For some time, Dr. Seward and Professor Van Helsing had sat in the parlor conversing in low voices, but the tranquility of their thoughts was interrupted by distant screams that resounded down the narrow corridors and prompted both to arise, one in disapproval and the other in concern. Seward was so accustomed to chaos in the ward that he did not expect it to be of a serious nature, but his friend hastened on his heels as he went to unlock the gate.
Annie was the least amount of trouble among the inmates, for she was quite sensible apart from infrequent, irrational episodes. No one liked to mention the cause of her deranged mental state, the byproduct of an assault that had left her senseless and pregnant. But where other women might have shunned and abhorred their child, hers was a source of constant pride and adoration, the one thing on earth that belonged to no one but her. While she frequently enlisted the assistance of Lucy to help her, she would not let anyone else hold the baby for long and hovered over it protectively, singing and talking to it with a tenderness her keepers found touching.
Thus, the sudden and brutal death of the infant was alarming, as was its presence on the cold stone floor of her room surrounded by a pool of blood. Seward's heart sank as he observed, knowing it represented the last thread of her sanity; without it she would soon diminish into the state of the other sad creatures that shared her lifelong imprisonment. He could not see how she had harmed the child, as her nature was against it. Weary by the oddities of recent events, he rubbed his eyes and wished for the day to end, half listening as Van Helsing examined the body. There were two small marks on its throat not unlike those that had marred Mina's skin, but he could make nothing of them. In the background, Annie was held in the arms of Swales, who had narrowly prevented her from leaping out the broken window in pursuit of her child's assailant, babbling incoherently to the occupants of her small room.
"She just opened the door, like she had a key! She murdered my little Alex. She was as hot as a burning coal, and her eyes were red like rubies, and her lips all drawn back, and her breath so foul! And she had these long, dreadful teeth like the fangs of a wolf… like nothing from this earth! Then she grabbed him, and I grabbed her, and the next thing I remember, she bit him in the throat!"
Seward was accustomed to incoherent mutterings and said nothing, but his companion was most interested. Holding the lifeless child, he demanded, "This woman, you did not know her?"
All eyes turned to him in bewilderment that he would encourage such madness, but Annie drew herself up to the fullness of her small height and said, "Yes, I did! I did so! It was Miss Lucy's friend Mina, who we put in the earth yesterday!"
The earth receded beneath their feet and they stared at one another. Van Helsing could not form a response and Seward hastened to intervene. "Give her something to make her sleep," he told Swales and the man nodded with compassion as he placed his arm around her shoulder and led her away down the hall. Annie continued to talk the entire distance, her voice soon fading into obscurity. In the distance could be heard the sound of sweeping as what remained of the window was repaired. Seward turned to his friend in shock. "I don't know what to say, Abraham…" he started, but the professor held up one hand for silence.
Wrapping the tiny body in white linen from the cradle, he said, "There are dark forces in this asylum. We will not speak of it now. I must think and pray." He arose from his chair with apparent weariness, for this newfound burden added age to his already diminished frame, and left. Seward looked around him at the emptiness of the space, shuddered, and hoped his daughter would return soon.
Unaware of the miseries of home, Lucy could not contain her enthusiasm as she stepped out into the moonlight and discovered the inner courtyard was a bower of flowering plants and luscious green vines. The coolness of the night was welcome after the warmth of the dining room and the nearness of her companion, who allowed her to precede him as she went to the balcony. It was apparent that great care had been taken in the tending of this small corner of the manor and its beauty quieted her soul. In the distance was the sound of wolves in the wild, a solitary, lonely cry that awakened yearning in her heart. In a subdued, almost reverent voice, her companion said, "Listen to them, the children of the night… what sad music they make."
He rested his hands on the carved stone before them, perfectly poised against the shadows. It was easier to be near him in the darkness, to trust him, to release her inhibitions and allow him to see into her soul. He granted her a glimpse into his, for she saw a sadness he attempted to hide, a loneliness she longed to heal. He was thousands of miles from home and the crypts of his ancestors, isolated, the last of his kind.
"Do you think it sad?" She looked up at him and saw only his profile, the wonderful straightness of his nose and the soft curl of his hair. He truly was the most handsome man she had ever seen, but there was something else equally mesmerizing about him that she could not explain.
He refrained from returning her gaze, musing, "So lonely, like weeping."
Leaving his side and descending down the ancient steps, her hand trailing along the railing and dislodging some of the greenery, she said, "I think it's a wonderful sound. I really love the night. It's so simple." She reached the center of the courtyard and turned to watch as he followed, his movements poised and elegant, causing him to pause on the landing.
