Lord of the Vampires

by Jeanne Kalogridis

  I signalled my acceptance by clasping his arms in return, but my mind had moved ahead, and was struggling to understand my own past, and my own destiny. “I—I am your eldest son, am I not? You had a little boy, who died.…”

  He stared down at the floor and, for the first time since I have known him, spoke in a voice thick with tears. “A little boy, whom I killed,” he said, and a spasm of such intense and violent grief crossed his face that I looked away. “My Jan. My little Jan …” And he broke into such raw, wrenching sobs that I could do nothing but stare down at my lap and watch my own tears spill.

  After a time, we both collected ourselves, and he continued hoarsely, “Zsuzsanna—Vlad’s niece and vampire mate—bit him, turned him into a tiny monster. I had no choice but to free him.”

  “So when you had another son, you sent him away,” I said. “Far away, and told no one who he was.”

  “To protect him. But see, John”—and he spread his hands in despair—“see what has become of all my efforts to spare you the grief I have known. As the Buddhists say, it is your karma to suffer at Vlad’s hands; without the vampire even knowing of your existence, he sought out and murdered your lady love.”

  “But your … friend, Arminius, is here to help.”

  “Yes.” He gave a glum nod. “He is here to help. And he will help us, I think, make sure Miss Lucy is freed from the curse. But he comes when he lists, and I cannot predict when help will come again.”

  “Let us not worry any further until to-morrow’s work is done.” I pushed myself to my feet, and helped him up. By then I felt nothing for him but compassion and gratitude, for I saw what a dreadful burden he has carried all his life, and carries now; I wanted nothing more at that moment than to ease it for him. I put my arms round him and said, “You know, I trust, that I have always looked upon you as a father; and now, my affection for you is doubly justified. I realise that all you have done, you have done out of love.”

  He was too choked to speak with words, and so returned the embrace with a squeeze. We parted in silence, with tears in our eyes, and even deeper grief in our hearts.

  For a long time, as I lay in bed, sleep would not come; and in the midst of my restless turning, the bittersweet thought seized me: Dear God! That poor mad woman is my mother!

  I woke to the sunlight this morning a different man; more troubled, yes, but even more resolved to rid the world of the evil that is my heritage. We are off to Lucy’s tomb at mid-day, and so my first effort is almost begun.

  The Diary of

  Abraham Van Helsing

  29 SEPTEMBER, NIGHT. It is done, thank God; dear Miss Lucy is at peace. John was right to make me let the three men who so loved Miss Lucy be present, and Arthur strike the blow that freed her. He did so with a resolve and courage—despite the gushing blood and shrieking of the vile creature in the coffin—that made us all proud, and gave me hope for the coming battle. I can see they are all the better for having aided me, and surely they are worthy. Our brave little group is expanding; before John took me to the station, he received a telegram from Madam Mina saying that she would arrive shortly to stay at the asylum, and that her husband would follow the next day.

  I only pray Arminius does not desert us again.

  I write this on the train. I told the others that I was bound for Amsterdam, and for once, I truly am. Arminius’ assistance notwithstanding, I know the most dangerous task is to come; so I go to spend a few hours at Mama’s bedside, lest she survive me.

  15

  The Diary of

  Abraham Van Helsing

  1 OCTOBER. Returned from Amsterdam yesterday, late afternoon, to find both the Harkers, and Arthur and Quincey, moved in. It makes little sense to continue the charade that I am staying at a hotel, so I declared that I was moving in as well (but when I sleep, Jonathan and the others will be hard-pressed to find me). Everyone, it seems, has fallen quite in love with Madam Mina—including, I confess, myself. She has taken on the role of lady of the house, bringing us cups of tea and seeing to our comfort; this is all our fault, of course, because we have all lived as bachelors so long that such behaviour is irresistibly endearing. It makes John’s gloomy house, filled at times with the groans and shrieks of his patients’ mental anguish, seem like a cheerful home—and we the family.

