“Mr. Jones, lead these people in prayer.” Mr. Tab continued to watch the people.
“It’s Pastor Jones.” Jones clinched the Bible in his left hand.
“Mr. Jones, your self-imposed title means nothing to me. You are no more qualified to lead these people than that boy.” The angel pointed at Matthew sitting with his father, Bruce, next to a window. “But since they see you as a messenger of God, you should fulfill their expectations.”
Jones placed his hand over his chest. “I’ve never said I was a messenger of God.”
“Yet you stand in that church building every Sunday counting on them to take to heart your view of the Word and submit to your religious authority.”
Jones shook the Bible at Mr. Tab. “You are out of line.”
“Lead them in prayer, Mr. Jones.”
“But this is a saloon.”
“You need not an artistic representation of a cross and a crafted pulpit for a building to be a church. All you need are the people.”
Jones held up his hands and swiveled his head back and forth from Worthington and Tab. “What is it with you two? Is it pick-on-the-pastor week?”
Mr. Tab winked at Worthington. “Defensive to the end. Humans hate to be pruned.”
Everyone in the saloon stared as Jones pounded each footstep down the stairs. He paused at the bottom as he realized he had an audience. He shot a scowl at Mr. Tab then darted outside.
“He’s in a particular mood, wouldn’t you say,” Worthington said.
“What’s wrong with him?” Miss Katy Lee asked.
“He’s had a crash course in religion,” Worthington said. “I hope he can recover.”
She furrowed her brow. “Aren’t all pastors religious?”
“Only the bad ones.” The professor grinned.
“The curse of religion plagues man,” Mr. Tab said. “That is a struggle for another day. We have much to do before sunset.”
* * *
András Kovách called for his nephews and anyone else who would join them in the Jollytime Mine. Within an hour, fifty men waited in front of the Colorado Mine and Exploration Company office for instructions. Most had circles under their eyes from the lack of sleep the night before. All of them carried pistols, rifles, shotguns, axes and picks.
András counted the men. They were there to destroy the creatures that had killed family and friends. Revenge to some. To others the messy chore opened the way to get back to work—to a job that paid better than anything else they had the skills to do. They still believed Superintendent Stone and the company were going to pay them the wages he promised the other night at the Maroon. Money that could help start a new life. Money that would feed what remained of their families. András didn’t care why they stayed, only that they were here now to kill the night stalkers.
Victor finished his count. “We’ll need more men.”
“He’s right.” András crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll have to go in small groups, stopping at each tunnel. Go in after them like hunting a badger.”
“Badgers are mean,” János Kovách said.
Frederick Worthington joined the conversation. “These are deadly.”
“Professor.” János reached over and hugged the man who saved him.
“You need your rest,” Worthington said with a smile.
“Nem. There is work to do.”
“Yes. There is.” The professor turned to András. “I hear you are organizing an attack on the mine.”
“Will you join us?” András asked. He didn’t know if the older man could fight. But a man with a gun could kill, maybe even be bait while the other men killed. He liked the professor, but had no reservations about letting him die to end this curse.
The professor nodded. “But we must have greater numbers for a victory.”
András chuckled. “You are a smart man, Professor.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re still working on it.” András said. “What are your ideas?” The professor’s intelligence might be more useful than his brawn.
The professor searched the crowd for Mayor Burdett. He made eye contact and waved him over. The mayor got within speaking distance.
“Did you find the men you spoke of?” the professor asked.
“I did,” Burdett said. “They’ll wait outside the mine, but won’t go in it. They’re gathering up the stuff.”
András frowned at the thought of scared men trying to help on the outside, while they hunted in the dark. “What will that do for us?”
The professor set himself before speaking. “Are you willing to go in the mine with only one way out?”
András didn’t flinch at the odd question. The city man did not know much about being underground, but he saved his nephew. “Explain this to me.”
“I was told there are three access tunnels into the Jollytime, not including the airshafts. You shall divide the men into three groups, one for each entrance. We’ll blow the main entry when you have moved safely inside. We’ll do the same for the west entry. Then the Mayor’s group will guard the only way out, the east tunnel.”
“You’ll have us trapped in there with the vampírs,” János Kovách said. “I don’t like that.”
András held up three fingers. “Make sure there are only three openings. What about any old entry shafts? Something we might miss.”
“Just the three,” Burdett said. “I’ve been here since they broke ground. We’ll guard the bigger airshafts too. When you come out, we’ll blow the east tunnel and the airshafts.”
András rubbed his scruffy beard and pondered the idea of clearing the mine one tunnel at a time with nowhere to run until they reached the east tunnel. The men would herd the vampírs deep into the earth, killing each one. Each demon.
Burdett raised his eyebrows at him. “You said you wanted to be sure.”
Each demon. Each possessed man. Each man. András asked, “Professor, can they be saved? Like János? Like the boy?”
“I can’t be sure. There are so many.”
“What if we brought them out one at a time?”
“The difficulty of such a task would put too many at risk. And even if we were successful, daylight would surely give way to night before we could do much good.”