"So deceptive," he warned.
In a rare instant of defiance, she argued, "So exciting."
"You take the dawn for granted." He stepped down onto the uneven stone floor; "the warm sunlight. Ah, but the night…"
"… was made to enjoy." Lucy did not move as he came nearer to her, for it was what she wanted.
There was a smile on his lips, playfulness in his tone as he said, "Yes, it was. It was made to enjoy life... and love."
Her eyes lowered along with the rest of her face, welcoming his nearness but intimidated by presence. Lucy was afraid what she might do if she stared at him too long, so near his arms.
"Look at me," he said softly, but she did not and his hand brushed beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were deep and bewitching. She felt her resistance fade, becoming lost in them as his fingers traced the lines of her face, drawing her nearer. Dracula touched his lips to hers, finding her unresisting, emotionless as he kissed her shoulder and the gentle curves of her throat. Temptation coursed through him, a desire to taste her blood, for that had been his original intention but now he found the idea repugnant. He was curious. His lips caressed her neck and pulled lightly on her earlobe, releasing her from his spell and finding she did not draw away from him. Excitement passed through both of them, prompting her to place her hands on his shoulders and draw his lips to hers, tentatively. The sensation of his caress was different from Jonathan, for he was gentle but persistent. Their small kisses soon transitioned into deeper ones as he drew her against him and could feel every response in her body, the increase of her heart and trembling of her veins. She wanted him, not because he asked her, manipulated it out of her, or compelled the primal urges in her soul, but because she truly desired him. It felt so different to hold her in his arms, to not want her blood as much as the intoxication of her kisses, to feel a fierce desire to make love to her. But he drew his lips from hers despite her resistance and whispered, "You must forgive me."
Entwining her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, Lucy asked, "What for?"
He knew it would be prudent to draw out of her arms, but didn't. It would be prudent to abandon her altogether, for it was dangerous to toy with her. "Why, for intruding on your life."
"I came of my own accord." Her breathing was quickening.
Glancing in the direction of the coming light, he said, "You should go."
"No, I would rather stay." She had no desire to go home ever again. If society would have allowed it, she would have remained there forever. Nothing seemed more important than his arms around her, not her future desire to be an attorney, or the death of her friend, or even Jonathan. There was nothing but the scent of the winter flowers and the magic of the courtyard.
His head resting against hers, he murmured, "It will be light soon."
"Not for hours yet," she argued.
Would she have an answer for everything? Must he turn her out? Dracula did not wish to but the night was waning fast and he had need of nourishment before the dawn. Meeting her gaze but resisting the urge to use his influence, he said, "I will see you again."
The thought filled her with happiness and like a child, she whispered, "Oh, please!"
Sliding his hands down her sides to her waist, he kissed her once more and then taking her hand, led her into the manor. It was gloomy after the light of the courtyard but she said nothing as he retrieved her cloak from the settee and draped it over her shoulders. Escorting her to the door, it creaked open under his hand and revealed the coach waiting for her. Lucy started out and then turned back to him, demanding, "When? When will I see you again?" She could not imagine the torment of intervening hours, of wondering when he would darken her door or summon her. He was astounded with the emotion in her voice, the rawness of her yearning for what he offered her.
"Soon," he promised.
Content with this response, her hand reluctantly left his and she descended to the carriage. It trundled down the lane with the assistance of its invisible driver as he turned within, his motions displaying no undue haste as he donned his cloak and glanced at the ornate grandfather clock against the far wall. Dawn was approaching fast. He left the house in the waning darkness and traveled the solitary road into town in the form of a wolf. There were many sleeping souls present in the village open to his influence. He was drawn to them instinctively, transforming into human form in the shadows of a doorway. Wind caressed tendrils of his dark hair as he paused and glanced in the direction of the sea, listening to the silence. It was too dangerous to enter the house, so he went to the bench by the sea to wait for her.
Not knowing what had awakened her from sleep, the milliner's eldest daughter pushed aside the bedclothes and placed her feet on the floor. Passing the sleeping forms of her parents and without rousing the dog from under the stairs, she unlatched the door and stepped out into the gloom. It was not far to her favorite place overlooking the cliffs and as she drew near he emerged from beneath the shadow of the nearby tree and extended his hand. Her fingers fell into his palm, accompanying him to the bench where she watched ships coming into the harbor. Cradling her face in his hands, Dracula placed her in a trance and brushed the golden hair away from her throat. He would not hurt her, nor take enough to make her ill, and in the morning she would remember nothing except the remnants of a dream. Her delicate skin separated beneath his fangs and her blood coursed into him, relieving his hunger but not satisfying it, for he longed for Lucy's blood. He would not take it from her unless she submitted to him, not out of compulsion but desire.
