Curse of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  She sipped the tea. It was honey. Thank God. “The metaphor helps greatly. And the tea is lovely. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr…”

  “Doctor. Call me Doctor. And he is Witch. That is all.” He smiled, a gentle expression she would have expected from any highborn man. But there was true kindness in his eyes. A softness she would not have expected. “I spent my life in the pursuit of science—real science. The kind that might save the world someday. The Church did not agree with my work. They called me a heretic, a demon worshipper, and a monster. They burned me at the stake.” He grimaced.

  She flinched, feeling the sting of the rope herself. The Doctor was remembering his pain and shared it with her. “I am so sorry.”

  “You are, aren’t you? You can feel it.”

  “Yes, sir. I can.”

  “Then I am sorry to have thought of it. It is not your burden.”

  “All the burdens of others are mine to share. Such is the nature of my own affliction, I fear. And again, I say I am sorry for what you have suffered. It was needless cruelty.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Humanity is its own downfall. No one else is to blame for their plight. Ignorance is their greatest sin.”

  “And what of him? Of Witch?”

  “He died with a rope around his neck. He was dragged behind a horse by a white man who feared his arts, thinking them the same as my science. Men will see demons in any shadow they do not understand.”

  “That is true. My mother…my mother felt the same.”

  “There is compassion in your eyes, Miss Parker. Compassion that only comes with real understanding. You were rejected because of what you are, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “By your own mother.” He sighed and shook his head. “You are not the first, and I fear you will not be the last.” He cringed, his face scrunching up in a strange expression like a twitch of some kind before it smoothed. “The Witch sends you his condolences. And that your mother was several foul words I will not care to repeat.”

  She laughed. “Tell him I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “He likes you very much, Miss Parker. And the Witch is an excellent judge of character. Tell me, why is it that the Lady Elizabeth brought you here?”

  “In hopes that I will come to see more facets of Dracula’s curse other than the bodies he has left strewn around the city I called home. She hoped I would speak to one of his ‘loyal subjects’ and come to know another side of him.”

  The Doctor let out a long sigh. “Yes, yes. Very well. Hold on one moment.” He set down his tea, stood, and once more she watched in disgust as his body crunched loudly, joints popping in and out of place as the two of them switched places.

  He turned around, and the Witch slumped heavily down into the chair, nearly upending his tea. He had to scramble to catch it and grumbled under his breath. “Always leavin’ things in stupid places.” He sipped the tea, blanched dramatically, and set it aside. “I don’t put that many leaves in there because I don’t know what I’m doin’, I do it because I like things with real flavor.”

  Maxine couldn’t help but laugh, if a bit nervously.

  “It’s disgustin’ to watch, I know. We’re sorry.” The Witch smiled at her again lopsidedly.

  “It’s all right. It isn’t your fault, I suppose.”

  “I suppose some of it ain’t. But some of it is.” He shrugged. “Could have gone on to the afterlife. Didn’t. Stayed with him. With Vlad. Tell me, girl, do you love him?”

  “I fear I am not certain. How can one love someone who does such terrible things?”

  “And so is the question you must come to answer. You do love him, then—you just do not know how to do it.” The Witch sat back in his chair and reached for something on the table behind him. It was a brown glass bottle of something she could only assume was alcohol. He picked it up and swigged from it, setting it down on his lap. Even their clothes were sewn together to match the appropriate man, back-to-back as they were. “He comes to us for advice, from time to time. Other times he comes to play cards. To drink tea. To drink barley wine.” He picked up the bottle briefly.

  “And what is it you two…three…talk about?”

  He cackled at her correction, his eyes glinting in amusement. “He speaks of the world. Of his place in it. Of wanting.”

  “Of wanting what?”

  “Everything that matters.” He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “You know what I mean.”

  “Life or death. He wants one or the other.” She sighed. “And it rests with me to give it to him.”

  “So it seems, sweet thing. So it seems.” He leaned back and took a deep gulp from the bottle. “Here’s what I will say to you. He is only human.”

  “He is hardly that. He—”

  “Ah, think about it.” He lifted a finger, cutting her off. “He has lived more life than any of us. But what has he known in all those years? Life. Death. Suffering. Love. Happiness. Sorrow. Grief. He is the most human of all of us, I would say. He collects those haphazard vampires around him because he wishes to salve the loneliness he feels. They do the same. Even Walter, though he loathes to admit it, needs to feel like he has family. A purpose. A place to be. That is what he is to all of us. A home for those who can find no other.”

  “What of the homes he has robbed of those who now lay dead in the streets, or cowering in the shadows?”

  The Witch stroked his hand across his face thoughtfully. “He is human. And humans are so rarely benign, eh? They take and keep, they kill, they fight, they conquer. His creatures—we creatures—must eat. The tree pulls nutrients from the soil, and the weaker things will die. He shadows the ground around him, and no other saplings will grow. He kills to eat. Mortals kill for much worse. And in much higher numbers. Look at the war that split this country.”

  She shut her eyes and sighed. “I suppose.”

