“I can’t sir, the horses will not move another step… you will have to walk.”
“I can’t walk,” Polidori said now completely distressed.
“It is only about half a mile down the road, sir. You will find it easily.”
“I am not worried about finding it,” Polidori said underneath his breath. “I am worried about getting there alive.”
“What was that, sir?”
“Nothing. Will you go back for Lord Byron?”
“Yes sir, when the storm eases over.” Polidori looked up at the sky and the wind seemed to be settling. The lightning had stopped. “It seems to be calming down, sir.”
“Yes, it does.”
“I will return now for Lord Byron, or do you want me to take you the rest of the way?”
“No, I have a feeling the storm would start again if I got back in that coach.” The coach driver looked at him without comprehension.
“Never mind. Go back for Lord Byron.” The coach rushed away and Polidori was left to walk on his own back to his lodgings. He walked down the road, but unlike London, there was not complete silence this time: his footsteps now had an echo. With each step that that he took the echo got louder and faster. Polidori now surrendered to it; whatever this creature was he could not escape it, for it wanted him.
He stopped, turned and shouted, “Ruthven, come out and face me!”
Vlad thought to himself how brave this man was and he came out from the shadows to face him. Vlad’s face was now emotionless, his black eyes cold and hollow. Polidori watched him coming closer and closer to him. Vlad’s black eyes looked through him as if he was a fly to be swatted. Polidori thought it was death itself coming for him, but he stood his ground and watched as this pernicious creature approached.
“You have come for me, then?” Polidori began.
“I have.”
“I was always told I would die young,” Polidori answered.
“Walk with me a stretch,” Vlad answered.
“And delay the inevitable?”
“Are you in a hurry to get to your grave?”
“I suppose not.” The Vampire and Polidori started to walk along the road together.
“If I made a bargain with you, would you keep it?”
“It would depend on what the bargain was.”
“Say I offered you your life for something in return. Would you do anything to save yourself?”
“No, I would not.”
Vlad laughed. “I believe you would. Life is a precious thing to a mortal—I have found that they usually do anything to negotiate for a little more of it… I will let you live, but I ask for someone else to die in your place.”
“I would not let anyone take my place,” Polidori said with determined resolve.
“Not even that pompous travel companion of yours?”
“Especially not him.”
“What about someone that I could guarantee deserved to die? A murderer, perhaps a malevolent soul?”
“No, life has dealt me this hand and I would not put anyone else in my sorry position.”
Vlad smiled again and Polidori noticed they were standing outside the inn where he was staying.
“Well, John Polidori, you have saved yourself, but I will ask you one thing.” Polidori looked up at Vlad. Relief had not entered his mind yet; he was still sure that he would die by this creature’s hand. “Do not be frightened of me anymore. What I ask in return for your life is very little.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to never tell anyone about me. If you keep this secret, I will let you live.” Polidori thought this was an easy promise to make and he readily agreed.
“Of course.”
“Do not be hasty. Keeping this secret may be the hardest thing you have ever had to do.”
“I give you my oath, I will never mention Lord Ruthven to anyone.”
“Very well.” Vlad clasped his icy hand around Polidori. He felt his strength and power and he knew from that moment on if he did not keep this oath he would be sure to die by his hand.
Before Vlad let go he said one more thing to Polidori, “That man you travel with, he is not your friend. Mark my words, he will cast you aside if he sees even a glimmer of anything creative within you.”
“You are wrong,” Polidori said.
“Am I? We shall see,” Vlad answered and with this Vlad turned his back and walked away. Polidori ran to his room hoping that Ruthven would not change his mind. He ran upstairs and looked out the window. When he studied the street below, Ruthven had gone. Polidori hoped it was forever, but something in his heart told him he would see him again.
Sometime later Polidori was indeed travelling with Byron again. This time they had two further travelling companions, Percy Shelley and his wife Mary. They were travelling to Italy but the storms had stopped them dead in their tracks. They took a house on Lake Geneva and waited for the storms to pass.
Shelley and Byron had been almost intolerable on this trip, both of them trying to out do the other. Polidori was becoming increasingly more and more tired of their constant rivalry, while his own talent was never even considered. One evening the storms seemed to have dispersed completely but they were staying another few days just to make sure. That evening Byron and Shelley proposed a contest.
“We should write a ghost story,” Byron said. “At the end of the evening when we are done we should compare our stories to each other’s.”
“Are we all eligible to enter the competition?” Mary asked. Byron laughed at Mary’s request.
“Of course, my dear, you can play along if you want too; I doubt you will have anything too much to offer, but you can certainly try,” Percy said. Polidori tapped Mary on the hand and whispered, “Don’t listen to him Mary. I am sure our stories will be far better than theirs.”