János Kovách spit on the ground. “The demons will come hunting when the sun sets. We will not be able to stop them again.”
“Do you speak out of fear?” his uncle asked.
“Nem. I know.”
“Duane spoke those same words to me,” the professor said. “I think they have shared thoughts with the demons.”
“Then we must go in immediately.” András called to the men. “It is time.”
“I’ll get my men to set the dynamite.” Burdett left the group and waved at a dozen men standing next to a wagon loaded with dynamite and a large wooden box.
“Mayor,” Worthington hollered at him. “What’s in the crate?”
Burdett’s cheeks bunched up, whiskers opened wide, teeth shining. “A little Southern love from back home.”
* * *
Frederick Worthington’s opinion of András Kovách grew as he led the survivors with a dignity that demanded respect. The Hungarians would be the first inside the dark tunnel. He didn’t know if they would return.
Kovách gathered his men to tell them of the plan for working the mine and dynamiting the entrances. Six men immediately changed their minds. This was disappointing, but expected. The others were in unconditionally. Kovách ordered them to raid the destroyed mercantile building for guns and ammunition, then head to the Jollytime.
A flash of light and dark, like a moving shadow, caught the professor’s attention. He scanned the other side of the street. Most of the buildings were either burned to the ground or dynamited. One of the men might still be searching the mercantile’s wreckage.
Worthington caught the flash again—in a small building behind the row of black ash—if he remembered correctly, an attorney’s offi
ce. He walked around the smoldering block and up the next street, which was empty. The whitewash on the wood-sided building had faded. But the front had a fairly new coat of red paint. The sign out front read William H. Roberts, Esquire, Attorney at Law.
The front door opened. Worthington stopped a block away. Milly and Victor exited the building. The professor raised his hand to wave. They had no reaction to him, as if they didn’t notice him, and quickly moved up the street.
Worthington reached the steps of the building. Hesitation gave way to inquisitiveness and he knocked on the door. He could hear someone inside. He knocked again.
“Are you well?” he said. “It is safe to come out. Do you need assistance?”
He knocked harder. “Mr. Roberts? Are you in there?”
The door unlocked with a click and drifted open.
“Come in, Pastor.”
Worthington jumped back.
Nausea rushed through his gut. A force dragged him down to the boardwalk. He rolled to his stomach and struggled to get up. The force grew stronger, holding him to the pine planks. Worthington strained. He cried for help. His body slid across the flooring through the doorway, which immediately slammed shut.
* * *
Invisible claws held Worthington’s body high against the wall near the ceiling. The demonic presence overwhelmed his senses. His spirit groaned. Worthington was in the grip of the enemy. He would be dead soon. The idea of Heaven was much sweeter than battling demons.
“You’re an intelligent man, Pastor. Why didn’t you run from this town?” The sincere voice of Superintendent Daniel Stone came from the other room.
Worthington strained his neck, but still could not see him. “You are subtle, aren’t you?”
Stone laughed. “Yes. You are intelligent.” His tone sharpened. “But that obviously will not save you.”
“Good and evil, we should know neither. Yet, you prime us with good and tear us down with evil. Then drown us in our own guilt.”
“If only everyone understood those words—”
“You would have no power.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.” Stone strolled into the room. He stared up at the professor. “Even now, with all your influence over this town, the men out in the street march on to physically confront my legion. Where is their faith, Pastor? They toil in vain.”
“Yet, you spy on them out of fear.”
“You mistake my curiosity for weakness,” Stone snapped back.
“Do I? It’s the same story with your kind. Deception. Lies.”
Stone reached up, grabbed Worthington by the hair and jerked his head back. He leaned into his ear. His breath smelled of cigar smoke and sulfur. “Humans have no true concept of the real warfare unseen by their mortal eyes. We will wreak havoc in their lives until there is no faith left in the world. Apathy or fear shall be the only motives for all human choices.” He released the professor’s head.
The professor grunted as his head dropped. “They struggle to comprehend the spiritual aspect of this situation. But they know the evil is real. That it must end.”
Stone raised his hand and gestured a half circle in the air. Worthington’s body spun upside down against the wall, knocking off two painted portraits. The invisible claws resembled demonic shadow figures, and they gripped tighter. Worthington cringed. He could see Stone’s face. His black eyes reflected no light. His skin—thin, pale, and blotchy—appeared as if he aged thirty years overnight.
“Those men don’t have the fighting skills, let alone fire power to harm us.” Stone raised his voice. “You don’t have enough strength to beat me.”
A shadow clutched the professor’s throat, causing his voice to be rough. “You and your kind were defeated nearly two millennia ago. They enter the mines to destroy you.”
Stone clinched his fist. The force holding Worthington moved to his chest, hampering his breathing. The superintendent removed a short knife from his pocket. He took hold of the professor’s right hand and tore off the sleeves of his shirt and jacket. He jabbed the blade into Worthington’s palm. The professor screamed as his hand strained from the pain.
