by L D Marr
“To lose your appetite is a normal reaction but not to lose your thirst,” said Cowboy Bob. “Living human beings can go without food for several days. But they need water more frequently to stay alive. If you were still a mortal human, you might not be dead yet, but you’d be terribly thirsty. Are you?”
“No. I’m not thirsty at all. But obviously I’m still a mortal human!” said Roz in a louder whisper. “I’m not dead!”
“Ah! But you are!” Cowboy Bob whispered back. “Your mortal body died last night when I drained it of blood. But instead of allowing you to leave this Earth, I transformed you with the precious gift of my own blood. It’s quite potent, and you drank a plentiful amount. That’s why you’re not hungry yet. But you will be. And then you must know how to feed in a way that doesn’t draw unwanted attention to yourself.”
What madness is this? Roz wondered.
Cowboy Bob crossed one elegant black-clad leg over the other. She stared at him in stunned silence.
⌛
The man who disguised himself as Cowboy Bob looked back at Roz.
At least she has stopped denying what I’m telling her, he thought. Perhaps it’s starting to sink in.
He gave her a few more moments to ponder his words and then spoke.
“Yes. You are now a member of this planet’s most powerful race—a vampire!”
Roz gasped, but she covered her mouth with a delicate long-fingered hand.
“The book you’re reading paints us in a negative light. Do not be swayed by that hearsay. We are not cruel, evil monsters. On the contrary, we serve as a balance to protect the innocent from the dark hearted among them who would prey upon their own kind,” said Cowboy Bob.
“You’re saying I’m a vampire?” Roz asked. “I can’t be a vampire. I’m a vegetarian!”
“Yes, I know that,” said Cowboy Bob. “That is why I chose you for the honor of being my mate. I need a female with great self-control by my side. Along with the gift of power comes an equally powerful thirst for the blood of mortals. None of my past consorts were able to restrain themselves from partaking of blood in a manner that wouldn’t be noticed. But you are different. Prudish and finicky. Therefore, you are the perfect mate for me.”
“I said I will not be your mate!” Roz insisted again, demonstrating the prudishness he had just mentioned.
“Yes. We’ll discuss that later,” said Cowboy Bob. “For now, you need to know a few basic things about your dietary requirements. And then I’ll leave you.”
Roz sighed as if relieved to hear that last part. Cowboy Bob bristled, but he continued.
“You might not be hungry now, but you’ll soon hunger for blood. You have two choices of nourishment that won’t be noticed by the townspeople. Unfortunately, the ignorant are often motivated to destroy our kind when they identify us.”
Cowboy Bob thought of Natasha and paused to treasure her memory. Then he continued.
“The best, most noble way to feed is to drain the blood of the wicked to their death—those heartless souls who have killed and will kill again. In this way, our race has served mankind throughout all history of civilization.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” said Roz. “And even if I could, how would I know who the murderers are?”
“You will know by your senses,” he answered. “You can sense deep evil even now, can’t you? A darkness around you. And when they’re close enough, you’ll know even more by the smell of their blood. We vampires can smell past kills or innocence and even evil intentions in the blood of mortal humans.”
He watched the beautiful woman in front of him reach up a hand and squeeze a fistful of her voluminous red hair. Now fuller and shinier because of her transformation.
“I thought I sensed something like that in the diner this evening,” she said. “And I smelled people’s blood too. But I thought I was crazy. Now I wish I was crazy. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can drink the blood of killers, even if they deserve to die.”
“Well, there is one other choice,” said Cowboy Bob. “You can find a donor to provide you small amounts of blood at a time. But you’ll need the self-control to take enough blood to keep you satisfied but not enough to kill your donor. Loretta is my own provider. Of course, I use my supernatural powers to make sure she doesn’t know that I’m drinking her blood. Under hypnosis, she is only aware that she satisfies my physical cravings.”
Roz gasped.
“Yes, I know. It’s not as noble as killing the wicked,” he continued. “But feeding became more difficult when outlaws stopped coming to this town. And Loretta became fond of me and was quite willing. Perhaps I can feed off some of the locals who are killers now that you are my destined mate. I understand that you might feel jealous of Loretta because you and I will soon have a close physical relationship.”
“I’m not jealous of her, and I have no intention of having any type of physical relationship with you,” Roz whispered back at him. “And I really don’t want to hear these details about your blood-sucking.”
“You still don’t understand,” said Cowboy Bob. “But you will when the hunger strikes. If you’re not willing to drain the life blood of the evil hearted, perhaps you can take the deputy as your donor. He seems to be attracted to you.”
“Huh!” she said, as if offended. “I’m not that kind of woman!”
“Very well, I’ll leave you now. But you are that kind of woman—a vampire. The urge to feed will come upon you. And it will drive you to animal madness if you don’t satisfy it. Best to not let it get to that point. Why not take advantage of this deputy who has a budding, although doomed relationship with you?”
Roz glared back at him.
Despite her finicky dietary habits, she is a passionate one after all, thought Cowboy Bob.
“My relationship with Jonah is none of your business,” she said in an angry whisper. “It happens that I’m going to help him solve the crime of murder that took place just a few rooms down from here last night. Have you forgot about that already? That’s why I’m spending time with him.”
