Jeanne Stein - Cloud City

“Look at the pictures on the wall,” Sophie replies. “It’ll come to you.”

Leticia crosses the room. She pauses beneath each gilded frame as if memorizing the images.

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?” I ask.

Her voice is tight with emotion. “Well over a hundred years.”

“Do you remember much about your time in Leadville?”

“Leadville?” She half turns to look at me. “What’s that?”

I flash to my tutorial in the library this morning. “That’s right. When you lived here it was called Cloud City.”

“And they changed the name to Leadville? Why on earth did they do that?”

“It’s a long story,” Sophie says, stepping between us. “And we don’t have time for it now. If you and Anna want to discuss it later, I’m sure she’ll be happy to fill you in.”

Leticia nods in my direction. “Anna?”

“Anna Strong.”

She tilts her head to look at me, a subtle shift in the set of her shoulders. “ The Anna Strong?”

Again, Sophie takes a step toward Leticia. “You have to tell your great-grandson what happened between you and Jonathan Deveraux.”

This time the shift is more obvious, decidedly negative, and aimed at Sophie. “What do you know about Jonathan Deveraux?”

Prendergast finally finds his voice. “He was the vampire that turned you. He stole the family fortune and had you run out of town.”

Leticia looks at Prendergast with a mixture of incredulity and disdain. “Wherever did you hear that?”

“It’s been a family legend for over a century. How becoming a vampire cost you everything—a family that loved you, your money, even your son. You were banished, never to be heard from again. Deveraux was responsible.”

Leticia clucks her tongue. “Who told you that? The Prendergast side of the family? It’s bullshit. All of it.”

“Why don’t you tell him the truth, Leticia?” Sophie’s voice is soft, throaty as if she can hardly wait for Prendergast’s illusion to be shattered.

“I know the truth,” he snaps. “Deveraux took advantage of an innocent young girl. He corrupted her. Turned her into a demon. Our family has lived in the shadow of the scandal for as long as I can remember.”

Leticia throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my god,” she says when she’s caught her breath. “You are delusional.” She turns to Sophie. “Where did you find this clown?”

Prendergast bristles, tripping over his words in his fervor to object. “It’s true. My grandmother wrote it all in a journal. We should have been heir to a mining fortune. Your fortune. But it was stolen and the family name disgraced. I’m here to get our money back. And to set the record straight. You should be grateful.”

Leticia’s face darkens with anger. I recognize vampire close to the surface and my defenses are immediately on alert.

She flashes bared teeth. “ Your money? Would you like to know how I made your money?”

Prendergast nods, a nervous, jerky head bob that is more acquiescence to a command then willing assent.

Leticia moves to stand at the middle of the bar. “It was here. In this building. There was no family mining operation. My family disowned me. Took my son. I was run out of town, all right, but it was Boston, not Cloud City. All because I fell in love with a handsome man who promised me the world. He gave it to me, too.”

“Deveraux,” Prendergast says.

“Not Deveraux,” Leticia counters. “Another. And he brought me to Cloud City and we set up business. Want to know what kind of business, great-grandson? I ran a whorehouse. The best in the county. I sold whiskey and girls and business was good. I made more money than the miners who came stinking of dirt and sweat. They came to fuck pretty young things who smelled of lavender and rose blossoms and to drop their week’s wages into my willing hands. That’s how I made my fortune. My fortune. Deveraux had nothing to do with it.”

Prendergast isn’t ready to let go of a hundred-fifty years of family legend. “I don’t believe you. Why would everyone lie?”

Leticia laughs again, this time it’s cold, hard and completely without mirth. “Because they were ashamed of the way they treated me. Why do you think I turned to the only man in town who didn’t treat me like a soiled dove because I had a child and no husband?”

“But you were a widow,” he says.

“A grass widow,” she corrects. “Do you know what that means?”

He looks confused so she continues. “I was engaged to a man, a wealthy farmer on the outskirts of town. We intended to marry. He died before we could. But I was already pregnant. That just wasn’t done in those days. Neither his family nor mine accepted the child.”

“Your mother raised him,” Prendergast reminds her.

“After they kicked me out. And only because she hoped someday his father’s family would come around. Make him heir to his father’s land. They didn’t.”

“So you turned to a vampire ?” He spits the word.

Leticia moves faster than human eyes can follow. She grabs his shirt and pulls his face close to hers, close to her vampire face. “A vampire worth a hundred of you, worm.”

Flashing teeth and yellow eyes burn with the desire to end this discussion once and for all, to end the life of this long-lost relative, to sever the ties that bound her to a human family who caused her so much pain a lifetime ago and still lies about her.

I read her intentions. She’s opened her mind to me. She’s issuing an invitation.

Inviting me to join in the kill.

Don’t, Leticia. He’s not worth it.

She pulls a whimpering Prendergast closer, nuzzling his neck. What difference does that make? He’s a meat puppet. A stupid one at that.

It’s Sophie who breaks the tension. “Don’t kill him yet, Leticia,” she says. “Tell him about Jonathan Deveraux.”

Leticia releases her grip on Prendergast and sends him crashing against the bar. He slithers down and lands on his ass with an undignified jolt. He’s so relieved to be free, he doesn’t protest.

Leticia turns her wrath on Sophie. “Listen, witch, Jonathan Deveraux is none of your business. You’ve had your fun. Impressed your friends with your little parlor trick. Now send me home or it will be the last spell you ever cast.”

“You’re wrong,” Sophie says calmly. “He is my business. In fact, would you like to speak with him?”

Leticia stares at her. “That’s not possible. He was killed. A year ago. Murdered by his wife. If I hadn’t heard that she disappeared soon after, I would have gone after her myself.”

“All true,” Sophie says. “By the way, you haven’t asked my name.”

“Why would I care what your name is?”

“You should care. I’m the one who helped Jonathan get rid of his wife—his widow. You might say Jonathan and I have been together ever since.”

Leticia shakes her head. “If he was alive, I’d know it. We had a special bond.”

“Because you were his sire?”

Prendergast groans from his place on the floor. “No.”

Leticia ignores him, eyes locked on Sophie. “You wouldn’t know that unless Jonathan told you. Where is he?”

Sophie touches the middle of her chest with a closed fist. “He’s here.”

The room is suddenly colder as Leticia moves to stand in front of Sophie. “Explain yourself, witch.”

Sophie is not intimidated. “The name is Sophie,” she says, looking directly into Leticia’s eyes. “Sophie Deveraux.”

Leticia frowns. “You and Jonathan were married?”

“Not exactly.” Sophie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. “Come on out, Jonathan,” she says. “We have company.”