Diaries Of The Family Dracul - Lord Of The Vampires Part 17

"Gentlemen," I continued, "what you have just seen could be the result of the three of you having simultaneously gone quite insane. Or there could be another explanation, one not acceptable according to our current understanding of science. I must swear you to silence concerning it; if you choose instead to speak of it, be aware that I will deny it and label you mad."

Again, not a word of reply.

"Miss Lucy has been bitten by a vampire-" I began. At this, Quincey grew excited and opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him with a look. "Not the bat, as friend Quincey suggests, but an actual man who has been transformed into a creature neither dead nor alive; the undead, which the Roumanians call nosferatu. In English, a vampire; one who sucks the blood of the living, who in turn become vampires after their death."

"What are you saying?" asked Arthur slowly; there was no anger, only pain, in his voice.

"That Lucy died from the bite of one of these?"

I nodded, hardening my heart at the sight of this terrible revelation's effect upon him.

Quincey tossed his hat aside and ran his hand over thinning hair. "Professor, I respect you,"

he said, clearly troubled. "Maybe even more so since your little demonstration here tonight." At that, we two gave a faint smile. "And even if I hadn't seen it, I would still believe you to be an honest man of the very best intentions. But... this isn't something that I-that Arthur-can readily accept. Because what you're saying is that Miss Lucy is-is..."

His voice trailed into silence.

"I do not expect you to believe me without seeing the proof. So I have asked you to come with me tonight to the Kingstead churchyard." Here I addressed Arthur, who was still dazed. "And if you believe it, Lord G.o.dalming, to permit me to destroy the creature so the true Miss Lucy an rest."

We arrived in Kingstead shortly before midnight, and made short work of the low stone fence (Quincey, with his long, thin legs, could simply step over). It was a chill, windy night, and though the moon was still radiant, jagged fast-moving clouds at times obscured the light. I had brought my medical bag with the few necessary items, and an unlit lantern. John and Quincey flanked Arthur, forming a barrier between their friend and the terrible experience to come. John was grim but resolved; Quincey remained silent, but kept casting solicitous glances at Arthur as if determined to stop the proceedings the moment his friend registered distress.

As for Arthur himself, he bore up admirably well. His expression showed the strain of returning to this place of grief, but only subtly; and it did not change the nearer we drew to the tomb.

Once there, I quickly unlocked the door, then turned to John and said: "You were with me yesterday; was Miss Lucy's body in her coffin?"

"It was," he affirmed solemnly. I pushed the heavy iron door open, to the tune of metal sc.r.a.ping against stone; seeing that the other three men lingered, hesitant, I walked in first, then lit the lantern. The light it cast was dim; I wanted to draw as little attention to our entry as possible.

Once I was inside, the others entered, and I directed them over to Miss Lucy's coffin. Once more I set down my bag and retrieved the turnscrew, and with it unscrewed the lid, then removed it. The lead casing I had drawn back over the corpse; when Arthur saw how it had been rent, he blanched, but still remained silent, waiting.

I pulled down the leaden f.l.a.n.g.e to reveal a dark, empty coffin. It was as I expected, for I had come before sundown that evening to remove the talismans. I knew Arthur's heart, and realised that to reveal her asleep and beautiful would do no good. Tonight would have been their wedding-night; thus I had to show her as the monster she had become, without any trace of beauty or romance.

"Tell them," I commanded John.

So John spoke-most eloquently-of our earlier visit to the tomb. Man of medicine that he is, he explained- averting his own gaze when he saw the flicker of pain and disgust in Arthur's-the decay process, and , what one could expect of a corpse in a week's time. Yet there had lain Lucy, unspoiled and perfect, more beautiful than ever she had been in life.

Quincey's eyes narrowed above his long waxed mustache; Arthur's strained expression never changed, though his pallour grew.

"And now outside," I said, and led them out into the sweet, cold air. My three companions remained silent- Arthur clearly deep in thought in an effort to decipher the mystery of the disappeared corpse, John anxious at what he knew he would soon see. And Quincey-he is as pragmatic and open-minded a man as I have ever met. He had given up trying to make sense of the empty casket, and so now waited patiently to see what would come next before arriving at any conclusions. With remarkable casualness, he took a roll of tobacco from his jacket, cut a plug, then began to chew.