  “It is the nature of the deaths out there that you find so troublin’. Men do not find themselves often hunted by monsters. But if this were a war—man against man? Have you seen what that looks like?”

  “I have witnessed what war can bring.”

  “Then tell me this, sweet thing. Tell me this looks no different save for that the creatures who are doing the slaughterin’ do not wear human faces. Tell me their cruelty is not matched by the generals who left boys lying in ditches to rot. Tell me this is worse at its heart, more rotten in nature, and I will believe you.”

  She paused for a long time. She sipped her tea. She put it down in the delicate porcelain saucer that looked so out of place in a home like this. Looking into the fire for a moment, she finally smiled. It was faint, it was weak, but it was there.

  She could not find the means to argue with him. “He is a warlord.”

  “And what is more human than that, I ask you?”

  She smiled sadly. “Well said, Witchdoctor. Well said.”

  16

  When Maxine left the side of the Witchdoctor, it was many hours later. The Doctor had taken over to offer her food, apologizing for the bad manners of his other half. She had gladly accepted, and with the warmth of the fire and the conversation, she lost track of time. Both men were fascinating to talk to, and the “three” of them chatted until she heard the clock of Park Street Church toll out that it was eleven-thirty in the evening.

  “Ah, we should not be keepin’ you.” Witch pushed up from his chair. “As lovely as it is to have you keep a fool like us company. Tell me, Miss Parker, have I helped you make up your mind, I wonder?”

  “You have. But perhaps not in the way you had hoped.”

  “How so?”

  “You have reminded me of who he is and that I should treat him as such.” She stood from her chair and walked to the door. “But you are correct. I should be on my way. It has been lovely to speak with you—both of you—and I am happy to have met you.”

  “And us, you, sweet thing.” He reached out a large hand, and she shook it with a smile. The longer she was in his
presence, the less horrifying his double-sided body became. Perhaps that was the case with all of Dracula’s creations. They carried their sins on the outside for all to see.

  Perhaps it was a more honest way of going about their lives.

  She bid him—both of them—farewell and walked from the amalgamation of a building across the wooden planks and back to the grass of the common.

  There, she saw Elizabeth leaning on a tree with a faint smile. “I was planning on introducing you to many others, but it seems you and the Witchdoctor became fast friends.”

  “They accomplished your goal well enough.”

  “Good. Have you decided not to destroy him?” Elizabeth pushed away from the tree to join her as Maxine walked down the cobblestone path toward Tremont street. She did not know where exactly she was going, perhaps to the fountain by the underground rail station. But she supposed it did not matter. It would be midnight soon enough, and Vlad would come for her.

  The thought was both frightening and exciting all at once. It must be par for the course with the Vampire King.

  “Well?” Elizabeth prompted at her silence.

  “Not quite. But I am reminded quite keenly of how I should approach this particular dilemma.”

  “I would ask for details, but it seems you are in an enigmatic mood this evening. Very well.” Elizabeth shrugged and opened a parasol—why she bothered, Maxine did not know. There was no sun or rain. Only the crimson moon hanging full overhead. For the style of it, she supposed. She was a creature of vanity; that much was clear.

  Maxine shook her head. “Forgive me. I am distracted inside my thoughts.”

  “I do not think I can fault you for that. But tell me this, Miss Parker. Do you love him? Truly?”

  She nodded in response. “It remains to be seen how I can allow myself to accept that fact.”

  “I think you shall do the right thing, either way.” Elizabeth smiled.

  “Alfonzo urged me to do the same. To seek the righteous path. The issue remains that I am not quite sure I can distinguish what is ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ at this point in time.”

  “And so you have discovered the crux of all our lives. Do you think I wished to spend eternity drinking blood to survive? Do you think I wished to rely on my gifts for manipulation and deceit to seek happiness? No, dear sister. I had dreams of another life once. One with love, and family, and joy. Instead, I find only coldness. The only warmth I enjoy comes by taking it from others. What is righteous in my life, then? Nothing? Should I commit myself to the damp soil as so many of us have done out of desperation to end it all?”

  “No. I do not think so.”

  “Judge him, and you judge us all, sister. Remember that.”

  Maxine looked up at the fountain at the Park Street station. It had once been a beautiful wrought-iron creation featuring Greek gods and acanthus leaves, pouring water into the pool below. It rose some twenty feet in the air.

  Now, like everything else, it had changed. The gods had become demons and angels paying equal violence to the figures of screaming mortals they held in their clutches. It was a warning as much as it was a promise—this is what awaits all who linger here.

  With a long breath, she sighed and sat on the lip of the fountain. She was not surprised to see it no longer poured water, but blood. She supposed that was to be expected.

  “I will leave you with your thoughts, then. He will come for you soon. Goodbye for now, sister.” A white gloved hand settled on her shoulder. “I do hope we might become friends.”

  Maxine smiled back to the vampiress and nodded once in reply. And, with that, Elizabeth once more took to the skies as a swarm of bats.

  Just in time for the clock to begin to strike.

  Midnight had come.