  As for Amsterdam: Poor Mama was no longer lucid, and barely able to sit up to eat. Most of the time she merely lies with eyes closed, and rarely converses, according to Frau Koehler. But she had been well cared for, as she had been freshly bathed, and her bedsores lovingly cleaned and salved. The good Frau has done the impossible in preventing their spread. I thanked her most sincerely for her marvellous care—thanked her as though I might never see her again, and I think she somehow sensed it, for her eyes filled with tears. She has clearly come to love Mama, and I think it will grieve her greatly when her patient finally dies.

  As I was leaving, Frau Koehler showed to me the accumulated mail, including a package which had arrived that very day from Buda-Pesth from an “A. Vámbéry.” I could not imagine what it might contain, and so I took it to my study and opened it in private.

  The contents were wrapped within several layers of black silk; this both intrigued and troubled me, for I knew that only an educated occultist would take such particular care in order to prevent a magical charge from escaping the contents. Could this have been a trick of Vlad’s—to expose me to some noxious spell? I decided not, for despite the protective layers, I felt a strong sense that the contents were intended not to harm, but to help.

  And indeed they were: The instant I unfolded the last layer of silk, a burst of power from the contents filled the room with such pure white radiance that I actually stood and breathed deeply, feeling as though the very act cleansed lungs, body, soul.

  The A. stood for “Arminius,” I decided, and though he had not appeared personally, he had again provided me with help. For within lay some twenty small silver crucifixes, and an equal number of sacred wafers wrapped within a thick padding of tissue. The heavy sorrow of seeing Mama so incapacitated lifted a bit, and indeed, as I took within my hand one of the crosses and felt its power surge tingling down my arm, I felt honest joy. Arminius must have personally charged each one, for these, I knew, would be sufficient to protect my friends from harm, and to keep the Impaler at bay.

  I took them with me to England, and arrived in London much more confident than I had been in many months. On the way to Purfleet in the carriage, I gave John three of the talismans: one to wear always upon his person, one to put over his bedroom window, and one over the window in Renfield’s room. It was a deep relief to be able to provide protection for my friends.

  That evening, the six of us met in John’s study and I told the others what I wished them to know about the vampire, bearing in mind that Jonathan’s loyalties were questionable. However, I am coming to think less and less that he is under Vlad’s control, for he relayed the outcome of his “research”: He had tracked the fifty boxes of earth spoken of in his Transylvania diary right here to Purfleet—and the estate next door, Carfax!

  The truth is sometimes too strange to believe; but when I learned of Vlad’s proximity, I was gladder than ever to have Arminius’ talismans in hand. Without explaining their origin or speaking of their special charge, I gave two each of the little crucifixes to Arthur and Quincey, bidding the men to hang one over their bedroom windows and wear one. I tried to do the same with the Harkers—one for the window, two for each person—but they both demurred, revealing that they were already wearing crosses round their necks. Still, I managed to press one upon them for the window, and noted with interest that Harker waited for his wife to pick it up. (Was it a vampire’s influence, or merely chance?) The act did me a world of good, knowing that all would be protected—especially now that we knew Dracula was so close at hand.

  By the end of our meeting, it was decided that we would rise in the wee hours next morning, and go at once to Carfax to inspect the boxes whilst Dracu
la was, hopefully, still prowling in the night. However, all the men were of one mind regarding Madam Mina: after Lucy’s recent death, none of them could bear the thought of her endangerment, and so pressed her to remain at the house, where she would be unquestionably safe, for the front and rear doors and every window of every occupied room would be sealed with a talisman. So before we discussed our plan of attack, we dismissed her, on the grounds that we were protecting her and the less she knew, the safer she would be. This she reluctantly agreed to, especially since her husband was quite adamant, though I was of two minds about it. I did not wish to see her endangered, but also was sorry to lose one of our best minds; frankly, of all of us, Madam Mina is made of the strongest mettle.

  And, as John said in his angry grief, what good had ignorance done poor Miss Lucy?

  Nonetheless, Madam Mina left before we made our plans for Carfax; with her gone, we agreed to leave at four the next morning. When our gathering dispersed, I went off with John for a private conversation, for during our discussion I had noticed his especial excitement in mid-meeting, sometime after Jonathan revealed the information about Carfax.