Delicately separating from the girl, he sent her home. Halfway down the lane she turned and smiled at him before skipping down the road. Light was appearing in the east and he set out for Carfax, shifting into a wolf in order to make it in time. Tendrils of light spiraled after him and nearly caught him before he darted into the crypts. His boxes awaited him, full of the rich soil of his homeland that allowed him to sleep for centuries.
Glancing at the nearest, he smiled. How fortunate he was to have one large enough for two.
The further she traveled from her companion, the more certain Lucy became that her father would be displeased with her for the lateness of the hour. There was nothing for it but to enter with confidence and prepare for a lecture so she was surprised to find the lower rooms abandoned and no light burning beneath his door. Dr. Seward had been so distressed by the cryptic remarks of his friend that he had gone to bed without a second thought for his daughter's prolonged absence. His distracted nature had benefitted her in the past and she was again grateful for it as she tiptoed up to her room, closed her door quietly, and prepared for bed in the dark lest someone discover her return.
It was difficult to sleep with the memory of him lingering in her mind, the knowledge that he stirred yearning in her, and that their instant connection on their first meeting had not been a coincidence. It reminded her of Mina and sadness again entered her heart but she had no tears left to shed so turned her face into the pillow and slept. Morning came too soon but no one disturbed her, for they had not heard her come in and thus were unaware of the lateness of her return. She heard footsteps and the sound of her father's voice but then all fell quiet. Eventually, the gloom dissipated from her thoughts and allowed her to rise, dressing dutifully and going downstairs to discern if anything of breakfast remained. Her father had already eaten and retired to the asylum to continue his duties. The professor had spent most of the morning in the library pouring over books on vampire bats and was lost in thought when Lucy appeared on the threshold. Her presence was a reminder to him of their current situation and caused him to shut the book.
"Miss Lucy," he said with a hint of sadness as she approached. "I have not seen you in far too long."
"I am sorry it is under these circumstances," she answered. He looked older than she remembered, the loss of his daughter having worn severely on his constitution. She was fond of him, for he was kind to his daughter and her friends, and it worried her to see the paleness of his features and slowing of his movements. He was a man ravaged by more than grief. Noticing the volume he had been reading, she found it strange but did not comment as he rose to his feet cumbersomely, for he had been sitting there for hours. "Have you eaten?"
"No, I have been preoccupied. Perhaps you would take breakfast with me?" Van Helsing noticed an unusual flush to her features, a natural grace that had not been there before; she moved differently, with greater confidence and restraint. He had not seen her in several years but this was more than gradual maturity. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her curiously until she smiled and offered him her arm.
They ate a quiet breakfast, for neither had much to say, and Lucy went upstairs while Van Helsing went to the kitchen. It was a large establishment and in the cellar could be found all manner of useful things. The servants watched with interest but could not fathom his reasoning for gathering the items that went into a small wooden box. He collected salt, stakes, and garlic cloves. There was a garden of it behind the asylum and Lucy saw him gathering the tiny white flowers when she went to fetch a book from the parlor. Lifting aside the curtain, she observed his progress and then resumed her task. There were forms to fill out for her application to law school in London, and it made her forget the sadness of previous days to put her mind to earnest toil.
Dinner was promptly at seven each evening and a little earlier than that, her father returned from his duties. He had not seen her since the previous afternoon and made no comment as he entered the parlor other than, "It has been a maddening day. There is such unease among them, more so than is natural for such a simple a death."
Pausing in her scribbling, Lucy turned in her chair, the dark waves of her hair highlighting the paleness of her features against the fading light. Soon she would be forced to light the lamps. "What do you mean?" she asked, for she had been told nothing of recent events. Her absence had been so irregular that her father had quite forgotten it, and stared at her for a moment before stirring common sense from the depths of his mind.
"Of course, you weren't here… Annie's baby died last night; a most terrible affair. She was raving like a lunatic. Said Mina crept in from the darkness and drank the child's blood. There was a window broken and a great deal of turmoil…" He stopped when he saw how much the conversation pained her, for Lucy had been very fond of little Alex. His happy gurgle and beaming smile had been the joy of the household. The frivolity and flirtations of the previous evening eroded beneath this newfound sorrow, prompting her to put aside her pen.
"What happened to him?"
