with the nest of vampires. Glava's words confirmed her earlier suspicion: the incident near Denver was connected to this nosferatu in some way.
Cora looked at Ben's pillow and felt a familiar panic begin twisting her stomach. She hadn't seen him since she left to confront Boots, which already felt like days ago. It wasn't like Ben to simply disappear, so she had to believe he was caught up somehow. Where or by whom, she couldn't begin to guess. He wasn't with the marshal or the Englishmen, and Glava seemed sure he was dead. For all its saloons and brothels, Leadville hadn't seen fit to establish a public library, so he couldn't be there. Her list of possibilities had all but run out, and she wasn't any closer to finding him.
The panic continued to pull at her, demanding more and more of her attention. She took a deep breath, trying to force it down. Ben would come through that door any minute now. She would give him a good tongue-lashing and then they would be off to take care of Glava.
Minutes passed. In the silence of the room, she could hear her own heartbeat flowing through her ears. She was used to hearing the soft sounds of Ben's breathing and the rustling as he turned pages in one of his books. Without them, each beat of her heart seemed to bring her panic a little closer to spilling over. Her arms and legs twitched, urging her to get up, to stop sitting around and go find her husband, but she ignored them. He had to come back sometime tonight. Waiting in the room was the fastest way to find him.
If he was alive.
Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She had to wait for him, but there was no reason she couldn't entertain herself while she did. The brown liquid burned her throat, sending waves of comforting warmth through her restless limbs. After a few swallows, she felt herself beginning to relax. A smile came to her lips as she thought of the things she'd say to Ben when he came through the door. Maybe she would even tie him to the bed all night just to make sure he didn't wander off again. She could untie him once she worked out a strategy for taking care of Fodor Glava. Ben wouldn't appreciate it, but it would keep him out of trouble.
Half an hour later, the bottle fell to the wooden floor with a clunk, its remaining contents darkening the floorboards beneath it. Cora's snores filled the small room. Aided by the alcohol, her fatigue had finally overcome her worry and drawn her into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Through the frosted glass of the window, gleaming eyes watched her sleep before slipping away into shadow.
SIXTEEN
Fodor Glava stood in front of the Northern Hotel, a grin spread across his red lips. The traffic in the street was beginning to thin as the night grew later. Even still, he could feel heat flowing through the veins of the miners wandering the streets and alleys. Their blood called out to him, promising him satisfaction for his desire, but he held the thirst in check. Behind him, the hunter lay in her room, dead to the world. Were it not for the wards she had placed, she would already be his. That she was safe even in her vulnerability irked him, but he refused to let the thought ruin such a beautiful night.
In a corner of his mind, Glava could feel the body of Washington Jones stirring in the storage room of the Pioneer. Unlife spread through the gunman's cold arms and legs, and his dead fingers began flexing. Glava watched through the newborn vampire's eyes as it rose on unsteady feet. He could feel the ravenous hunger searing the belly of the vrykolakas, but he commanded the slave to wait for his return. The rebirth of Washington Jones as nosferatu would drain Glava's strength; he needed to feed before he could complete the birthing ritual.
The vampire returned his attention to the street, regarding the miners like a butcher sizing up a herd of cows. Any of them would do to satisfy his hunger, but the taste of miner's blood had grown stale in his throat. He longed for younger, sweeter blood.
A group of men stumbled out of a nearby saloon and began ambling off in a common direction. Glava detached himself from the hotel's shadow and followed them. His shoes