Polidori had never spoken a truer word. Byron heard his words but did not say anything; he simply scoffed at them for the moment. The four got to work and Polidori looked out at the bright sky outside his window. This time he was determined to tell a story that would be far better than anything Byron or Shelley could produce. Polidori searched his mind for a place to start and he was suddenly reminded of the dark stranger that had entered his life and he knew what his story was going to be about. The four sat down and each, in turn, started to relate their stories. Polidori was third to tell his tale.
“It happened in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon a London winter….” As Polidori began his tale the bright sky outside his window darkened and a storm began again. It was exactly a year and a day after he had made his oath to Vlad.
Polidori had managed to stun the whole room with his tale of Lord Ruthven, The Vampyre. Shelly and Byron were speechless and they had more to come as Mary began to speak.
“I busied myself to think of a story, a story to rival those which had excited us to this task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart….”
The room had been stunned into silence again this evening. Shelley and Byron had been outplayed and outmatched. They were shown to seem like amateurs in this room by a Doctor and a nineteen-year-old girl. Shelley was stunned by the story Mary had related and he turned to Byron and said.
“Do you see what I have, George?” Shelly said to Byron. “She is a goddess.” Percy picked up his wife’s hand and kissed it. “I will never belittle you again, Mary—you will always be able to impress me.”
Byron’s reaction to his friend’s literary prowess was quite different. The raucous laughter that had preceded the storytelling was no longer there. After Percy and Mary had gone to bed, Byron had a talk with Polidori.
“I think it is time we parted company,” Byron began.
“What did you say?”
“I think you heard me.”
“I can’t believe you are saying this to me. Just because Mary and I
embarrassed you this evening…”
“Embarrassed me! How dare you, you could never embarrass me. I want you to pack up your bags and leave.”
“I was warned you would do this, but I defended you—I said it would never happen.”
“I don’t want to see your face again.” These were Byron’s last words to Polidori.
Polidori packed his bags and returned to England. He watched over his shoulder for months waiting for Vlad to appear. He waited for him to bark at him, “Remember your oath,” as Polidori had stated in his story, but it did not happen.
Polidori thought he was free from Ruthven and decided to publish the story. He wanted to get some acclaim as a writer just to show Byron he could. He published the story and it was well received and still there was no sign of Lord Ruthven. After five years had drifted by Polidori thought he was free from the creature, but he was wrong. One night in his apartments Lord Ruthven made one final visit.
Polidori came home to his apartments and was startled to see Lord Ruthven sitting in the corner. Polidori shuddered when he saw him and he knew his time had come. Vlad threw a published edition of his story at him.
“You didn’t remember your oath.”
“I didn’t.” Polidori replied.
“Then you realise that I have come for you.”
“I do.”
“Was it worth it?” Vlad asked.
“Yes, it was. It was worth it to see the look on Byron’s face as I relayed a story that was far superior to anything he had ever thought of.” Vlad sped towards Polidori and bit down hard into his neck. Polidori’s life was over, but his story of “The Vampyre” would live on.
Stoker was still sitting in the chair in the Library as Isabella finished her tale.
“That is unbelievable,” he said.
“You still need more proof,” Isabella said.
“Your story is unbelievable. Even with the things I have seen today I believe my mind is playing tricks on me.”
Isabella snatched a letter opener and plunged it down deep into her arm. Stoker tried to grab the knife away from her. But Isabella pulled it from her arm before Stoker could get to it. She held up her arm and Bram watched in terror as the wound healed instantly before his eyes; not even a scar was left on her white skin.
“Do you believe now?” Isabella asked.
“I do, I definitely do, do not injure yourself anymore.” Stoker looked around the library to see if anyone else had seen the miraculous thing he had just witnessed, but to his surprise no one was looking over at them. Every one was doing exactly what they had been before Isabella stabbed her arm. They still had their eyes buried in the books or they were still looking through the shelves, none of them looking over towards Isabella.
“I don’t want them to see me,” Isabella said. “And the people I choose not to see me don’t, it’s as simple as that.” Stoker remembered the story of Polidori and he now became frightened.
“Are you going to make me promise you never to tell?”
“No quite the contrary, I want you to tell a story—Vlad’s story.”
“Why?”
“He was a great man and then he was a great Vampire. He deserves what was taken away from him. He deserves his immortality.” Isabella handed him the documents, the diaries and the journals. “Here, you can make a story from these, a great story.”
“What about you? Can I say anything about you?”
“You will forget me.”
“I think you are wrong. I will never forget you.”
Isabella laughed. “I have told you, you will forget me. Do you not realise when I want someone to do something they do it?” Stoker started to leaf through the pages of the documents Isabella had given him. Isabella got up to leave.
“Wait a minute. What about these people in this book—they are probably still alive?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them.” Isabella’s voice seemed quite sinister when she issued these words. Bram Stoker watched as she left the library. But by the time she got to the door of the room Stoker had already forgotten her name, and by the time she got outside the library, Stoker had forgotten what sort of creature she was and he started to believe he was the one who had written the papers on the table before him.