In the meantime, I had taken two more items from my bag: the sacred Host (charged with as much power as I could inject into an object) and a ma.s.s of putty. The Host I crumbled into the putty, kneaded it, and rolled the mixture into strips. These I used to to seal off the crevices around the door.

Then I directed the others to hide near the tomb where they would not be seen by one approaching. So we remained, silent, for an eternity: fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes.

Abruptly, I spotted a swift-moving white figure advancing through the yew trees-a white figure that clutched something dark to its breast. I signalled the others, and pointed.

At that instant, the white figure stopped, and bent down over the dark object; there came a child's sharp cry, then silence.

John, Quincey, and Arthur all three started at the sound; John made to move forward to rescue the child (as did Quincey instinctively, though he could not have known the depth of the danger the child was in). But I motioned them back, and they obeyed reluctandy.

Soon the mysterious figure grew closer, closer, and in an errant shaft of moonlight, Lucy Westenra's features became clearly visible.

Her features, I say, but all else was different. There were Lucy's eyes grown hard and seductive and cold; and Lucy's lips, no longer tender and sweetly smiling, but sensuous and mocking, pulled back to reveal long, sharp teeth. And from those lips dripped blood-fresh and crimson, dribbling in a thin line down her chin and onto the virginal linen of her burial clothes.

I moved out at once from behind the tomb, with my three companions close behind me. At the sight of us, she hissed like a threatened feline; and then, upon recognising Arthur, threw the poor child to the ground with infernal indifference.

"Arthur," she said, her voice soft and languid as a purring cat's. "My sweet husband, come!"

I glanced sidewise to see Arthur advance towards her, his arms outstretched, his formerly grief-dazed eyes now dulled by trance. He saw her, yes, but not as she truly was.

I leapt between the two lovers, taking a small golden crucifix from my coat pocket and lifting it high in front of her face. This I did with some anxiety, for I had no way of knowing whether she would be impervious to the talisman or not. Certainly, she was young and inexperienced, and therefore far, far weaker a foe than Vlad himself; but she was the first sp.a.w.n of the new vampire, of Dracula the All-Powerful.

Through some inexplicable grace, the latter held true. She proved susceptible. At the sight of the cross, she snarled, then recoiled. I stepped sideways, forcing her into a narrow opportunity, which she took. With preternatural speed, she dashed towards the door of the tomb, intent on finding shelter there (indeed she was a neophyte, for any I experienced vampire would have simply disappeared, then fled to another hiding-place, far from threatening mortals).

I signalled my companions to surround me, and the four of us approached the tomb door in a half-circle, effectively capturing her between cross and Host. She hesitated, a trapped animal trying to size up her options: should she yield, fight, or flee?

Fury contorted her features. So she turned upon us, eyes narrowed but ablaze with h.e.l.l- fire, mouth pulled into a square rictus lined with sharp triangular teeth. It was the face of a she-demon from the Pit, and at the sight of it, Arthur let go a horrified gasp.

Without turning my face away from the monster, I ailed out: "Lord G.o.dalming! Friend Arthur! Do you give me permission now to proceed in my work?"

I did not need to see his expression to know it was tortured; the pain in his voice was enough. "Do as you will," he said with a groan. "Do as you will. There can be no horroi such as this ever again!"

I set my lantern down, and moved towards the hissing vampiress; my intent was to dig away from the c.h.i.n.ks some of the sacred mixture, so that Lucy might enter, then be resealed. But before I could accomplish this, there came a sudden burst of wind-so strong that it knocked me away from Miss Lucy onto my back in the cold, damp gra.s.s.

The whirlwind grew so forceful that it pinned me to the ground, so loud that I could hear nothing of my companions behind me. I struggled to lift my head and saw before me Miss Lucy, grinning sultrily-locked in an embrace with Vlad.

It was the most horrid of sights, for she looked up at him with violent adoration, whilst he stood behind her, one arm wound tight around her waist, one hand upon her breast. I could not imagine how Arthur bore such a sight; I believe it would have shattered me, were I in his place. As he looked down at her, such a pa.s.sionate gaze pa.s.sed between them that I was surprised they did not couple there and then.

Then he raised his face to me; it was livid, full of a madman's fury, a madman's hate. Yet young and vital beneath its full, wavy crown of blue-black hair, drooping mustache, and goatee-and so unnaturally handsome that even I felt its magnetic pull.