"I don't know. There was a great deal of blood." The physician sank into the nearest chair and rubbed the top of his balding head. Smoothing his hair into place, he peered at her over the top of his rounded spectacles. "It is a most troubling affair and one Van Helsing has been pondering throughout the day, although he chooses not to share his suspicions with me. Has he come in yet?"
"No."
It was an encouragement for her to go in search of him, and donning a lace shawl, Lucy welcomed a chance to escape into the briskness of the evening air and think. He had been in the lower garden for most of the afternoon but she found it abandoned and turned her attention to the cemetery beyond. It was not difficult to make him out against the cold gray turf, for he sat hunched beside the freshly turned earth of his daughter's grave. The wind whipping her skirts around her, Lucy skirted the tombstones and approached from behind, reverent as to the state of his distress. "Professor," she said, disturbing him from the depth of his musings, "you should come inside now. It's getting very cold."
Wisps of grass moved beneath her feet, tousled by her long skirt, blue beneath the faint golden twinge of light as it faded in the west, sinking behind luminous clouds. The sky would soon be streaked with crimson, the clouds heralding the coming darkness with a fond caress. Her voice was so soft it was nearly lost in the quiet of the place, in the distant sound of gulls on the sea and the town spread beneath them. The Hall was different from the rest of civilization, isolated, and her eyes drifted to Carfax Abbey in the distance, concealed behind the skeletal trees.
"I was just sitting awhile with Mina," he remarked, quietly
Her resting place was marked with a single whitewashed wooden cross, and as she stared down at the rich earth that separated them forever, Lucy saw the sprigs of white nestled there. Leaning down to touch the nearest, she asked, "What are these?" She felt an internal twinge of concern at having them there that she could not explain.
"Those tiny flowers are from the garlic plant." Van Helsing did not move as she came to join him on the narrow bench. He had moved it there with some difficulty and there were still marks in the ground from having dragged it from one corner of the graveyard to the other. Many times Mina had sat with him in such a posture overlooking her mother's final rest. It felt so wrong not to have her with him, so incredible that he would never sit with her again.
Bewildered, Lucy asked, "Whatever for?"
Society did not accept stories of supernatural forces. They were regarded as superstition, folklore, tales told around roaring fires of ghosts and other intervening beings. Van Helsing had not believed in them until now and did not expect her to understand. Hints of immortal intervention had come upon learning the circumstances of Mina's diminished health and sudden death. The loss of blood was significant and before he had left Holland he had gone to the priest to ask for a blessing and divine guidance. "I cannot be certain, but there may be an evil presence abroad," he had said. His mentor and friend, a man of great learning and formidable religious experience, had warned him to be careful. It was prudent advice, for he had sensed on his arrival a looming darkness at the asylum. He saw it in the faces of his companions and the quietness of the country lanes, but could not determine its origins.
Lucy was staring at him intently.
Knowing she would refute him, Van Helsing asked, "Do you believe in corporeal transference?"
Foreign studies had made her aware of such things, fanciful accusations about out-of-body experiences in which another individual commanded your movements or forced your soul to abandon its body. "No," she said, certain he was toying with her, but there was seriousness in his face. It was old and wise, once handsome but now ravaged with grief, dark circles beneath his eyes and weariness in his mouth.
"In materialization?" he pressed, without much hope. There was something about her that he could not trust but demanded he attempt to save her.
She almost laughed, shaking her head. "No."
It was apparent that she found him absurd, but he pressed, "And not in astral bodies?"
"What has this to do with Mina?"
The scent of garlic wafted over them, an unpleasant aroma against the saltiness of the air. Staring at the crudely crafted cross that was his daughter's only adornment in death, Van Helsing said, "You know the legends of Central Europe of the werewolves and vampires?"
More superstitions and stories, originating from the gypsies of those regions; most had come to England and brought the local folklore with them, tales of demonic creatures that took on different forms with the rising of the moon. Jonathan had purchased a little book about them from a street vendor and she had laughed at him for it. His eagerness to read of them struck her with a particular resonance but it was not humor that surfaced in her voice as she repeated, "Vampires?"
Her response was instinctive, for she knew what he meant. Mina's loss of blood, the death of a child, the unusual behavior of the asylum inhabitants, all seemed eerily similar to the gypsy legends.
"Creatures who suck the blood of the living," he said needlessly, for it was apparent from her expression that she understood and resisted his suspicions. Even he had difficulty admitting it, for it was repugnant to believe in such creatures, but in the many years of his existence he had experienced things no mortal could explain. There were supernatural forces in the world, some originating from the darkest of places. He hoped for something other than disbelief or condemnation in her countenance, but she disappointed him.
