"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 suppose 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 survive 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."
Turning away from the sun, she followed James toward the great frowning wall of the mining complex. A single tower dominated one end of the building, fed by a long ramp built on aging trusses. The roof sloped back toward the mountain's peak in a large black slab. Along the far wall, a low row of windows lingered in the shadow of the overhanging roof.
James unlocked a windowless door at the base of the tower and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Cora noted the large cross nailed above the doorway. Looking closer, she saw that it was made of broken trusses. James Townsend must really be worried if he was making makeshift crosses out of scraps. She wasn't sure what the vampires would make of it, but she wasn't all that impressed. Still, any shelter in a storm, or so her father used to say.
Cora followed her guide into the shadows, leaving the door open behind her. In the dim light, she could see the back of James's tweed jacket as he busied himself lighting lanterns for their trip into the mines.
"You ain't got them fancy electric lights up in here yet?" she asked.
James turned, a surprised look on his face. "Why, no, we don't. I wasn't aware America had electric power in remote locations like this."
"I don't reckon we do," Cora said, "but I figured Lord Harcourt could money up his own if he had a mind."
"There are some things money can't purchase, my dear," James said, "and civilization in America is one of those things."
"I reckon so," Cora said. She waited in silence while James lit a pair of lanterns. In their glow, she could make out the details of the room. It looked like an office, though it was clear it hadn't been used in a few weeks. A thin layer of dust had already settled on the large desk standing in one corner, covering abandoned papers and coffee tins.
"Here you are," James said, handing her a lantern.
"So what exactly is your plan?" Cora asked. "Just charge down there with these lanterns and our good looks and hope they run off?"
James offered her a tight smile. "Hardly, Mrs Oglesby. I will be taking you into the secure area of the mine to show you the environment and the precautions I've already taken."
"You're sure that area is still secure?"
"Of course," James replied. "I make daily rounds here to ensure that Lord Harcourt's property doesn't fall further into their control."
"And I'm sure he's thankful," Cora said. "Let's go, then."
James nodded and led her through another door into a large room. The halos of light from the lanterns glimmered on silver rails. The angular shapes of mine carts lurked in the darkness like sleeping beasts. Stray shafts of sunlight filtered through grimy windows, doing little to cut through the shadows. Cora peered upward, but the ceiling was lost in the darkness. The air was stale and cold, filled with the smell of earth and grease.
James didn't give the processing room a second glance as he stepped over the rails. Cora followed suit, keeping her eyes on her boots in the dim light. The British scholar passed over several tunnels before pausing in front of another. He took a few steps into it, lifted his lantern, and looked around. Nodding to himself, he motioned for her to follow.
This mining tunnel was much more developed than the small one beneath Jules Bartlett's cabin. Wider and taller, it had been carved by dozens of skilled hands. Instead of pine trunks holding up the roof, Harcourt's workers had lined each wall with boards. Archways boasting lanterns loomed at regular intervals. James lit each lantern they came across as they worked their way deeper into the mine. He didn't say why, but Cora was grateful enough for his foresight. The last time she'd been in a tunnel, she hadn't had it, and it had almost cost her her life.