"How dare you think to harm her, our beloved!" he thundered, in a voice three times louder than the wind. "How dare you-!"

Abruptly the wind ceased. He cast Lucy aside as cruelly as she had dispensed with the child, and reached out with a sculpted alabaster hand for my neck.

And John-John, who of all of them knew what a deadly risk he was taking-dashed between us, and struck out at the Impaler with bare mortal hands.

The blows annoyed Vlad no more than a fly might a man. As John swung harder, harder, the vampire laughed, revealing dimples in the porcelain skin that framed his mustache; laughed, as he picked John up by leg and arm and held him overhead-then turned, facing the unyielding white marble of the tomb.

Arthur began to shout, and moved in closer, threatening; Quincey merely drew his pistol from his coat, and fired once, twice, thrice-each time striking Vlad directly in the chest. But the bullets merely exited his undead body without causing harm, and the perplexed Texan looked down at his gun, then back up at his target with wide, wide eyes.

Even with his former strength, the vampire could easily have dashed out the man's brains with such a move. As it was, I had no hope for John's survival, and with a father's desperate, unthinking love, I cried out: "Stop! Stop! It is my son you hold in your arms! Kill him and you kill yourself!"

I had worked so many years to protect my only heir by hiding the truth; now the truth was my only hope of saving him. Vlad paused, then frowned up at John and said, "You lie! He does not think he is your son!" But an instant later, a subtle doubt came over his features- reflecting, perhaps, John's own mental wavering on the subject.

That instant was seized by us three mortals-Arthur, Quincey, myself. We hurled ourselves bodily at Vlad and John; the vampire, of course, was unmoved, but the attack evoked within him such fury that he loosened his grip on my son and instead caught hold of me, whilst the others pulled John to safety. Even in the midst of my relief, a horrifying thought occurred: Where was Lucy? And would all her lovers be able to resist her without my help?

Yet I could see nothing but the Impaler's face, for he had grabbed my throat with his cold, cold hands and stared so close into my eyes that I could smell his fetid breath-the stench of the rotting dead-ere he spoke.

Vlad's countenance gleamed so brilliant, so white-hot with fury, that I closed my eyes bedazzled, but the image still remained. "I am tired of you and your games, old man!" he roared. "For things have come full circle. Not so long ago, you were strong and sure and invincible, and I decrepit, aged, hopeless; I needed you for my very survival. But now you are the old, feeble man without a hope, and I am the one invincible! Bow down and wors.h.i.+p me-for now it is you who need me to live."

I croaked, opened my eyes, and moved my head, indicating that I wished to answer. And when he eased his crus.h.i.+ng grip upon my neck, I did not hesitate, did not waver. I said simply, "Kill me."

At that he let go a scream of frustration that left me near deaf. And when he recovered, he sneered: "You are so arrogant, so self-a.s.sured! You think I cannot kill you, that I am afraid because of the covenant! But hear this: I need it no longer to survive. I am the maker of covenants! And you and your friends are dead."

The world swung suddenly sideways as he lifted me high above his head, hands still round my throat so tightly that I could scarce draw a breath, and was too dizzied to see what had become of my friends. I prayed that they had fled-not only for their own safety, but that they might be spared the horror of seeing their only "vampire expert" done in by the object of his hunt.

I blinked, and the world swung round again, and became a dim white wall of marble. This was to be my fate, then-to have my brains dashed out against the Westenra tomb. It was not so terrible a fate (considering the horrendous alternatives), but in the exceptional detachment brought about by mortal fear, I regretted leaving my friends, including Miss Lucy, in such a hopeless situation. And even, curiously, the terrible mess I would leave behind, which some poor working-cla.s.s soul would be forced to clean up.

The hands holding me drew back, then propelled me like a slingshot at the marble. I must have been in flight no more than the merest fraction of a second, as we were no more than twenty feet away from the wall. Yet I remember it as clearly as if it had taken several minutes, for I was aware of many things: of the cold wind whistling past my stinging ears, of my regret at leaving Gerda (though I knew John would care properly for her), of my regret at not living to hold my mother's hand upon her deathbed, of my regret at not having freed Miss Lucy from the curse, of my regret that John should always wonder whether I had lied when I claimed him as son.

Of my regret, of my regret, of my regret.

