Superstition was written into Romanians from birth. It flowed from their lips as readily as evangelism from the throats of missionaries, influencing all their actions and commanding respect in the dark and sinister countryside. Few did not know the legends of vampires or were unfamiliar with rumors surrounding the Borgia Pass and its unholy occupants, and even fewer had not heard of the King of the Vampires. Romanians were quiet people, self-contained and disinterested in the traditions of the rest of the world. Most were devout and kept crosses near at hand. Their occasional travels from their portion of the world to such places as England were largely without ill-content, and if it were not for the recent loss of a familiar sailing vessel under sinister circumstances, the helmsman might not have taken notice of the small craft propelling at high speed through the water toward them. The tide was going out and their ship with it, the inhabitants cheerful at the thought of returning home to their wives and daughters. For some reason they were more eager than usual and had been since that morning, when the box had arrived. It was usual for them to crate property around and it had been placed in the hold as instructed without much curiosity. Carrying it down the narrow stairs, one of the men had nearly dropped it and a few loose bits of earth had dropped out, unseen and soon tracked among the piles of cargo below deck. Dusting off their hands and returning to their labors, the men could not understand why, but the approaching craft filled them with a sense of prevailing dread and uncertainty that only increased as it pulled up alongside and a wiry man shouted for them to put down a rope. None of them spoke English and were mystified when two figures appeared on deck.
"Dracula," panted Jonathan. "Where is he?"
Blank expressions met his eye, accompanied by the occasional shrug.
"Count Dracula," he persisted, "is he on this ship?"
The name was unfamiliar to them and all shook their heads. "Nyet, nyet," they repeated. Jonathan did not know how to respond, but fortunately his companion sensed something they would recognize and pressed, "Nosferatu!"
Comprehension dawned but no one responded until he added a string of Romanian and concluded urgently, "Vampyre!"
This was something they understood. Memories of gruesome stories told by grandmothers in the dead of night resurfaced and caused a few to cross themselves, others muttering uncertainly. Jonathan repeated the term several times and someone pointed to the hold. Crashing through the small doorway and stumbling into the gloom, he saw mounds of boxes, lanterns, crates, and other items towering in the small space. He was cautious as he entered, swift to examine each box and crate large enough to contain human cargo. Van Helsing remained behind momentarily to explain to the captain, who had descended from the hold to learn what the commotion was about, so Jonathan was alone. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he nervously passed through the narrow pathways. He caught sight of something that made his heart leap and he shouted, "Professor!" before realizing the danger and lowering his voice.
Nothing moved apart from the gentle sway of the floor and the occasional swinging of a lantern. Van Helsing hastened down the narrow stairs, one hand around a wooden stake fashioned from a shovel handle by the captain. The Romanian stood at the head of the stairs and did not enter, seeing no reason to be involved in affairs that did not concern him, a belief the rest of his crew shared. Van Helsing reached the foot and pressed one hand to his heart, wincing as pain shot through him. He had to last a little while longer, just long enough to see Lucy rescued from the monster. He followed Jonathan to the crate marked with Dracula's insignia and motioned for him to lift the lid. Jonathan took a few deep breaths and pried it open with a crowbar he had found. The lid flipped onto the floor but nothing arose to attack them from within. In fact, the screeching of the nails had not even awoken them.
It was an unnerving sight. Lucy lay curled beneath the Count's arm, her head resting against his broad chest. Dracula rested on his back, unmoving and unaware of their presence as they stood over him, reassured of their safety since their departure from England's shores. Both hesitated and Van Helsing motioned for him to remove the count's arm and take Lucy out of the coffin. Putting down the crowbar, Jonathan tentatively reached for the hand resting against her shoulder. It was cold to his touch but the Count did not move, allowing him to slide it off. This awakened Lucy, luring her from the wonderful darkness that had enveloped her in recent hours. Her eyes opened and terrified him, for they were red. She understood what he intended to do and snarled, digging her fingernails into the count's garments as Jonathan grabbed her and roughly pulled her up. Her protests did nothing to awaken her lover and he remained silent and still as she was dragged away from him. Jonathan knew her as a wild creature, snarling and clawing at him as he attempted to wrestle her to a safe distance. Lucy was furious with him for intruding, for daring to come after him, for threatening her, and her rage was so complete that she was briefly preoccupied but then out of the corner of her eye she saw Van Helsing place his stake over Dracula's heart. Her eyes widened and a scream of profound displeasure came out of her. The chilling, disheartening sound distracted Van Helsing and awakened Dracula. Once he slept, he was all but oblivious to the world, unaware of what transpired around him. He had refrained until they reached the ship, until he had heard the familiar romantic sounds of Romanian and felt the departure of the sailors from the hold. Lucy had slept already on their arrival, but he had waited until the ocean churned beneath them. Then he had closed his eyes and descended into nothingness, into the earth around him from which he drew strength.
