by Jeanne Stein
The airport is a short car ride from Leadville. It’s mid-day and the main drag is quiet, only a few cars parked here and there. The town is ringed with snow-capped peaks even though it’s summer. The driver takes me to the hotel and when he disgorges me and my bags, refuses the tip I offer.
“Complements of the Leadville airport,” he says.
I watch him drive away open-mouthed. Who ever refuses a tip?
Definitely not in Kansas anymore.
The hotel itself is a sprawling brick building occupying an entire city block. I’m always leery of old hotels. I’ve had a few experiences with spirits who are bound to their earthly abodes and it hasn’t been pleasant. When I walk into the Delaware, though, I feel none of the goose-fleshy, hair-raising warnings that the presence of such spirits usually awakens in my vampire nature. The vampire remains quiet and undisturbed.
So far, so good.
Sophie made reservations in both our names so I am able to check into my room. It’s a very nice room, done in tasteful antiques, clean, with modern bathroom fixtures. The view from the window stretches up and down the street. The sidewalks are nearly empty.
Who would choose to live in such an isolated place?
Since Sophie hasn’t checked in yet, I take a walk to scope out the town. The entire city was built well before 1900; plaques commemorate one historic building after another. The colors are vibrant under the summer sky—red, green, lavender, blue. Victorians beautifully restored and lovingly cared for. Even I find myself impressed.
But I didn’t come for the architecture.
I circle back to the hotel and ask if Sophie has arrived. She hasn’t. I take a seat in the lobby, doing some mental finger tapping, impatient. Where are they? I’m deciding which saloon I past during my walk to go to for a drink when a man walks in and asks the same question of the receptionist that I had moments before.
“Has Sophie Deveraux checked in yet?”
The guy is in his thirties, slicked back dark hair, face with features that can only be described as sharp. Angular cheekbones, square jaw, high forehead. He’s dressed in a business suit that pegs him immediately as a tourist and from the cut and style of the suit, a big city tourist. Gucci wingtips on his feet and an expensive leather suitcase complete the picture.
Definitely big city.
Steven Prendergast?
He completes his registration, scribbles a note on a piece of hotel stationery and hands it to the clerk. “Please see that Ms. Deveraux gets this will you?”
Steven Prendergast.
The clerk takes it. “Sure thing. Here’s your key. Room 302, top of the stairs.”
302, huh? Right next door. I let him go ahead and wait a discreet amount of time before heading to my own room, 300. Maybe I can pick up a tidbit or two by eavesdropping on Prendergast. If he makes a telephone call, for instance, my vampiric powers will allow me to hear. Old hotels do have one distinct advantage—thin walls.
He does make one call, but to his office. A checking in call to let someone named Nancy know that he arrived at the hotel and where he can be reached in an emergency. Nothing to indicate that he’s up to anything other than a business trip. He mentions Sophie’s name and that he expects their business to be wrapped up in less than two days.
Brief. Nothing ominous.
Disappointing.
My cell phone chimes. I move away from the wall just in case Prendergast’s hearing is better than average, too. It’s Sophie.
“We’re in the lobby,” she says, sounding breathless. “Prendergast left me a message. I’m to call him when we get in. Arrange dinner plans. What should I do?”
“Prendergast knows nothing about me, right?”
“Don’t know how he could. The trip to see you in San Diego was last minute and we were gone less than one day. Why?”
“Make those plans. Let me know where you’re going. Stay in your room until it’s time to meet him. I’ll tail you.”
She agrees, starts to ring off.
“Wait a minute. I’m in room 300, he’s in 302. Ask for a room on the second floor.”
Sophie says she will and we end the call.
Now I have nothing to do but wait for Sophie to make those dinner plans. I plop myself on the bed and let my mind wander. A hundred years from now, will I be recalling the year I became vampire with more regret than satisfaction over the choices I’ve made? If I could start over, what would I have done differently?
The questions prickle like an irritating bug bite. I’ve had little choice in anything I’ve done in the last year. The one decision I may have made in haste was killing a helpless Belinda Burke. She was evil and I told myself I was protecting both Sophie and myself, but could I have handled it differently? Is Sophie’s attitude now a result of what I did? My desire for revenge was strong and I disregarded Sophie’s plea to spare her sister’s life.
The practical side of my brain chimes in. I did what had to be done to protect my family. No use second-guessing myself now. It’s done and I can’t undo it even if I wanted to. The problem now is helping Sophie recover her equilibrium. Concentrate on the problem at hand.
When Sophie calls with the dinner arrangements, I’m more than ready to concentrate on something other than my shortcomings. They’re meeting Prendergast in the Calloway, the hotel bar, at six, then going to The Matchless Steak House for dinner at seven. I remember passing the Matchless on my walk this afternoon. It’s a short distance from the hotel. I tell Sophie I’ll get there before they do and look the place over. From the outside, it didn’t look like a very big place and odds are there’ll be a bar where I can inconspicuously eavesdrop on the conversation. In the meantime, I remind her to stay in her room. I’m keeping an eye (or ear) out for Prendergast.