And of the marble looming, and even in the dim light, my noting every swirl within the stone with morbid fascination. How should my blood look there? My brain?

Look, Bram, here is Death coming: close your eyes, and be grateful that you have died uncursed.

So I did and was, and tensed my body, waiting for impact-which, G.o.d willing, would be too swift to inflict unbearable pain.

Impact did not come.

Oh, I was still in midair and waiting, heart hammering like a prisoner bent on release. But I seemed to have been gently and impossibly stopped by an invisible cus.h.i.+on of some sort- both soft and firm, and infinitely comfortable, and holding me aloft without effort. Was this death? Was this an after-life wherein I sweated and feared and listened to my pulse pounding in my veins?

I opened my eyes and saw white marble, a mere inch from my nose.

Behind me, an enraged Roumanian curse, and from the Lucy-demon's throat, a shrill, frightened cry. Then the night grew suddenly calm, and I felt within the great sense of peace that comes when the vampire has fled.

And as I stared, relieved, into the swirling marble, I felt and saw a change. The soft cus.h.i.+on of air surrounding me hardened, until I felt skin and sinew and bone supporting rne. Slowly I came to realise that my chin was resting upon a hard, bony shoulder-and that not a tall one; and in the periphery of my vision, I saw black cloth, upon which lay hair of radiant white.

I began to weep. And by the time small, strong hands had set me upright on the ground, I was laughing and weeping together. I could not stand, but sank down upon the earth and looked up into eyes so depthless I could not have named their colour, for they contained them all- eyes infinitely young and infinitely ancient, infinitely severe and infinitely loving, infinitely sorrowful and infinitely amused.

"Arminius!" I cried, in reproach and joy. "Arminius, why did you not come sooner?"

Chapter 14.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 29 SEPTEMBER, CONTINUED.

He looked precisely the same as the last time I'd seen him, twenty-two years before: small and wiry, yet strong of shoulder and straight of spine beneath an unadorned black wool robe. Beneath a black wool cap reminiscent of those an Orthodox priest might wear, his hair fell in thick curls almost to his waist. Like his long mustache and beard, it was s.h.i.+ning white-which made the glowing, child-soft skin of his face and ears seem even rosier by contrast. But priest he was not, nor even Christian; his face was that of a Hebrew mystic, an eagle's, with prominent, downward-curving nose and large, heavy-lidded eyes. A Jew, yes, by blood-but far from orthodox in his beliefs. Whether he even believed in G.o.d, I could not say, for during my education as vampire-slayer, he always explained things in the most pragmatic terms. Perhaps he, like his student, believed not in religious formulae or particular names or t.i.tles, but in those things which endured, those things which transcended religion and science and touched all men too deeply to deny: Love. Compa.s.sion.

Kindness.

His hair and bearing were those of an ancient; his demeanour and movements were those of a robust youth. At my question, he squatted down to the level where I sat, that we might speak eye-to-eye, and loosely folded his arms atop his legs.

"Abraham, Abraham," said he. grinning to reveal intensely pink gums and white straight teeth even a young man might envy. There was no cunning or reproach in that smile, only the bright, hilarious joy of a lunatic, a simpleton, a mage. "If I did not come, it was because you did not need me. Now, I am here." And he spread his arms (amazingly, without his legs wavering an inch).

"Here" had changed dramatically in the instant he had appeared. I squinted at my surroundings to find myself and my mentor enveloped in a circle of gentle radiance that brightened the night. Beyond its circ.u.mference, John, Arthur, Quincey, all sat upon the ground-frozen and still as statues, their eyes open yet unseeing, unblinking, their chests moving not a whit. Yet safe and alive-this I knew instinctively, even though I could not resist looking beyond and around them for Vlad and the Lucy-vampire.

But the night was quiet and sweet, free from the taint of indigo; both monsters had vanished, and Arminius and I sat safe within the borders of a different reality. This filled my heart with hope. For though Arminius had taught me many things-how to protect myself- from the vampire, how to weaken Vlad and myself gain power to defeat him-I had never seen him in the presence of any vampire, and thus had not known the extent of his abilities beyond what he had told me.

Clearly, he was powerful indeed, to have saved me and caused Vlad and Lucy to vanish. And for the first time in many terrible days, I began to think Vlad could be overcome after all.