TRULY THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS FINALITY
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
After months of attending galas, receptions, opening nights at the opera and many other trivial gatherings at the homes of social drones of London, it finally happened: Mina and Jonathon Harker, Vlad’s killers, were at a reception which Nicolae and Isabella attended. Isabella immediately recognised Mina, she sensed her as soon as she came through the door.
“The Harkers are here,” Isabella whispered to Nicolae.
“After all this time, how do you know it is them?”
“Jonathan, I have seen them before and some of Vlad’s blood still flows dormant in Mina’s veins; it is up to us to awaken it again.”
“Shall we make our introductions then?”
“Absolutely.” Nicolae pushed out his arm for Isabella to take and they both started to make their way to the entrance of the room, where Mina was taking off her coat. Another man was behind her. He started to help her with her coat. The sight and essence of this other man immediately halted Isabella’s motion and she was frozen to the spot.
“Stop,” she whispered to Nicolae.
“What is it?” Nicolae asked. Isabella was showing signs of consternation and pressing her fingers into Nicolae’s arm. If he had been alive she would have been cutting off his circulation.
“The young man behind her.”
“What about him?”
“Can’t you sense it?”
“No. I can’t feel anything.”
“He is a Dhampir!”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know; you have to leave here. I have to do this alone.”
“Isabella, do not start this again; I am staying here with you.”
“I can’t guarantee you will live through this.”
“You never could. I am staying here with you till the end, Isabella.”
“But….”
“Isabella, this may be our only opportunity to get close to them.”
“All right, but never let him touch you.”
“What possible harm can he do me, simply by touching…?”
“Never Nicolae, I mean it, never let him touch you.”
“All right.”
Nicolae dragged Isabella the next few steps. She was within moments of beginning the completion of the task she had set herself. Isabella realised Nicolae was right, she needed him. She regained her composure, clasped Nicolae‘s arm tightly and made the final few steps towards them. By this time the Harkers had entered the room and were starting to fraternise with the other guests. Mina was talking to Cicely, the hostess of this particular gathering. Isabella had made it her business to befriend this woman, as she knew everything about everyone and was very keen to let everyone know she knew everything about everyone.
Cicely took pleasure in introducing people she knew to ones whom they did not know. For those brief few moments during introductions Cicely, who could never feel superior to anyone intellectually, felt superior to everyone superficially. It did not take but a moment for Isabella to catch Cicely’s eye.
“Ah, Isabella,” Cicely turned back towards Mina and said. “I want to introduce you to my American friends.” Cicely practically dragged Mina over to Isabella. “Isabella dear,” Cicely shouted over at Isabella. Isabella pretended for a moment not to hear her. “Isabella…!” Cicely shouted again.
Isabella turned around and smiled over at Cicely. Cicely beckoned Isabella over and when Isabella was not quick enough for Cicely, she reached out for Isabella’s hand and pulled her over. “I want to introduce you to someone.”
Isabella walked over with Cicely to Mina and as she did so Jonathon Harker walked over to join his wife. Isabella took Mina’s hand and shook it.
Isabella’s face wore a smile that made it look to all witnesses like her soul shone through with innocence.
“This is Isabella,” Cicely continued. “Isn’t she just beautiful? But then again most Americans are, although they are usually quite sun-kissed, but not you, Isabella. You are so pale, but then that almost adds to your beauty. Oh there is my friend Julia, you know Julia, she is supposed to be considering leaving her husband… Julia! Julia!” As Cicely left their company, running over to Julia, Mina and Isabella laughed together at Cicely‘s behaviour.
“I don’t think she even introduced us in the end,” Isabella stated. “My name is Isabella Hawthorne and this is my brother Cole.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Mina said. “This is my husband, Jonathon.” Jonathon Harker took Isabella’s hand and bent over to kiss it. The Dhampir that Isabella had never taken her eyes from was standing with his back to the group.
“Quincy,” Jonathon called to his son.
“Father, I am talking to Stephen,” Quincy replied without even turning around.
“Quincy,” his mother said very gently. No one, not even the most rebellious of sons, could have defied this kind and gentle voice. Quincy turned around and sheepishly looked at his mother. “Your father wants to introduce you to someone.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Jonathon Harker pointed to Isabella and said to his son, “This is Isabella Hawthorne; she is an American, Quincy.” Quincy was not paying Isabella any attention; his eyes were drawn to other things. He bowed out of courtesy and only then did she draw his gaze. From the first moment he saw her face he was enchanted.
“You are beautiful!” Quincy exclaimed. His feelings were so strong that he was unable to hide them.
“Quincy!” his mother scolded. “You should not be so forward. I do apologise for my son, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Don’t be silly, I could hardly scold a young man for so gracious a compliment.” Her words were soft and demure, and she dropped her eyes pretending to be slightly embarrassed by his compliment. Isabella then looked up at him again and smiled coyly and it was with this smile she managed to steal another Dhampir’s heart. All this time Quincy was still firmly gripping Isabella’s hand.
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