He doesn’t leave his room either. I hear the tap of fingers on a keyboard and guess he’s working. He makes no calls and about five thirty, comes the sound of running water from the shower. I duck out of my room a few minutes after I hear Prendergast leave and head for the bar.
The Calloway is what you’d expect in a bar in a vintage hotel. Dark, lots of wood, lots of brass. I pass through and see Sophie and Prendergast, their heads together, talking quietly. Neither looks up as I pass by. I pick a bar stool close to the door and nurse a beer. Sophie’s demeanor is calm, relaxed, unthreatened. Prendergast has changed into jeans and an open-neck shirt under a leather jacket. Much more appropriate attire for Leadville. His expression is serious but I’m not getting any warning vibes to alert me that Sophie is in immediate danger. Obviously, she isn’t either. There’s too much ambient noise for me to zero in on their conversation. At one point, Sophie looks up and spies me at the bar. Her eyes flick away and back and Jonathan’s voice is in my head.
Interesting development. Go on to the restaurant. We’ll meet you there.
There’s a halting quality to his words that makes me uneasy. What’s going on?
No reply. The conduit between us is shut.
So at six forty-five, I leave for The Matchless. Like everything else along the main drag, The Matchless is a throwback to the days when Leadville was a booming mining town. Brick front, dark, shuttered windows. When I push through the door, I’m greeted with the smell of grilling beef and a hundred years of cigar and cigarette smoke. Mementos, mining paraphernalia, and gilded photos of a couple named Tabor line the walls and the back of the bar. A glance at one of them and the origin of the bar’s name becomes clear. Evidently this couple had a mine in Leadville named The Matchless.
The bar stretches along one wall. The rest of the place is filled with a dozen tables and booths. All are occupied. I hope Prendergast made reservations.
I take a seat at the bar, one of only two left. The place buzzes with conversation and laughter. From what I pick up, this is a popular place with the locals.
The bartender is a grizzled, grey-haired guy of indeterminate age. He’s wearing overalls and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He wanders down to my e
nd of the bar and slaps a coaster in front of me. No smile, but he’s not glowering at me either.
“What’ll it be?”
I peruse the draft handles, surprised at the number of German brews available. I would have pegged this for a Millers or Budweiser kind of place. “Paulaner Oktoberfest.”
He does a quick about face and expertly fills a glass.
“Nice pour.”
His mouth twitches. A hint of blossoming good will? He moves away from me, to the middle of the bar, before I can be sure.
I’ve taken two appreciative swallows of my beer when the door swings open.
Sophie and Prendergast enter, pausing just inside the vestibule. Sophie looks around and then does the last thing I expect. She walks right up to me.
“Anna,” she says. “Please join us. I’ve told Steven all about you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I’m sure I must have a deer in headlight expression on my face. Sophie pretends not to notice. When I try to reach Jonathan to find out what the hell is going on, I get nothing.
The bartender joins us. “You folks have a reservation?”
Prendergast nods. “Prendergast. I called this afternoon. For two.” A vague look in my direction. “Seems we now have three.”
“No problem. Right this way.”
I look around. I didn’t see any empty tables when I came in, but he leads us to a booth partly hidden behind a screen in the back. It’s a big, dark mahogany booth upholstered in burgundy leather and shaped like a horseshoe. I let Sophie slip into the middle and Prendergast and I take the ends, facing each other. He has yet to meet my gaze.
Prendergast looks to the bartender. “Menus?”
“Only serve one thing here. Steak. Any cut, cooked any way you like it except well-done. Cook refuses to burn a good steak. Comes with baked potato, salad, bread. What’s your pleasure, folks?”
Sophie orders a filet, medium rare. Jonathan must be delighted. One of the things he likes most about his strange predicament is that he no longer needs blood. He is able to enjoy food again through Sophie.
Who used to be a vegetarian.
I raise an eyebrow at her and she shrugs.
Prendergast orders the same and asks about wine. The bartender recites a list and he chooses a merlot.
Then the bartender looks at me. I raise my glass. “No dinner, thanks. Just beer.”
The brief moment of cordiality we shared at the bar is over. “You sure? Best steaks in Colorado.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure. I had a late lunch.”
He ambles off, clucking his tongue and mumbling something about damned vegetarians.
If he only knew.
Sophie looks at Prendergast, I look at Sophie. I send Jonathan a message asking just what did Sophie mean when she said she told the editor all about me? But he’s not responding. I don’t get even a glimmer of recognition. It’s as if Jonathan has been pushed deep into Sophie’s subconscious and she’s not letting him resurface.
A new trick she’s learned?
Sophie finally swivels in my direction. The steel hardness in her eyes makes a shiver of trepidation run up my spine. “Steven knows all about you, Anna,” she says.
I lean forward, frowning. “What does he know about me?”
Prendergast’s tone is as cold as Sophie’s eyes. “I know you’re a vampire,” he says. “And I know Sophie’s story is really your own.”
Once again, I’m knocked off balance. I lock onto Sophie’s face with a steely gaze of my own. “What are you doing?”
She raises her shoulders. “Getting my life back.”
The bartender arrives with the wine and our conversation comes to a halt. I try to reach Jonathan. Once again I’m met with an impenetrable curtain of silence. Sophie has a half-smile on her face, as if she knows exactly what I’m doing.
