a vampire, or Duggan hadn't actually spoken to Boots.
"Hey, George," Cora said. The scholar turned from the window to look at her. "You're sure about the five days thing? Boots couldn't have turned vampire any later?"
"Well, my estimation wasn't precise," James replied, "but I would stake my life on at least three days. A freshlyturned vampire would not have exhibited such an extent of fang growth."
"Right," Cora said, "so here's a stumper for you. What if I said the marshal in town, Mart Duggan, talked to Boots, the dead feller, two days ago?"
James blinked a few times. "Well, I would say you were mistaken."
"There's no way for that to happen?"
"None," James said. He opened his mouth to continue when the coach pitched to one side, slamming his head into the wall. At the same time, a shadow swept past the window. James fell back into his seat, holding his palm to his head and cursing. Despite her worries, Cora laughed. James answered her laughter with a tight grin, then looked out the window, careful not to get too close. After a moment, he leaned back again and shook his head.
"What is it?" Cora asked.
"I think someone just passed us," James said.
"Passed us?" Cora asked, sitting upright. "You mean they're heading back toward the mine?"
"Yes," James said, then shrugged. "Perhaps Lord Harcourt has sent the foreman to retrieve something."
They fell back into silence as the coach continued to sway and rumble along the road. When they arrived back at the retreat, Cora headed straight for the stable to collect her mare. She cinched up the saddle, led Our Lady around to the front of the retreat, and swung herself across the horse's back. As she turned back toward town, James emerged from the front door and called to her.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I just spoke with Lord Harcourt," James said, approaching her. "He hasn't ordered anyone aside from us to the mine."
"Any reason one of your boys would head out there on his own?"
James shook his head. "They know of the dangers. Most of them think we should just abandon the mine altogether."
"Maybe some fool heard about the rout and thought to swipe himself some silver while you're away."
"Perhaps," James said. "If such is the case, he'll have a nasty surprise in store for him." He allowed himself a small smile. "I suppose the vampires are good for that much, at least."
"At least until they eat so many bandits that they start to outnumber the townsfolk," Cora said.
James pondered that for a moment. "Well, if we act quickly, they won't have the chance to grow their numbers. How soon can you make your preparations?"
"Well," Cora said, watching Our Lady's ears twitch, "I ought to let the marshal know that his bartender ain't his bartender no more. After that, all I'll need to do is round up a few things from the hotel and fetch my husband."
James consulted his pocket watch. "Can you return in an hour?" Cora nodded. "Very good. I shall see about recruiting some volunteers to accompany us."
"Not too many, thanks," Cora said.
"Of course not," James said. "Just enough to provide some backup."
"Good enough." She tipped her hat to the scholar, gave Our Lady her heels, and headed south. Above her head, the sun was nearing its noonday summit. Glancing up at it, she prayed they could settle the vampires and make it back out of the mine before nightfall. She pulled her hat down over her brow and urged Our Lady forward.
Wash Jones thundered up to the mine in his stolen wagon, pulling back on the team's reins at the last minute. The horses reared in protest, but he didn't care. He'd nearly rammed that coach on the narrow road, and he knew when he saw it that he'd missed his chance to trap the bitch in the mine. That put him in a sour mood, and the fear that she'd found and stolen the coffin only made it worse.
Slapping the reins over the team's back, he nudged the wagon up to the door and climbed down. He didn't bother to hobble the horses, instead checking on the burlap sheets in the back of the wagon. He'd added them as a last-minute consideration, thinking that it wouldn't do to ride into town with a coffin in plain sight. The sheets were still tucked beneath the seat. Satisfied, he made his way to the door. It was locked, but his pistol reduced the knob to a smoking hole. Once