Centuries before, his other brides had met an evil fate while he slept. He had not heard their screams as stakes were driven into their chests; their voices silenced forever as a blade decapitated them. It was an unpleasant, unsavory demise and his anger had been incredible when darkness had fallen and he had arisen to find their coffins filled with garlic flowers. He had known who was responsible, had known they would have attempted to kill him too if they had known his resting place, and had made them pay for it. But this time was different. Lucy's scream meant more to him than the others, for it resonated in his soul. His eyes sprang open and focused on the white-haired old man leaning over him. He felt the prick of the stake against his chest and heard Lucy struggling with Jonathan. Two slender hands arose and gripped the end of the crude weapon. Van Helsing's head snapped around and his eyes widened with dread. In one swift motion, Dracula knocked him aside, sending him crashing into the bags of grain piled against the far wall.
Jonathan continued to fight with Lucy as the Count rose majestically from his coffin. Van Helsing scrambled in his pocket for one of his holy relics and for an instant, their eyes met. In his was fear and resignation and in the Count's was absolute hatred as he brought the wooden stake forward and impaled his adversary on the end of it. The Impaler; the name the locals had given to him so many centuries ago when he had fought in the war, before he had found immortality. The force of the thrust and the motion drove the implement into the wall and pinned the professor there. Jonathan could not believe what had just happened. Trembling fingers drew his revolver and he attempted to fire but Lucy dragged his arm down and prevented the bullet from reaching its destination. Having had enough, he backhanded her with such violence that she went down in a heap. Dracula advanced on him and the gun fired a half dozen times. The bullets riddled the Count but failed to even cause him pain. Ominous shadows moved around them, the ship swaying with its forward motion as Jonathan flung the useless revolver aside and snatched at the nearest wall. His hand closed around a hook on a chain and he flung it in the vain hope it would strike his adversary, but with astounding reflexes the Count snatched it out of midair. Annoyance was spiraling through him, irritation that it had come to this and they could not let him be. That Lucy was dazed and helpless on the floor, that Van Helsing had not gone back to Holland as he was advised, and Jonathan was making such futile attempts against him. Genuinely angry, he flung the hook away from him and it impaled the wall inches from Van Helsing's head, barely stirring him as he lingered between life and death. Iridescent fabric fluttered in his wake as the Count moved forward, catching Jonathan by the throat and slamming him into the wall, his feet inches off the ground. Dracula closed his narrow fingers around the man's neck and slowly applied pressure, taking enjoyment in watching the color drain from his rival's face.
The professor was hardly aware of his surroundings, the pain so extreme he knew he would soon die. But out of the haze he could make out the blurred form of the Count as he threatened Jonathan. Weakness robbed him of most movement but he had enough strength left to reach out and pull the hook from the wall. Praying for a steady hand, he hurled it across the room and it impaled the vampire, entangling in his cloak. Dracula let out a scream of rage and threw Jonathan aside, turning his full attention to the grappling hook embedded in his back. Lucy stared at him in horror, her attention turning to Jonathan as he threw himself against the lever that retracted the hook. Before the Count could respond, the violence of the chain as it rushed upwards carried him with it, abandoning the hold and crashing through the overhead doors. Lucy rushed forward but Jonathan was stronger than she was as her source of power waned.