“Of course, I haven’t forgot about that,” said Cowboy Bob. “But why would he ask you to help?”
“He didn’t ask me. It was my idea. He told me the saloon customers won’t talk to him. I said they might be more talkative if I sit with them and ask them questions.”
“Yes. That’s true. A very good idea,” said Cowboy Bob. “Your new powers will allow you to pull the truth from mere mortals by trapping them in your hypnotic gaze. I could do it myself, but it will look more natural if you sit with them. I can sense the killers among them, and many of them have killed, but I can’t tell who they killed and when by sense and smell alone.”
“Great! I’m so glad you agree with this plan,” said Roz. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do the hypnotizing part. I don’t know how to do that.”
“Yes. You can,” said Cowboy Bob. “Just look into their eyes and mentally order them to speak the truth. You have that power now. Didn’t you notice a difference when you were around people today? The ability to read the hellish desires in their souls? The lingering smell of kills in their blood?”
“I guess I did notice something like that in the diner, but I hoped I was hallucinating,” she answered.
Just then, Cowboy Bob detected a slight movement from the window. The curtains rustled, and a small projectile shot through. His enhanced vision traced the trajectory of Roz’s black cat leaping at supernatural speed from the window and landing on her lap. The cat leaned toward him with sharp bared fangs. He snarled deep and menacing for such a small creature.
Surely this beast hasn’t been turned as well! Cowboy Bob thought.
But he leaned backward, appreciating the potential danger.
Roz put a restraining hand around the cat.
“It’s OK, Buttons,” she soothed. “Cowboy Bob is leaving now. Right, Cowboy Bob? Will you please leave my room?” she whispered.
The cat continued to emit a l
ow, endless growl.
“Yes. I will leave you now. I will not come to your room again without your invitation. Au revoir until then, my destined one,” he said.
“Humph!” said Roz.
Cowboy Bob pushed his feet against the floor to shove the chair back while he was still in it, putting more distance between himself and the snarling beast—just in case it now had vampiric powers. Animal vampires of any size were an unknown force that shouldn’t be trifled with.
Then Cowboy Bob stood, pulled up his hood, and tightened it to hide his pale hair. And with his own supernatural speed, he sprang out the window.
Chapter 12
The next evening, Roz followed the other dancers when they left of the dressing room to mingle with the customers. She walked past Jonah, who was sitting in his usual spot at the bar.
Jonah was facing toward the center of the saloon and the passing women. With his hat tipped over his eyes, he leaned back on elbows that rested on the edge of the bar. According to their plan, Roz pointedly snubbed him with a loud sniff and a tilt of her head in the other direction.
But although she pretended to ignore Jonah, Roz felt a heightened awareness of him. As she walked past, she breathed in his now familiar intoxicating smell. A hunger burned inside her—a combination of physical attraction and her new body’s need for nourishment.
I can’t be distracted by Jonah right now, Roz told herself.
She kept on walking, but all that night, she couldn’t get him off her mind.
The other women began to spread out and flirt with various miners, other rough types, and some who looked less rough. At the opposite end of the bar from Jonah, Roz paused for a moment to decide what to do next. Cowboy Bob leaned nearby on the wall, and Madame stood behind the bar talking to a customer, but Roz ignored them.
Buttons sat on top of the bar. He stared straight at her, not bothering to conceal his interest.
“Do I really need this much protection?” Roz asked him irritably in her mind.
Instead of answering, Buttons lifted a paw to his mouth and began to clean his sharp teeth with one of his claws.
Roz looked out into the crowd.
Which one should I start with? she wondered.
Her new sense of evil and her nose for blood gave her the answer. Roz looked across at the customer who emitted the deadliest stench. The husky dark-bearded man sat alone at a table on the side of the saloon farthest from the stage. No hat covered his shaggy hair. Bulging eyes glared out under bushy eyebrows.
Roz sensed that this man had many murders to his credit. More than any of the other customers in the saloon that night. He’d killed frequently and easily, without remorse. His killings spiced the scent of his blood so heavily that the smell almost shouted at her.
He might be the one! Roz thought.
It was clear that none of the other dancers were going to approach the man. Before her unasked-for transformation and Gertie’s murder, Roz wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it either.
Does Cowboy Bob sense that this man is a killer too? she wondered.
She looked over at him for confirmation. With one long leg bent to rest a boot against the wall, he didn’t move a muscle. But with her vision that seemed to be enhanced now, Roz detected a quick wink of one hat-shaded eye.
She looked away quickly and began a slow stroll through the saloon’s round tables. Roz smiled at some of the men as she passed. A few tried to get her attention with waves and invitations to join them, but she kept going.
When Roz reached the big man seated by the wall, he looked up and blinked at her as if surprised.
“I ain’t got no money for you, slut,” he shouted.
Light laughter came from the nearest table. But it was muted by the loud piano music, chatter, drunken singing, and other sounds of merrymaking that filled the noisy saloon.
The grungy man tightened the grip of his big paw around his mug of beer, lifted it up to his mouth, and gulped half of it down. Some of the brew escaped his mouth and streamed down his tangled beard.