  So it was that we took our leave of the others and stole to my cell, where we could be assured of remaining unseen and unheard.

  The moment I had stepped inside and closed the door, John, who had entered before me, exclaimed, “Carfax! Don’t you see, Professor? It’s the crossroads!”

  “What?” I neared him, frowning with curiosity.

  “Quatre face,” he said, and when I continued to look at him askance, added, “Ah, I suppose you do not speak much French. Quatre face, the Old French for ‘crossroads.’ That’s where the name ‘Carfax’ comes from!”

  We stared at each other as the revelation overtook me; the smile which gradually spread over my face was mirrored in John’s own. “The crossroads,” I said softly, “where buried treasure lies. The first key!”

  He joined with me on the last three words, and we laughed with delight—gently, though, and not overlong, for Dracula had been residing there some time. What if he had already found it?

  John and I agreed at once that we would both look carefully for signs whether this had happened—and in case it had not, for places where the first key might be buried. Thus we went early to bed, for I was quite exhausted (not having had a sound sleep in the past two days, as I was either in a boat, train, or carriage).

  So I slept deeply but woke intensely alert around three; I dressed and made my way to John’s office. He, too, rose early and met me there. By three forty-five, both Quincey and Arthur had joined us, so we waited for Harker.

  Before he arrived, the attendant rushed in to tell John that Renfield was pleading to see him. I frowned, thinking that this clearly was the result of Dracula interfering with our plans, and John caught my gaze and began to tell the young man that Renfield should have to wait. But the attendant persisted: “He is more desperate than I have ever seen him, sir, and if you do not come, he will throw one of his violent fits.”

  So John went; and I and Quincey and Arthur joined him. To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Renfield seemed not only sane but positively elegant, making a very persuasive case that he had come to his senses at last, and begged to be let go. And he honestly seemed sane to us all, and most sincere—but John, who has dealt long with madmen, decided to observe him a period longer; and I, of course, trusted him not at all, and attributed his desperation to Dracula’s influence … and the fact that the stronger talisman was indeed prevailing. Why should we free him that he might be used against us?

  We left, whereupon most of Mr. Renfield’s newfound composure deserted him, and he began to beg piteously for release.

  By five o’clock we were at the door of the old Carfax estate, each of us with a small electric lamp affixed to his breast, and sporting one of Arminius’ crucifixes—except for Mr. Harker, who wore his own. And all of us—except for Harker, whom we were all reluctant to trust—bore in our pockets pieces of Arminius’ sacred Host in order to make the boxes uninhabitable to our foe. (In this way, even if Dracula were privy to Jonathan’s thoughts, he would not be warned in advance of our real intention.) In addition, Arthur wore a silver whistle about his neck to call on canine assistance, if need be, for none of us doubted the old building was crawling with rats.

  John utilised his surgical skill and an old skeleton key to get us in the front entry, and we moved quickly inside, and soon discovered a table in the hallway containing a ring of keys. These I gave to Jonathan, and bade him lead us to the chapel, as he was familiar enough with it to find the way. In my life, I have never seen so much dust collected in one place; in fact, the floor was buried under a carpet of dust and dirt some several inches thick, so that I could not tell whether I was walking on earth or stone or wood. Despite our desire to be as quiet as possible, lest the Impaler had abandoned his hunting early, both Arthur and John burst into a paroxysm of coughing at the throat-tickling clouds stirred up by our footsteps. The walls, too, were covered with a grey film and laced with thick, ancient spiderwebs, many of which hung low and swayed languidly in our wake, broken by the weight of the dust collected thereon.

  I felt secure the Impaler had gone, for his aura had become so intense and large of late that I would have sensed it very near the entry. This notion was reinforced when we arrived at the arching wooden door to the chapel. After some false starts, Jonathan found the right key and unlocked the door.

  When it swung open, the vile stench of the vampire’s lair wafted out. I was inured to it after so many years, and proceeded directly in, but the others behind me had not expected it, and so were overwhelmed. Nevertheless, they forced themselves to follow.