Sunlight flooded in on them, weakening her and illuminating the scars on Jonathan's face as he stared transfixed at the figure flailing wildly against the billowing white sails. Dracula could not release himself from the hook and was suspended over the deck, ignorant of the astounded Romanians below who observed with gaping mouths. Centuries had passed since he had last felt the warmth of the sun and where in his youth it might have awakened longing in him, now it was a torment to him, devastating and painful. He could feel it flooding through him, eating at the contours of his face and causing him to smoke, his skin disintegrating as the powerful rays seeped into his body. He fought to be free for as long as he could, before strength left him, he was resigned to his fate and nothing more than a peeling, tattered creature in the rigging. He could hear, faintly, Lucy screaming in the distance and she covered her face with her arms, as she could not bear to look. Jonathan slid to the floorboards as his legs gave out.
The transformation was unfamiliar and quiet, the departure of his influence from her veins. Lucy knew then he was dead, for she no longer felt his agony, and when she lowered her arms there was no movement from the mast other than the sight of his cape fluttering in the wind. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she looked toward the figure of Van Helsing, a trickle of blood seeping from his mouth. Jonathan could not even look at her, he was so ashamed. Lucy reached for his shoulder and he did not respond, nor could she forget his actions. Overwhelming sadness passed through her, as if something had been taken from her, something wonderful rather than monstrous, but she could not hope to make him understand. Her fingers fell and movement caught her attention. Dracula had come loose of the hook and was flying away, what remained of his body carried by the wind, the contours of his cape like a magnificent bat as he drifted out to sea.
It caused her to smile, concealing it from her dazed companion as he was relieved to have it at an end. It gave her hope, though she said nothing as harried feet brought the Romanians into the hold. Neither of them could speak the language and it was hard to explain, so she sat quietly in the background, Jonathan's coat around her shoulders as Jonathan pantomimed what had happened and Van Helsing was carefully lain out. It would not do for them to leave England and this did not please them, but the ship turned around and headed back to port, sailing against the tide. Jonathan did not speak to her and she avoided him, turning away whenever he chanced to look at her. She knew he thought of her as tainted. Jonathan was more old-fashioned than he cared to admit. He had seen her as a pure, holy thing meant to be his alone, and not knowing what she had shared with the Count drove him to distraction. He would pretend nothing was wrong, but he cared more than he wanted to admit.
Only when she saw her father's anxious face on the dock did Lucy felt anything apart from resentment. He was so concerned, eyes wide behind his round glasses, nervously sucking on the sweets that accompanied him everywhere that her heart softened. Relief came over him as she came down the gangplank and he ran forward to embrace her, thanking God she was safe. She seemed none the worse for her adventure apart from a bruise starting on her lower chin and weariness in her gaze. He demanded the details and Jonathan reassured him Dracula was dead. Standing at a short distance, Lucy pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders and said nothing. Beaming, the doctor suddenly realized their number had decreased by one. "But where is Abraham?" he demanded.
Resting one hand on the older man's shoulder, Jonathan said, "I'm afraid he didn't make it. Dracula…"
Seward gripped Jonathan and contemplated his friend's death with great remorse.
Her voice was so quiet neither of them thought they had heard her right. "He was only defending himself."
"What did you say?" Jonathan looked fully at her for the first time and she did not like his expression. Her father was equally astounded, bewildered against the commotion of the dock. The Romanians were hauling out the vampire's crate of earth and seemed glad to get rid of it. They would soon carry out the professor's body on a covered stretcher. "Surely you cannot justify what that monster did to you, or to Van Helsing!"
Tension laced through his tone and Lucy tightened her expression. "Van Helsing wanted to kill him, as you did. You threatened him before. He was going to leave England without harming either of you."
"He kidnapped you! He drained the life out of you! And now you are defending him?" Jonathan was on the verge of shouting, a vein in his forehead throbbing violently.
Dr. Seward stepped between them. "We're all tired; we've had a long night. Let's not discuss this now."