With evident anger, she said, "You aren't saying that you believe Mina attacked…"
"A creature that is dead and yet not dead. A thing that lives after its death by drinking the blood of…"
She stood and moved away from the grave marked by tranquil white blossoms. She would not listen to this. "Oh, no, please!"
Rising in her wake, he continued, "It must have blood or it dies an agonizing death!"
Wind whipped the end of her scarf, threatening to dislodge it from her hair, the emptiness of her surroundings contributing to the heaviness in her heart. Lucy started toward the house, unwilling to listen to this madness, but his plaintive appeal for her to pause forced her to remain still. "Miss Lucy!" he cried, in the voice of a father who has lost a child and a new wave of pain surfaced as she turned to wait for him. He made his way over the uneven ground with care, removing something small from his pocket. His hands were shaking.
"Miss Lucy, I wonder if I may..." Hesitation was abandoned as he handed it to her and she turned it over, looking up at him. "It was to be Mina's for her birthday. She would want you to have it, and to wear it always."
Ignoring the emotion that arose within her, Lucy opened the box to reveal a small golden cross on a matching chain. It was beautiful and delicate, just the sort of thing her friend would have treasured in her faithful innocence. Mina had been sweet and undemanding, content with the smallest things. It touched her that Van Helsing wanted her to have it. The cross was so light it wavered in the breeze, glistening in the final rays of light before they faded. Above them the sky was magnificent, harkening the arrival of night. She experienced a faint rush of exhilaration and expectation, sensing him long before the sound of pounding hoof beats reached her ears. She saw him in her mind even as Van Helsing lifted the cross and assisted her in placing it around her neck.
"Always," he stressed, knowing she would not fully understand her need to keep it close. Lucy was not like his daughter, not aware of the danger. Mina had seemed naïve to her but in many regards had been wise, not protected from the evils of the world so much as guarded against them. If only he had been there to watch out for her, but it was too late for Mina, so he would turn his attention to her friend instead. Lucy would not share her fate, not in death nor as the victim of whatever walked among them. A change came over her expression when the cross touched her bodice, a softening of the lines of her face as she pressed a kiss to his cheek in gratitude, unable to find words to thank him. Taking his arm, Lucy escorted him toward the gates of the graveyard, slightly crooked from the passage of time and shifting of the cliffs. The hoof beats increased and brought a rider that filled her with joy.
Count Dracula was immaculate in appearance if somewhat windswept, his interest apparent as his eyes caressed her slender form and they exchanged pleasantries. Her response was soft, for even at a distance he awakened her sensuality. Shifting his attention to the older man at her side, Dracula felt immediate dislike. He suspected this man was not as easily fooled as the others. "I am Count Dracula," he said from the back of his horse, which moved uneasily beneath him. Horses were naturally frightened of his kind but he had mastered this one.
"Abraham Van Helsing."
So that was why; her death had brought her father, a man of the old country who knew the superstitions of distant lands. Dracula saw in him a rival as much as sensed his curiosity and disapproval. He would have to be cautious or risk discovery. "Then it is your daughter, sir, who brings me here. I have come to pay my respects." He had come for her. Mina would not languish beneath the earth another night, but follow him into eternity. Even now he could sense her stirring, filled with yearning and a deep hunger. She was frightened and alone, crying out to him like a child alone in the night.
The gentle caress of Lucy's fingers around a small adornment at her throat drew his attention, and attempting to maintain a disinterested tone, he asked, "What is that around your neck?"
It was evident, a small cross fully capable of keeping him at a distance. She had never worn one before, nor had he sensed any form of devotion in her. Its presence was unwelcome.
"This? It is a gift from Professor Van Helsing." Lucy gave him an affectionate glance and the Count recoiled. The old man had wasted no time in interference and no doubt already had his suspicions. Word of recent happenings at the asylum was spreading in the town, rumors of ghosts and other spectral forms. Dracula could not long stay at Carfax, but then he had no desire to, only long enough to take both of his brides with him.
With more than his usual amount of sarcasm, he said, "How kind."
Both men glared at one another, one with dark intentions and the other grave doubts. Oblivious to the contempt in the air between them, Lucy said, "We were just going inside. Perhaps you would care to join us?" She hoped he would and she might be allowed to see him again, but to her disappointment Dracula shook his head.
Resuming a pleasant expression, he indicated the cemetery behind them and said, "With your permission, sir?"
Stepping out of the path, Van Helsing answered, "With my blessing."
Maneuvering his horse around them, Dracula did not look back. His companion, however, watched him until Lucy gently pulled on his arm, then returned with her to the house.