  Within was a pathetic ruin of what had once been a vast, high-ceilinged place of family worship: a few rotting timbers left of what had once been pews and an altar, and, on the filthy wall beneath a veil of spiderwebs, the outline of what had once been a large cross. Perhaps it had been a beautiful place, for there were two large arching windows—perhaps of stained glass, but long ago covered, as always, with the thick film of dust.

  The room spoke strongly of gloom, decay, impermanence. This in itself was discouraging enough to see—but far worse was the realisation, after some silent counting, that the wooden boxes set out in careful rows were not fifty in number, but twenty-nine.

  Twenty-one missing! I sidled over to John, and whispered for him to quickly tell Quincey and Arthur not to seal the boxes off with the Host. Doing so would only alert the vampire to our plan, so that he might more cleverly hide the remaining boxes. John managed to tell the other two men whilst Harker was distracted counting and looking about for some other place the crates might be hidden. I then instructed all the others to sift through the dirt and dust and come up with any clue that might lead us to where the other boxes had been moved; of course, John knew well that he was meant to search for traces of the manuscript or first key.

  As we all searched, I sensed an abrupt change in the room—a glimmering hint of indigo which disturbed me … and yet did not. At that same instant, Arthur and Jonathan both reacted to something in the shadows. “I thought I saw a face,” Arthur said apologetically.

  I said nothing, but crouched down to open boxes and sift through dust and cobwebs for any clue as to the manuscript or key. As I was doing so, one of the men moved over and stood beside me, waiting to confer about something—or so I thought, for in my peripheral vision appeared a pair of trouser legs and boots.

  I glanced up, mouth open to ask, Yes? But the question died upon my lips as my eyes focussed upon a tall man dressed in black, with flowing silver-and-jet hair and mustache; a man—nay, a vampire—whose skin gleamed immortal, mother-of-pearl white.

  Vlad, I thought, staring up at the intruder, but said nothing—surprise had taken my voice. Disappointment washed over me like the bitterest sea; so even Arminius’ help had come to naught. If his talismans could not even discourage the vampire in his lair, then none of us were safe, and poor Mad
am Mina, left alone in the asylum …

  But as I stared, my dismay began to ease. For the eyes were not the deep evergreen of the Impaler’s, but hazel, and soft; and the nose not so sharp, nor the lips so cruel.

  Indeed, the face bore no wickedness nor wanton sensuality, but gentleness mixed with sorrowful joy.

  “Dear God,” I whispered, unaware that I’d had any intention of speaking; the words seemed to spill from me without the intervention of brain or teeth or tongue or lips. “Dearest God …”

  I looked about me to see the others busily at work, quite unaware of the immortal standing near them. The vampire was invisible, but I was not; when he turned and motioned me to follow round a corner, I did so, doing my best to seem as if I had just thought of a new place to search.

  Once we were both out of sight, he opened his arms to me, and we two embraced.

  “Bram. You have made me proud,” he whispered into my ear. “Very proud.…”

  “Arkady,” I breathed, and drew back to better look at him. “Father.… How can this be? Twenty years ago, I left you dead in Castle Dracula, a stake piercing your heart.”

  He patted his now-whole chest and smiled. “I do not quite understand it myself, but somehow I was resuscitated—by whom, I do not know. Perhaps it was possible because I was never decapitated.” His smile faded and he looked intensely into my eyes. “I would speak more of it, but we have little time before the sun rises, Bram. And there is something that must be found, and quickly, else Vlad will grow so powerful that no one, not even the Devil Himself, will be able to stop him.”

  “Yes, I know—the manuscript.”

  He was taken rather aback. “Who told you of it?”

  “Arminius.”

  A ghost of the smile returned. “I am glad, then, that he still helps you.” And again more seriously: “Vlad has not yet found the first key—of that I am sure. If he does, he will gain even more strength than he has now. It is here, somewhere; I search for it when I am able, but I am no match for him these days. Hardly, probably, a match even for you now.”