He saw me staring at my three companions and said: "Your friends are well, but they cannot see us. And if you wish, they will not remember." I was too curious, too exhilarated, too desperate, to respond to his statement; instead, I asked a question of my own. "What has happened to Vlad? I had done as you said -had destroyed vampire after vampire these twenty-two years, in order to weaken him. And so he didweaken-but now he has regained his strength, and more. He would have killed me- me, whose death would have brought about his own, according to the covenant. What has happened to him... and to the covenant?"

"Ah," he said; the sound was in part a sigh. "The covenant..." Rather than look at me, he lowered his gaze to the ground, his lips still curved upward in a mysterious crescent, and began to inscribe with his ringer strange legends in a patch of mud. "In order to answer your question, Abraham, I must first tell you a story."

"A story?"

"Of a ma.n.u.script-a very special ma.n.u.script which some claim Lucifer himself wrote. It was stolen from the Scholomance, the Devil's school for the mantic arts, by one of the sholomonari, the alchemists who studied there. Thus says the legend. Its purpose is reflected in its t.i.tle: To Him Who Would Become the Eater of Souls."

I shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed by the terrifying image from a dream: a great Darkness that engulfed me, devoured me. Clutching my upper arms, I demanded, "But is that not the Devil's domain? To consume souls?"

He looked up, still smiling faintly, his eyes undimmed by the darkness of which he spoke. "It is, if that is the name you wish to use for the ent.i.ty. And to answer your next question-yes, the ma.n.u.script does give instructions as to how others might become as he."

"But it is insane-why would he want to share his power?"

At this, the faint grin became a full-fledged smile. "Who can say? In time, all things will become clear." He paused. "At some point after the theft, the ma.n.u.script was acquired by one of the wickedest and most power-hungry immortals: the Countess Elisabeth of Bathory.

It has gone through many hands, in part because the ma.n.u.script itself cannot be protected by even the most powerful magic-"

I interrupted. "Why not?"

Patiently, he replied, "Because the truth cannot be hidden, Abraham. Not realising this, the countess attempted to hide it with a spell-which, because of her newfound strength, she a.s.sumed would be sufficient. And because she had destroyed its previous owner, no one knew it had come into her possession, and no one attempted to take it from her. But when she went to the Castle Dracula, Vlad discovered it and stole it from her very quickly.

"As to why he has become increasingly powerful, now that it is in his possession, I must explain the ma.n.u.script itself. It is a riddle of sorts, consisting of six lines, or clues. The first line appears once the ma.n.u.script falls into someone's possession. Other lines appear only after the owner has understood the first and followed its direction; and with each step, the owner's power and abilities increase.

"I have done some small bit of research and discovered the first line: In the land beyond the forest, the quest for G.o.dhood begins. The lines are six; the keys are two. "

"Keys?" I asked.

"This is something of a mystery still; Elisabeth had solved only the first line, and though Vlad has gone farther, he has yet to discover the first key. No immortal ever has-except, of course, for the Dark Lord Himself." With fear in my heart, I asked, "How many lines has Vlad solved? Do you know what these say?"

He did. He seemed to look past me, and the ghost of a smile faded entirely, leaving him solemn for the first time since we had met. "The second: Do not linger. Cross the deep waters to the great island in the northwest. Immediately, he made plans to leave for England, at which time a third line appeared: To the east of the metropolis lies the crossroads."

"East of London," I murmured, calling to mind the myriad locations. "A crossroads... Is it the actual intersection of two streets, or something else? And how far east? Just outside the city, or in Purfleet or Dartford, or Grays... or as far east as Southend-on-Sea or Sheerness?"

"That I cannot tell you," he said, with mild regret. "But I can say that after Vlad purchased properties surrounding the city, the fourth line appeared: There lies buried treasure, the first key."

Four lines solved; a s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through me as I asked, "And has he discovered it?" And the fifth line, and the sixth...

He shook his head. "But it is only a matter of time. Once he obtains the first key, he has only to find the second, and put them both in such a way as to solve the riddle. And while Elisabeth was privy only to the first line, I suspect she has found or will find a way to discover all that Vlad has learned. Then she, too, will join the search for the first key; for she is as cruel and ambitious as he- perhaps more so. At the earliest opportunity, she will seize the ma.n.u.script."

"Why has she not done so already?" I asked. "If she had it, and knew the first line, then she must have retained some of her newfound powers-"