How rude! Roz thought, as she waited from him to finish chugging.
Then he slammed the thick glass mug back down on the wooden table.
Any resistance she might have had against trying Cowboy Bob’s suggestion of hypnotizing the truth out of him vanished.
Roz gazed into the man’s bulging, bloodshot eyes of indeterminate color. He stared back, and his eyes became stuck on hers.
“I don’t want your money. I just want the truth,” she said.
The man’s thick-lipped mouth opened beneath his beard.
“The...truth...” he said in a monotone voice.
“Yes. That’s right,” said Roz.
Without breaking her gaze from his eyes or waiting for an invitation, she pulled out a chair for herself and sat down at the table. Roz was relieved to see that the man didn’t make any movement toward her. Instead, he sat stiff and still as a statue. In addition to the murderously spicy smell of his blood, his unwashed body was quite rank. Any physical contact with him would have been most repellent.
Although the strong aroma of the big man’s blood stirred some hunger in her, when that scent combined with the reek of his body odor, the mix of the two smells turned Roz’s empty stomach upside down.
She remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything at all in the last two days. But only now, for the first time, she was starting to feel hungry—very hungry.
I need to get this over with fast, Roz thought.
“Now then, sir,” she addressed the man in her sternest, no-nonsense librarian voice. “What is your name please?”
“Horace,” he answered. “Horace McFadden.”
“Thank you, Horace,” said Roz.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Horace,’ would have been the polite response, but Roz didn’t want to lie to him. He sat silent and waiting—and smelling.
“Alright, Horace,” said Roz. “Tell me about the people you’ve killed.”
“All of ‘em?” he asked.
Roz thought about that. She could tell that he’d murdered many people. How long would such a confession take?
“No. Start with the latest one,” she said. “Who did you last kill and when?”
“Hmm,” said Horace.
He reached up a grimy hand to tug on his beard.
“That woulda been ‘bout two night ago,” he said in faulty grammar that rattled Roz’s teeth.
The same night Gertie was killed! she thought with rising hope. Have I found her killer already?
Roz leaned forward eagerly.
“Who did you kill two nights ago, Horace?” she asked. “Was it a woman?”
“Naw, I don’t kill women most of the time,” said Horace.
His bulging eyes bulged out even more, and Roz sensed that somewhere in the back of his mind, he might be putting her on his list of women to kill next.
She leaned back but increased the intensity of her own gaze.
“Who did you kill two nights ago, Horace?” she asked again.
“Was a miner I caught heading into town late at night,” he said. “Carrying a heavy load on him. I wait up on the pass sometimes to get ‘em in the dark. And none be the wiser!”
He laughed and slapped his leg, as if he didn’t realize that he’d just revealed his criminal history.
Horace was a base-hearted murderer, but Roz was certain that he hadn’t killed Gertie if he was busy killing someone else on that night. She asked him one more question just to make sure.
“When did you last kill a woman?”
“Hmm. Let’s see,” he answered.
This time, Horace scratched the top of his head by shoving dirty fingernails though the tangled brownish hair.
Is his hair truly brown, or does it look that way because it’s caked with so much dirt? Roz wondered while she waited for his answer.
“That woulda been ‘bout four year ago,” Horace finally answered. “Down in Frisco. Got me a streetwalker. But I don’t pay
‘em. She wanted to make a fuss over it, so I had to snuff her. Told you I don’t kill women that often though.”
“I see,” said Roz.
Now that she’d determined Horace wasn’t the killer of Gertie, she was anxious to get away from him. And Roz certainly didn’t want to hear any more of his murderous confessions.
“Goodbye Horace,” she said.
Roz rose from her chair and walked back toward the bar. She plastered a smile on her face as she strolled past the men who tried to get her attention. Because she’d sat with one of them, others seemed encouraged that she’d join them too.
One man even grabbed her arm when she walked by.
Roz wrenched her arm away with a strength that seemed to surprise them both. She inhaled and detected past murders in his blood.
“Maybe I’ll join you later,” she said. “I need a little break now, though.”
When she reached the stool farthest from Jonah, Roz sat down at the bar. Buttons got up from his puddled position in front of the petting hand of Madame and wandered over to her. Roz put out an absent hand to scratch behind his ears.
Now what? she wondered. Horace isn’t Gertie’s killer, but I should tell Jonah about what he’s up to at night.
But Roz wasn’t going to speak to Jonah until the next evening. What if Horace killed someone else again in the meantime?
She sensed a powerful gaze on her and knew it was coming from Cowboy Bob. Roz looked over at his still form against the wall. He stood unmoving with his hat tipped down so low that you’d almost think he was sleeping. But Roz knew he was fully alert. Perhaps more alert than anyone in the saloon.
Roz looked at Cowboy Bob’s eyes beneath the hat. Again, she detected a fast wink. It seemed to only take a millisecond.
Did I really see that? she wondered.
Then Buttons spoke in her mind. “Yes. You saw that, and don’t worry about Horace, Cowboy Bob will take care of him.”
“I wish you’d stop reading my mind. It’s so invasive,” said Roz mentally back to Buttons. “Take care of him how?”