  This sucked.

  Eddie knew he was sulking. He didn’t care. He was putting holes in monsters and fighting his way, tooth and nail, to the North End to save Bella. Alone. But he also knew he was doing the right thing.

  Wasn’t he?

  Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t have listened to Al and helped to kill the vampire. Strength in numbers and all that. But he was too worried about Bella to much care what happened to Dracula.

  He loved that girl with all his heart. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth or the end of his life. Whichever came first. But it gnawed at him to split from Al.

  “This was your own stupid idea,” he mumbled at himself. “Don’t blame anybody but yourself for this.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. His fighting and walking went on for hours, until he heard a child weeping. A little girl was crying, just like his sister so many years ago. He shuddered, swore, and knew this was likely all by design. He walked down an alley and into the side door of a building in search of the source of the sound. A nightmare played itself inside his head—the sight of his little sister, turned into a hungry vampiric beast.

  When he entered the room, it was mirrored before his eyes.

  A little girl was hunkering in the shadows of the room. Her arms were thrown over her head, and she was sobbing. That kind of unabashed weeping that only children could do. The color of her skin, a ghastly grayish blue, revealed her to be as he feared. Her sundress was stained in old, aged tones of crimson as her blood was already drying.

  If that was all hers.

  When the little girl turned to look at him, he saw the red ringing her mouth. Gore dripped from her lips and down her chin.

  No, it was not all hers.

  “I killed everybody,” the girl whined.

  The confession made his heart hurt. He pulled out his weapon and thumbed back the hammer, aiming his gun at the child. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Please…I’m so hungry. It hurts.”

  “It won’t hurt anymore.”

  Bam.

  One bullet. Straight to the brain. The little girl slumped to the ground. It was not long before she began to burn, like some vampires did when they died. The fire was going to spread and consume the house, if not half the neighborhood. He sighed yet had no need to extinguish the blaze.

  He turned and saw four bodies lying in the room next to where he stood. A mother, a father, and two other children. Each devoured as if by a wild beast. The little girl had murdered her entire family in her mindless hunger.

  It was right to let them burn.

  To let it all burn.

  He walked from the house and pulled his hat lower over his eyes as he walked away from the smell of charred flesh and fabric. He wondered if the whole city would catch fire now. He decided he did not much care.

  It was all doomed anyway.

  Maxine stood from the fountain and brushed herself off. The toll of the bells counted out as she waited for what was coming. She shut her eyes and tried to steel herself. She had not seen Vlad in the waking world since the hunters chose to forsake his offer and trade her for the city. The poor city.

  What she would not do to turn back the clock that was doling out the time. What she would not surrender to spare the city the fate it had suffered. What she would not do to ensure that it went no farther.

  Perhaps…even destroying the creature she had come to love.

  The tolls reached their end. Twelve.

  “Hello, Maxine.”

  A chill ran up her spine. Deep and resonant, it carried easily without trying. She turned to find him standing nearby, dressed in his long black peacoat and a crimson vest. He looked as intimidating as he ever had. The King of Vampires. The Master of the darkness that had taken the city. The dread warlord.

  Her dread warlord.

  He reached his hand out to her, palm up, pale skin tinted red by the light of the moon. He silently beckoned her to him with sharp-nailed fingers.

  And she was helpless to deny him. For many reasons, most of all being that she simply did not wish to. She walked to him and slipped her hand into his. He smiled faintly and drew her close.

  He banded an arm around her to pull her flush to his
chest. The smell of roses washed over her, and his proximity and touch instantly made her feel as though she were lost in him. Red velvet and black silk. Hunger and passion. Need, and the lust for life and death. It was as though she were lost in the very night sky itself.

  And as his form and hers exploded into a sea of bats, she was.

  When Maxine once more found her feet on solid ground, it was no longer cobblestone, but marble. The ceiling overhead was vaulted in a classical style that was rare in the city. Glancing around, she blinked. The walls were covered with books. Rows and rows of them. The piece of furniture that seemed to be the outlier was a small table in the center of the room. A white tablecloth was thrown over it, and it was carefully prepared for two.

  It was the new library, lauded for being a monument to learning. She had been inside its walls only once before. Now it seemed the vampire had taken it for his own purposes, which apparently included a meal with her.

  Her cheeks went warm at the memory of the last dinner they had shared, and how it had ended. With her sprawled out on a tabletop tomb, his teeth in her neck, and her deeply wishing for more.

  “My poor thing.” Dracula sighed from where he stood next to her. He took a step away from her to shrug out of his long black peacoat, placing it over a hook by the wall. He was still well-dressed in his thinner jacket, and no less intimidating. “I have not been kind to you.”

  “It is not I to whom you have been cruel.” She pointed out at the city through the tall window on one side of the room. “It is Boston and the thousands of its now-dead souls to whom you owe an apology.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose.” He walked up to her, closing the distance between them. “I have not destroyed it.” He lifted a hand and gently trailed his knuckles over her cheek. She shivered. “It will be restored to its former qualities once we depart this place.”