When Glava saw awareness in his disciple, he pulled his arm away. "Welcome to your new life, my child."
"Where am I?"
"Where you died," the vampire replied. "Where you have now been reborn as a true master of the night."
Wash ran a hand along his neck, feeling the small wounds there, and the memories of the afternoon returned. "You killed me, didn't you?"
"And gave you new life." Glava held out his injured arm, and Wash watched in amazement as the gash closed in on itself, vanishing within a matter of moments. "This power is now yours, along with many others. You are a new man, Washington Jones, one that need not fear the trappings of mortality."
A thrill ran through Wash's body as his mind worked to understand it. "So you're saying I can't be killed no more? Not by anything?"
The vampire's hand snatched the bowie knife from Wash's belt with the speed of a striking snake, yet Wash found he could follow it along every inch of its journey, as if Glava were casually reaching for a match. The elder vampire twirled the blade in his hands for a moment. Then, with Wash's blue eyes still watching the blade, Glava plunged the knife into his disciple's chest.
Wash felt the impact and looked down. The knife handle protruded from his ribs. He could feel the blade in his body, but the sensation was nothing more than a slight irritation. After a few moments, he reached up and pulled the blade free. It came out clean, and a small trickle of blood oozed from the wound. The skin soon closed in on itself, leaving behind no trace of the wound.
Wash looked up at Glava in amazement. "Did that just happen?"
"You are not blind," Glava said, "though you are still an idiot." His golden eyes flashed in the dim light for a moment before he turned toward the door. "Come. It is time for your first feeding."
SEVENTEEN
Cora pulled her hat down over her brow. The afternoon sun gleamed on the golden cross crowning the church's steeple, hurting her eyes. Despite sleeping through the night and most of the morning's train ride into Denver, she'd kept her head down through the streets, trying to hide from both her hangover and her growing dread.
Her boots clapped against the stone steps, bringing her up to the wooden doors. Closing her eyes, she gave a deep sigh, trying to exhale her panic and despair with the white cloud of breath that poured from her lips. It didn't work. Her hand paused on the door handle for a moment before she opened it and escaped into the darkness of the vestibule.
The thick carpet muffled her footsteps as she approached the altar and knelt before the crucifix. Closing her eyes, she savored the silence of this place of worship, willing it into her turbulent soul. After a few minutes, the throbbing in her head subsided, leaving her alone with her panic.
"Cora? Is that you?"
She turned her head and saw Father Baez approaching. "Yeah, it's me, Father. Forgive me, but I think I forgot to cross myself when I entered today."
A smile spread beneath his white beard. "I do believe the good Lord can find it in His heart, my dear. Now tell me, what brings you to my door?"
"Well," Cora said, "I got me a bit of a problem, and I heard tell you can give me some answers."
"I'll do what I can," Father Baez said, offering her a hand. "Come, sit and we'll talk."
He led her over to a pew. Cora sat down, wringing her hands despite herself. She looked at them for a few minutes, trying to find enough courage to speak. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into the priest's kind eyes. She needed the answers he could provide, no matter what they might be.
"Well, Father," she began, "I had me a run-in with a vampire yesterday, and he said something funny. About Ben." The priest's face grew grave, and Cora noticed. "So you do know something, then?"
Father Baez looked at the crucifix without answering. After a few moments, he nodded and turned back to her. "If I can help you in any way, I will."
Cora nodded. Trying to keep her voice steady, she told the priest about her two encounters with Fodor Glava. She recounted as best she could his exact words about Ben and Father Baez himself. When she finished, the priest leaned back in the pew, stroking