Stone impaled the blade through Worthington’s wrist. He squealed in agony. Stone smiled and heaved on the knife again, slicing deeper into the muscle. Worthington gasped as Stone slid the blade between his radius and ulna. He could see the knife tip poking at the skin on the other side of his arm as it moved toward his elbow. He whimpered.
Stone let go of his hand, letting his arm drop, dangling and dripping. “You’ll bleed out in minutes.”
“I don’t fear death,” Worthington said between clenched teeth.
“You could have something else.” With his index finger, Stone touched the professor’s elbow. He slowly moved it along his forearm to his hand, closing the wound like a zipper.
The pain vanished as the skin, muscles, and tendons instantly healed.
Stone stepped back. “The power is indifferent—neither good nor evil. You have searched all over the world for this among my kind—but not in the church. It is a gift, lost to most believers.”
Stone allowed Worthington’s body to slide down the wall and gently land on the floor.
Worthington studied his arm. Touched his skin. Moved his fingers.
“I can give this power to you. Use it for good. Empty hospitals and morgues. Restore people’s faith in your God.”
The possessed leader and shadow figures hovered over him. “You offer such a stunning present,” Worthington said.
“People will flock to your door. Halls will be filled to welcome your ability. The lame, mutilated, and deathly ill will walk, no, run after being in your presence.”
Worthington’s eyes returned to his healed arm. “Most men would give all they had for a portion of that power.”
“Crying mothers will mourn no longer for their children, raised by your hand.”
“What do you ask for in exchange?”
“The request is simple—only for you to travel away from here, with your friend, Jonathan Blair. Or kill him. Leave and do not return. The mining camp will only last a couple of years, if that. Several around here are already abandoned.”
“You want me to trade the lives of those in Gothic for this power?” Worthington asked. “Leave them to die?”
“All humans die, Professor. Grieve for the few lost souls here. But think of the thousands you can save. Ruined lives restored by your touch.”
Stone knelt down on one knee in front of Worthington. The superintendent rested his arms on his thigh and leaned in. “How many family members have you lost to disease? Your parents. Your brother, only a few years ago. And that sweet little sister of yours so long ago. How old was she, six? Such a travesty.”
Regret flashed through the professor’s heart. “They could have all been saved?”
Stone nodded. “You can end pain and misery.”
“I desire this power.”
The superintendent stood up and held out an open hand. “Come, kneel before me.”
Worthington crawled over. “What you offer is a most tempting gift.”
Stone smirked. “Kind of like grace.”
“More like an invitation to a life of pride and arrogance.”
Stone’s smile disappeared. “You refuse me?”
“With all that I am.”
Stone roared in frustration. The shadows sprang into motion, circling the room.
Worthington struck with his dagger, lodging it in above Stone’s hip.
The superintendent swung around and knocked the professor to the floor. The demons slammed him against the wall, holding him motionless. Stone removed the bloody blade from his back and tossed it at Worthington’s feet.
“Blair’s going to kill you, isn’t he?”
“Fine. Be the martyr.” Stone tossed his arm in the motion of skipping a heavy rock. The professor’s body slammed through the structure’s thin timber wall. He sailed across the next room and out the window with another burst of
glass and wood. His limp body landed in the burnt remains of the Buck Snort.
* * *
Duane Collins knocked lightly on the open door to Jonathan Blair’s room. Miss Katy Lee waved him in. The boy wore a clean bandage around his neck and shoulder. He strained to be quiet as he shuffled to the foot of the bed where Blair slept.
“Is he going to be okay?” Duane asked Miss Katy Lee.
“Yes.” She put her arm around him for a close hug. “His wounds are almost completely healed. It’s some kind of miracle.”
Duane sighed with relief.
“Why is your shoulder wrapped up?” she asked.
He checked the door for anyone who might be listening in the hall. “Mom didn’t want people to know I got bit and think I’d turn into a vampire. She wrapped my shoulder so people would think I hurt it instead of my neck.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“But it’s hard to move.” He lifted his arm as far as he could, but couldn’t get it over his head.
She giggled at the boy’s awkward motion. Blair stirred.
Miss Katy Lee held her finger to her lips. “Shh.”
“That Duane?” Blair’s words were slurred with sleep.
“Yes, sir.”
“You made it.”
“We all did.”
“We need to get you and your mom out of town.” Blair pushed himself up and leaned back against his pillow.
“We’ve already been to the house and got our good stuff.”
“Have you checked on the horse? Did the stable survive the fire?
“Skedaddle’s fine. I fed him this morning. I never got a chance to tell you he saved my life.”
“What did he do?”
“He sniffed out some vampires.”
Blair laughed through his nose. “That’s my horse.” He inhaled, expanding his chest then let his breath out slowly. “Ahh.”
“Are you all right?” Miss Katy Lee asked.
“My ribs don’t hurt anymore.”
“Miss Katy Lee. Miss Katy Lee.” One of her guards ran up the stairs.
She met him at the door to her room. Something was wrong.
“It’s the professor. He’s hurt. They’re bringing him over right now.”
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