I don’t know what game she’s playing, but the vampire is quickly tiring of it.
When the bartender leaves us, I grab Sophie’s arm. “Where’s Jonathan?”
“Who?” she asks.
My grip tightens and she flinches away. Prendergast reaches for my hand but he quickly finds he can’t dislodge my fingers. Vampire shows her face and he shrinks against the seat. Still holding Sophie’s arm, I growl at him.
“What did Sophie tell you?”
Prendergast looks at Sophie with wide eyes. “She told me she got the story from you. She knows all about your connection to my family. That you were the vampire that turned my great-grandmother. She admitted the book was all your idea and it was just a crazy coincidence that it landed on my desk.”
“And you believe her?”
“Why shouldn’t I? She’s not a vampire. She couldn’t have known so much about my great-grandmother without hearing it from someone who was there.”
“What made you so sure Sophie wasn’t a vampire?”
He gives me a look that’s half astonishment I’d ask such a simple-minded question and half amusement. “We ate lunch together.” He waves a hand in my direction. “She ordered more than beer.”
I close my eyes for a minute to swallow down the irritation rising like bile because this jerk had to point out something that should have been so obvious to me. Then, “So you followed her to Denver and tried to kill her. What was the point of that?”
“That was rash, I admit.” Prendergast sinks down in his chair. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I thought if I scared her badly enough, she’d do what she just did. Tell me about you. I’ve been searching for proof that vampires were real since I was old enough to read the family journals. This book was the proof I needed.”
“Proof of what?”
“That the family legend was true. That a vampire ruined my family’s life. Stole our fortune. When I saw how Sophie lived, when I researched her background, it all fell into place. She inherited her fortune from an ‘uncle’ who lived a mysterious life and died even more mysteriously by burning to death. One of the ways a vampire can be killed. When she told me it was your story, I figured you were somehow connected to her uncle. I don’t know how but the fact remains the same. One way or the other, you owe me.”
“And what do you think now?”
“When I got Sophie’s message that she was coming here, that she wanted to make things right, I knew she was ready to tell me the truth. Ready to make things right.”
“The truth?” I shoot Sophie a look. She averts her eyes but says nothing. I turn again to Prendergast. “And what do you intend to do with this truth? Besides extort money that doesn’t belong to you? Do you intend to make me your next target?” I lean forward, smile at him the way a cougar smiles at a rabbit. “I may not be so easy to kill.”
It’s clear from the slouch of Prendergast’s shoulders that he hadn’t thought it through completely. Taking pot shots at a young woman from a safe distance is one thing, facing a vampire is something else.
Sophie has been sitting quietly, not fighting against my restraining hand. I can’t fathom why she spun the tale, but I plan to find out. I stand up, dragging Sophie with me.
“She’ll have to take a rain check on dinner.”
Prendergast opens his mouth to object, but one look into my face—into vampire’s face—and he cowers away.
Sophie and I are almost at the door when we pass the bartender on his way to our table, plates in hand. He looks at Sophie in confusion but when he looks at me, confusion is replaced by something else. He backs out of the way and lets us pass without a word.
CHAPTER FIVE
We’re in the hotel, in Sophie’s room. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m pacing, trying to quell the rising storm of anger brewing in my gut. Finally, I stop in front of her. It takes a great deal of effort to force myself to speak calmly and still, my voice sounds strained.
“Where’s Jonathan?”
Sophie touches a hand to the center of her chest. “Here.”
“Why isn’t he communicating with me?”
“He’s asleep
.”
“Asleep?”
She looks up at me then, a smile as brittle and transient as frost touching the corners of her mouth. “I learned how to make him go away. Not permanently yet. But maybe soon.”
There’s such emptiness in her eyes, so much hopelessness in the slump of her shoulders that my own senses ache with her desperation. But that empathy passes quickly.
“Sophie, what have you done?”
“Nothing.” She twists a strand of hair around her fingers. “I’ve been studying. Learning.”
I sink down on the bed beside her. “About what?”
“Possession. Exorcisms.”
Once more, a chill touches the nape of my neck. “Exorcisms? Jonathan isn’t a demon.”
“He’s a vampire.”
Her tone implies, “same thing.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a woman who took three damaged vampires into her home to help them only a few months ago. A terrible thought strikes me. “How are the young women you took with you to Denver? Are they doing well?”
“I don’t know. Justin Turnbull took them. He thought it best they be with they’re own kind.”
Relief washes over me. Turnbull is a very old, very powerful vampire who lives in Denver, too. I’m glad they’re with him. Something is going on with Sophie and obviously Turnbull saw it. I wish he’d warned me.
“Why did you tell Prendergast Jonathan’s story was mine?”
She fires her answer at me like a bullet. “You can take care of yourself.”
“But you knew it was a lie. He’ll know it, too, when he starts asking questions I can’t answer.”
“Jonathan will help. He’ll be with us soon.”
Her tone implies she is sick at the thought. The lines of her face droop with weariness. I’m suddenly afraid to leave her alone. When Jonathan comes back, he’ll be angry. I need to talk to him before she banishes him again.