, George," Cora said, waving her hand in a circle.

  "I've never actually killed a vampire myself." He continued staring at his hands, waiting for her laughter, but it never came. He peered over his glasses at her, surprised.

  "What?" Cora asked. "Ain't no shame in that. Not many folks can make such a claim, and even less that are telling it true."

  "Yes, well, I su
ppose you're right," James said. "Anyway, as I told you on the train, my primary interest in vampires is scholarly, so I'm not much for actually combating them. I can contain and exorcise ordinary infestations, but this situation is beyond my capacity for either." He spread his hands to either side, palms upward. "To put it another way, we require a sword, but all I can offer is a shield."

  Cora leaned back in her chair, the empty glass back in her hand. She stared into the fire, watching the sparks flutter each time it popped. Taking on a nest like this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd first thought. From what James said, there could be as many as a dozen vampires in Harcourt's mine, and one of them was as intelligent and cunning as any human. She wasn't sure if these nosferatu existed or not, but they were as good an explanation as any for a bunch of the lesser vampires to form a nest like that.

  She looked at Lord Harcourt and his loyal vampire scholar. They were both waiting for her answer. If she and Ben took this job, they might very well not come back from it. If they did, they could retire with the reward and set up a quieter life for themselves. These two British gentlemen were offering them the chance of a lifetime: to brave impossible odds and either emerge victorious with a king's ransom in their pockets or perish in a vicious struggle that would earn them places among the pages of James Townsend's books. They would be the General Custers of the vampire hunting world.

  "All right, then, you've got yourselves a deal."

  "So we're just supposed to march into a dark, crowded mine and pick a fight with a dozen vampires?" Ben asked.

  "That's the general idea," Cora said, "which you would know if you wasn't so damn taken with Harcourt's books."

  "That man's got an amazing collection," Ben said. "I reckon we could make a living just printing books for him."

  "Well, if we live through this, we may end up doing just that. Five thousand dollars could set us up proper for the rest of our lives if we had the notion."

  They were back in their room in the Northern Hotel, the sheets pulled up to their shoulders. A single flame danced on the lamp wick near Cora's head.

  "I don't reckon you'd be apt to just sit on your rear and work a press all day," Ben said. "I know you better than that."

  "Maybe so," Cora said, "but I've been thinking." She rolled onto her side and looked him in the eyes. "This new job will see us rich or see us dead. If it sees us rich, I don't see no reason why it can't be our last."

  "What do you mean?" Ben asked.

  "I ain't a fool, Benjamin," she said. "I seen how you don't care much for this work."

  "That ain't true," Ben said. "You know I ain't no coward, shying away from them demons that we fight."

  "Never said you was," Cora said. "All I said was you don't care for it." Ben was about to protest again, but she put her hand over his mouth. "Don't you argue with me. You ain't no soldier or fighter. You're a reading man, just like that James Townsend feller."

  "Well, I am partial to my books," Ben said, "but that don't mean I don't enjoy our work. Fact is, I enjoy it a good deal. Doing the Lord's work always makes me happy."

  "There's plenty to do in the Lord's service that don't involve shooting and riding into trouble," Cora said. "We could print out Bibles or some such."

  Ben smiled at her. "You'd never be happy doing that and you know it."

  "No, but we've done what I like for a long time now. It's only fair we do what you want for a change."

  "You really mean that?" Ben asked.

  "Wouldn't say it if I didn't," she said. "I reckon I can put up with ink and machines for a spell if we do this job without getting ourselves killed. Running a press ought to give these old bones a chance to rest, anyway."

  Ben searched her face for a moment, then smiled and kissed her. "Well, if you're serious, I ain't saying no."

  Cora smiled and kissed him back. "Good. I wasn't above knocking you on the head and dragging you along if you was going to be stubborn about it." Without another word, she rolled over, blew out the lamp, and settled in for a sleep.

  ELEVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "I'm sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Do you typically fight the supernatural while intoxicated?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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