by P. N. Elrod
“But I had no choice. I went to sleep and awoke to—” I spread my hands to indicate my situation.
“Another point of difference between us, between our kinds. And another question I have no adequate answer for. Why some of you rise and others do not is a mystery to me.”
“Van Helsing said nothing of this choice of yours. Neither did Mrs. Harker.”
“He may not know of it, and you can hardly blame the lady for such an omission. It is a most personal thing. But she has a noble heart, a great spirit, and her faith is so strong as to have done such to her—” again he lightly touched the scar on his forehead. “I have no doubt when her time comes she will fly to the angels to seek her rest.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Wait twenty or thirty years and see for yourself. For now, the subject of Mrs. Harker and myself is closed.” By the finality of his tone I knew that to pursue the matter would result in unhappy consequences to myself. And he was right. It was none of my business. Besides, to be sincerely selfish about it, I had problems of my own to face. To judge by the miraculous healing of the burn she’d taken from the touch of the Host, Mina Harker was well recovered from her ordeal, and Dracula planned to leave her alone; I felt I could move forward with a fairly clear conscience.
Now that my eyes were opened a little wider than before, I looked out into the night. Though all would have been murky blacks and grays to my friends, it was as day to me. The faint moonlight put a silver gleam upon everything it touched, beautiful, but marred in my perception by my many troubling questions.
“Must I do as you—as Nora—to. . .to. . .” The words refused to emerge.
“Sustain yourself? Hardly. To drink from a lover is one matter, but you’ll find that the blood of animals is your real food. One may live upon love alone for awhile, but sooner or later one must come down from the clouds and take more practical nourishment. This is as true for vampires as it is for humans.”
That was a great relief. If it was true.
“Do you hunger yet?”
I continued to stare out at nothing in particular, giving no reply.
He shrugged. “When you’re ready, then tell me. Your first feeding should be a pleasing experience.”
He’d have a hard task of proving that to me. Separated so far from memories of Nora by time and new knowledge, the idea of my drinking blood of any kind like downing a cup of coffee sickened me to the core. I tried to hide my grimace as my belly turned over. “What about my friends? When they wake—”
“They will be shocked, of course. They will eventually conclude you have been dragged off in the night by a pack of ravenous wolves and will never recover your body. So very tidy, is it not?”
“It’s monstrous!”
“Far better that than to see your footprints in the snow trailing away from the torn blanket that was your shroud. Then you would never be safe from them. I suspected you might revive and rise tonight, so I made sure my children and I were there to disguise your escape.”
“But they’re my friends. I cannot put them through such grief!”
His face went hard again, the change swift as lightning. “You will and must. It is part of my pledge of their safety to you. Leave them alone and they live.”
“But—”
“You will leave them. Better that they suffer a little distress than for you to undo all I have done. I will not be moved on this. Accept it, or they will pay.”
There would be no return to my comrades, not for the present, anyway, certainly not while his wolves were within call. “Very well,” I murmured. Perhaps later I might be able to talk to Art or Jack and persuade them to reason as I had been persuaded, but in the meantime I was feeling very lost and miserable without them. And cold. The icy November air, something I’d been able to ignore because of my changed condition, had seeped well into my bones. It would take more than the long coat I wore to dispel it. I shook out the torn blanket I still had wrapped around my arm and threw it around my shoulders.
Dracula nodded. “Yes, it is time to go inside. My castle is not far from this place. Your friends thought to seal me from it, but there are entrances that they found not.”
“What about your friends?”
“Mine?”
“Harker wrote of your three . . . companions.” I nearly said “mistresses” and diplomatically changed the word at the last moment. I wondered how they would receive me. “The ladies.”
His eyes flashed green, and his lips drew into a knife-cut of a line. He released a long hiss of breath. There was a strange blaze of madness in his stare that made me instinctively reach for my missing Colt revolver, for all the good it would have done.
Dracula rose tall and quickly turned away; one hand shot out against the stone side of the mountain as though to steady himself. I’d stabbed right into a nerve it seemed, and couldn’t guess what it might be.
