The Dead of Winter - By Lee Collins Page 0,66

he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his bleeding neck.

She grinned and tossed him the cross. "Not bad for a greenhorn."

The Englishman fumbled with the cross, and it clattered to the stone floor. He retrieved it and tucked it away inside his tweed jacket. "Yes, well, I figured it was safer than my trying to shoot it."

Cora nodded. Her blade shimmered in the lamplight as she raised it high and brought it down on the vampire's neck. The head tumbled away, and she grinned again. "I'd say today was a good day."

"Only if we leave before the rest of the brood arrives," James said, picking up a lantern. As he turned, his foot accidentally kicked the vampire's head toward Cora. He stumbled and nearly fell. Even in the dim light, Cora could see his pale face. She bent over, picked up the vampire's head by one ear, turned it toward the light for a good look at its face, and felt her own knees go weak. She slid her saber back into its scabbard, took the head in both hands, and turned it right side up. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into the lifeless eyes of the creature she had just killed. The jagged mass of fangs protruding from its red lips turned the dead face into a nightmare mask, but she would have recognized those round cheeks and that bald patch anywhere.

It was Boots.

Her throat worked at swallowing for a few moments. "Hey, James," she finally said, "I don't suppose you can tell me how long this one's been a vampire?"

"Perhaps, but not here," James said, picking up the second lantern from its place on the stairs.

"Right," Cora said. Holding the head in one hand, she retrieved her Winchester from where James had dropped it. She kept it in her hand as she followed James up the stairs and into the mining tunnel. The Englishman set a brisk pace, slowing only for the barricade in the tunnel. He didn't turn back to her until they were in the foreman's office.

"Now, then," he said, setting down the lanterns, "let's have a look."

Cora set the head on the desk, and James bent over and looked into the dead face. He grimaced as he took it in one hand and rotated it from side to side. Cora waited by the door to the processing station, keeping an ear open for any sound of pursuit. Finally, the scholar nodded to himself and stood upright.

"Well, I'm no physician," he said, "but I'd say this fellow's been dead for at least a week."

"You sure?" Cora asked, coming to take a closer look.

"Well, this isn't a fresh kill, by any account," James said. "Once a human has its blood drained by a vampire – vrykolakas or nosferatu, it makes no difference – the transformation into an undead will occur at the next sunset. The corpse must be shielded from sunlight during that time, or the change will not take place." He pointed to the dead man's jumble of elongated teeth. "However, this specimen exhibits an advanced degree of mandibular development, though not as advanced as some I've seen. Still, I'd say this man has been a vampire, and a well-fed one at that, for at least five days."

"So you're telling me Boots had been dead for five days?" Cora asked. James nodded as he extinguished the lanterns and prepared to close up the mine. He picked up the bartender's head with his handkerchief and tossed it through the open door, where the morning sun reduced it to a flurry of ashes. Taking one last look around, James motioned for her to follow him.

Cora didn't say a word as they climbed back into the coach and started for Harcourt's retreat. James contented himself with staring out the window at the passing scenery. Cora tried to enjoy it, too, but her mind kept returning to Boots. She'd stood at his bar, drank his private stock of rotgut, and played cards in his saloon. Boots, who was always so carefree and happy, a man too soft for the army. A man whose body had just tried to drink her neck dry.

What James had said troubled her, too. Mart Duggan had mentioned speaking to Boots about that Wash Jones character only two days ago, but if the bartender had been dead for at least five days, that couldn't have happened. Either James was wrong about the time it took to turn into

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