Each turned their back on the other. Jonathan, hands on his hips, paced off to sulk and Lucy waited with her father for his friend's body to be brought out. There was much reverence in the manner the sailors handled it, for they knew of his heroism and harkened him as a "saint" for his actions. It was difficult to look at them, to feel their eyes on her and know they knew how near immortality she had come. Equally hard was waiting for Swales to come and fetch them. Her father rang him from a nearby hotel and until he arrived she kept her distance from them. It was decided local authorities should not be involved and Swales brought the long cart so they might transport the body back to the asylum. There was a stony silence between her and Jonathan the entire way home.
"Thank God you have returned safely," cried Mrs. Galloway as she embraced her.
Lucy said nothing and indicated her desire to go to her room. No one attempted to stop her and she was relieved to abandon their curious glances. It was strange to stand in her room and remember all that had transpired there in the last few days. The scent of garlic turned her stomach and reminded her of the professor. It was not that she did not mourn him, for she had liked him in spite of his eccentricities. She knew she should have felt remorse and that the feelings coursing through her were inappropriate, but the Count had not controlled nor manipulated her. He had loved her and had died for her. He might have left England in peace but had chosen to return for her, to take her with him, knowing she would be much happier in his world than her own. It felt as if she had been offered much and then had it taken away from her by those who claimed to love her most. Jonathan would never forgive her. It would always lie between them, an unspoken doubt and accusation she did not want to bear, a grudge that would taint every moment of their lives. He would not want to marry her and she could not fathom it, could not envision intimacy with him, not since Dracula had made love to her. It was not something women talked of, but she wanted to talk about it, to remember it, to confess that she would never desire anyone else. She belonged to him, whether or not he was dead. And she didn't think he was dead. She had seen him die, but her heart refused to believe it. He was too old and kind, too mysterious and wonderful to have died.
There was a knock on the bedroom door and she turned as the housekeeper entered bearing a luncheon tray. "You haven't eaten in a long time," Mrs. Galloway said, motherly as ever. She was not to blame and Lucy held no ill will against her, expressing gratitude and concealing the fact that she felt no hunger, only deep unhappiness. Mrs. Galloway looked at her strangely and Lucy knew what she was thinking. You seem different.
She was different, but pretended otherwise. On the orders of her father, Mrs. Galloway lingered until Lucy had eaten as much as she could. It was not a great deal, for her stomach was in upheaval and she knew it was because her body did not yet know whether it was mortal or immortal. But once a few of the sandwiches had been nibbled on and the tea drunk, the woman kissed her and took away the leftovers. It had been a tiring day and Lucy did not emerge from her room, even when dinner was announced. Her father and Jonathan shared an uneasy meal. The housekeeper went up to offer her something to eat and found her asleep, so no one disturbed her.
It was a night much like the first of his arrival; a storm brewed in the channel and caressed the coast, rain falling against the windows of her room and distant flashes of lightning illuminating the headstones in the cemetery past the garden. Lucy stirred in the midst of the deluge and looked to the window, feeling the intense pull of the tide and resisting its urges. The latch on her verandah clicked and one of the doors blew open; the gust of wind toppled her letter box off the mantle and its contents spilled across the room. One blew into her hand stamped with a London postmark. How she missed the city, from the theater to the constant rush and whirl of its streets, a teeming society of strangers where it would be easy to forget the past. It was less morose than Whitby with its ominous cliffs and crags, and would be a change of scene, different from her memories of this place, her sadness about Mina and the loss of her innocence. Lucy had not intended to move until the autumn but she needed to put distance between her and those who regarded her with suspicion. Even her father had regarded her doubtfully, wondering how much an advantage had been taken of her, and she could not abide that.
Arrangements had been made for her to room at a boardinghouse run by a woman by the name of Mrs. Leeway. She was terribly old-fashioned, so Lucy's father naturally approved of her. Men were not allowed in except in the parlor and never after nine o'clock in the evening. Her ladies were to be neat, quiet, and return at reasonable hours. She housed them in a decent district with pleasant surroundings and served meals promptly on time. Lucy had devised months ago how to smuggle in Jonathan whenever she pleased but now saw the strict rules of the house as convenient. She would wait a few weeks and then depart, enough time for her father to be certain she was all right and for Jonathan to have left for his law firm, as there was no reason to prolong his stay.
It comforted her to have a plan and as she locked the verandah, Lucy hoped to put all this behind her.