With a terrible strength, his bare fingers curled right into the rock, ripping off a piece. I stood, readying myself in case he decided to make a problem, but he took no notice.
“Sir,” I ventured after some moments. “What is it?”
His shoulders sagged. He slowly turned back to me. Now his eyes had gone dark, hooded over by those heavy brows. “They are no more,” he said, his gaze dropping. “Van Helsing murdered them.”
“Murdered?” Here was a shock. I’d long known that the professor had the idea of visiting the castle during the day, but it was news to me to learn he’d actually done so. But murder—?
“He served them as he served poor Lucy,” Dracula said.
That told me all. Unbidden, the sight of her hideous second dying passed across my mind’s eye as it had every day since. I’d been told—and had been thoroughly convinced—that what we’d done had freed her sweet soul from enslavement to pure evil. Now I was not so certain. God in heaven, had I helped to murder her?
Dracula flexed his fingers enough to let the stone fall, his voice a bleak drone. “Their deaths happened because Van Helsing was more careful and they too careless. In their minds, in their dreams, I gave them warning of what I knew must be his intent, but they would not heed. They thought him to be yet only a simple peasant, easily cowed by fear or seduced by lust for their beauty. I . . . felt each of them go and could do nothing.” His face darkened, then cleared, like the shadow of a cloud running over the flanks of a mountain. He struck me as a man who felt things deep and felt things hard, but could hold control if he chose.
“What will you do to Van Helsing?”
“Nothing.”
“How can you—I mean, if you cared for them—”
“I am pledged.”
That simple statement took me aback.
He saw my disbelief. “My word, Mr. Morris, may be trusted.”
“Sir, I—”
“There is more as well. You are not so old as I or you would understand the futility of certain kinds of retribution. To avenge my dear ones would put Van Helsing where he belongs—in hell!—but bring me no gain, and only reveal my deception to the others.” He gave another shrug, this time with his hands. “What’s done is done. I have pledged the lives of your friends to you on your sensible behavior. I will not recant.”
I kept quiet, relieved, but still dealing with inner doubt. I had the suspicion that should my friends make themselves a nuisance to him again he might find a way of getting around his pledge.
He straightened, standing tall. “Come then, Quincey Morris. I will show you any number of dark places for you to shelter from the day, places much safer than that which my dear ones had.”
“Won’t I need my home earth as you do?” I suddenly felt frail and weary and very, very alone.
He turned slightly and motioned toward where the wolves had vanished, taking in the vast forest. “This land has become your home, Mr. Morris. When a brave man’s blood strikes the ground where he fights he has purchased it for his own forever. You will find rest here and may carry away as much earth as you
want when you are ready to depart.”
Another surprise. Me being free to leave? I’d no notion he’d even suggest the idea that I could ever depart this oppressive place. It wouldn’t be tonight. The hour was too late, to judge by the position of the stars. Dawn was coming, but on top of all that, I needed help, which Dracula seemed willing to give. I’d be a fool not to accept, since I was still trying to get my brain to take in what had happened to me and how to deal with it. Back in Texas when a tenderfoot turned up on the ranch we’d guide him through things until he learned how to survive on his own. Now I was the tenderfoot.
“I’d appreciate that,” I said.
Dracula grunted once and continued to stare away into the distance. His gaze and his mind must have been very much elsewhere, for he remained silent and unnaturally still for quite a long time.
I tried not to shiver, waiting, reluctant to intrude on whatever dark thoughts possessed him.
“But perhaps,” he finally whispered, his voice so soft I barely heard, “perhaps you will tarry awhile? The wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements of my castle, but you will find more comfort there than in these wastes. We two have many griefs to settle in our hearts, and though I would be alone with my thoughts, in such a time of mourning it is better to have company.”
My answer was to follow him. As we picked our way over the rocks and up the narrow path, his children began to sing again.
