"I'm guessing we'll be seeing that boast in action all too soon. There aren't many women in this town, and the few that are here are finding themselves in good demand." That chilled her more than anything else he'd said. Everyone in this town—beyond her, Kinnard, and Weylin—was here through force. Those women had no choice. They were merely playing a role, and in many ways, what Weylin was doing to them was more despicable than the threat of killing the rangers. Kinnard stepped onto the wooden sidewalk and walked towards a small house. She followed, eyeing the old building somewhat dubiously. It was in much the same condition as the surrounding buildings, but it seemed to have a definite sag in the middle. The old wood was gray, much of it gaping and splintered, though at least the roof looked fairly solid. The door and one front window were also intact, and the cracked and peeling paint was a bright yellow that contrasted starkly against the gray. The concrete steps leading up to the door were broken and wobbled dangerously under her weight.
"Your boudoir," Kinnard said, opening the door with a rusty key and stepping to one side. She held out her hand. He gave her another smile and placed the key in her hand, his fingers clammy as they brushed hers.
She repressed a shudder and said, "I'll take it from here, thanks." He glanced at his watch. "Dinner is served nightly between six and seven over at The Hollis Hotel. Miss it, and you don't get nothing unless you buy something from the store." She'd brought money, so that was no problem. "So Weylin's intending to make a killing, literally and monetarily?"
"Why the hell shouldn't we?"
It was interesting that Kinnard said "we" rather than "he," because it suggested that he was somehow connected to Weylin, rather than being the mere gopher she'd taken him to be.
"Fine, then. Bye."
"Oh, this ain't good-bye, darlin'. I'll be seeing you around." The anticipatory look in his eyes sent another chill down her spine. She watched until he'd disappeared around the far corner before walking into her house. It was everything she'd expected it to be—filthy and uncomfortable.
Two walls were a red-brown timber, and the other two either mud or plaster, decorated with peeling strips of flowered wallpaper. They rustled softly in the breeze coming in through the broken side window, the noise sounding like the sighing of ghosts.
In one corner, there was a small metal stove, and beside that, a wooden rocker. A picture frame hung above the chair, but the picture was long gone, replaced instead by dusty spider webs. In the opposite corner was what once must have been a breakfast nook. The table was sturdy, but only two of the four chairs were useable. A new candle sat in the middle of the table, looking out of place amongst all the dust of the past.
She dropped her packs in the middle of the small front room and walked through the next door. It turned out to be the bedroom. There was one small window, but it was at least solid. The blind covering it was tattered and torn, sagging sadly down either side of the glass. The bed was metal framed, and, like the house, seemed to sag in the middle. The old mattress had definitely seen better days. She wouldn't be surprised if it had vermin living within it. Sitting beside the bed was an old blanket chest, and beside that, a sturdy redwood dresser. In the corner nearest the door, there was a small metal tub, and on a nearby hexagonal table, a small porcelain basin and jug. The bathroom, obviously. There was even a small chamber pot sitting under the table, meaning that toilets were an outside affair. She'd lived in places worse than this as a teenager, but her teenage years were long ago. Still, she could survive a few days.
She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly four. Time to start trying to find those rangers. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too hard. After all, there wasn't much of Hartwell left, so surely there couldn't be too many hiding spots.
But first, she had to find her man.
Chapter Five
Michael clattered down the old stairs and strode through the hotel's small main room and bar. As usual, it was full of people and smoke and noise. The miners were drinking hard after a day underground, and the scantily-clad saloon girls lustily plied their trade, alleviating the miners of their cash. Some of them didn't even bother going upstairs—much to the enjoyment of the surrounding men. He shook his head. He'd never been one to enjoy such exhibitionism, though he'd seen plenty of it over the centuries he'd been alive. Had even taken part in such acts during his early years as a vampire, yet never willingly. For him, the pleasure came from one on one, not voyeurism. Obviously, in this town, he was out of step yet again.
His gaze swept across the crowd. The blonde wasn't here yet. Maybe she'd been taken to one of the other hotels, or even down to the whorehouse at the end of Main Street. There'd been four extra women brought in over the last few days, and they'd been hustled into the bars and into work pretty quickly—mainly because there were far more men than women in this town. Even the whorehouse was finding it hard keeping up with demand.