* * * * * * *
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P.N. Elrod is best known for her ongoing urban fantasy series, The Vampire Files, and continues to write new adventures and mysteries for undead PI, Jack Fleming. In 2011 she was presented with the prestigious Romantic Times Book Reviews Award for VAMPIRE FICTION PIONEER, Forging the Way for Vampire Fiction Since 1990.
She’s written and edited short stories, novels, and non-fiction for Ace Science Fiction, Baen Books, Benbella Books and DarkStar Books and DAW. The paranormal and urban fantasy collections she edited for St. Martin’s Griffin have won awards and allowed her to work with the best writers in the genres.
Elrod ventures into new territory with a steampunk series for Tor Books, ON HER MAJESTY’S PSYCHIC SERVICE, and has begun her own publishing imprint, VampWriter Books, which features reprints and new novels as they come available. She is embracing digital tech to make her works instantly available for ebook readers.
For the most up-to-date information on her toothy titles, check out her FaceBook page and website at www-dot-vampwriter-dot-com.
Thank you for your purchase of this collection. She hopes you enjoyed it!
* * * * * * *
P.N. Elrod Interviews P.I. Jack Fleming
Author Pat Elrod tracked down vampire P.I. Jack Fleming from “The Vampire Files” at his night club, Lady Crymsyn, which is one of Chicago’s newest hot spots (or at least it was in 1938.) Through the magic of time travel, she found herself in Mr. Fleming’s favorite booth just before opening time.
Elrod: So, Jack, how long have you been a vampire?
Fleming: Hey, I was a perfectly normal human being for 36 years before I was bumped off, what about that?
Elrod: Uh, okay, so tell us about your human life.
Fleming: It was pretty much the same as what I’ve got now, just a different kind of drinking was involved.
Elrod: Yes, you mentioned in Cold Streets that you liked a tipple now and then.
Fleming: Don’t sugarcoat it, Doll face, I was a drunk newsman. I was really good at both jobs, too.
Elrod: Doll face…!
Fleming: Don’t get on your high horse, it’s a compliment. I’m a man of my times.
Elrod: Clearly. Now about your life as a vampire…?
Fleming: Versus being a regular guy? Eh, it’s not so different. I stay up late, but Chicago’s got a lot of all-night movie shows. I miss stuff that goes on during the day like baseball. Reading about a game in the papers just isn’t the same as watching one. I miss a lot of my favorite radio shows, especially in the summer since the days are longer.
Elrod: You’re not at all active during the day?
Fleming: When the sun comes up, I’m dead to the world. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Elrod: How did you get to be a vampire?
Fleming: It’s a long story. I tell about some of it in Bloodlist.
Elrod: That would be your first book. You don’t give the whole story there?
Fleming: I give enough of it. I was pretty busy in Bloodlist. First I wake up dead on that beach, then I can’t remember how I got there or who had killed me. Then this guy hits me with his car—busy. Yanno?
Elrod: Busy. Got that.
Fleming: Good.
Elrod: So—you’ve got a new book in “The Vampire Files” series coming out this September?
Fleming: Sure do! Dark Road Rising. Your pal Rachel Caine liked it plenty.
Elrod: She did. I think she liked it better than my books. You sure you didn’t hypnotize her?
Fleming: I’m taking the fifth.
Elrod: What about your romantic life?
Fleming: Hey, a gentleman doesn’t talk about things like that!
Elrod: Sorry, but many of the lady readers are…curious about how you go about things.
Fleming: They’ll have to ask my girlfriend. She’s never complained.
Elrod: That would be Miss Bobbi Smythe, the chanteuse?
Fleming: She’s more than that—she sings, dances, acts, and can swing a blackjack better than Capone.
Elrod: I thought he favored baseball bats.
Fleming: She can swing one of those, too. Better believe it that I stay on her good side! Don’t get me wrong, she’s the best, I’m lucky to have her. What she sees in me I don’t know, but I hope she keeps seeing it.
Elrod: There is also your human partner in your PI business, Charles Escott. He’s originally from England and is now a private detective—
Fleming: Private agent. Don’t call him a gumshoe, it puts him in a mood. He doesn’t do divorce cases is all.