Chapter Ten:
The Dark Apprentice
The journal of Mary Watson:
(Written during the remainder of 1894)
After the night Rachel Howells and John Clay tried to kill John - the night that Howells could have killed me – our circumstances changed. Regaining my strength after taking my fill from Mycroft Holmes's satisfying blood, I then made it my mission to have Kaitlyn – who was slowly now recovering - taken inside to the lounge sofa and be watched over by me. As she slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep, the Holmes brothers questioned both me and John as to the recent course of events.
I spent the last part of the night snuggled against my sleeping husband. He had gone to bed much sooner than me, of course. He was bound to rest during the night, as most mortals do – whilst I was obliged to sleep during the day. But I was already trying to build up my resilience to the daylight. I wanted to walk during the day – like the Harkers did on occasion. Like they did when John had first met them.
I wanted to see the sun again. I wanted to mingle with my loved ones during the day once more. To feel the warmth on my face and my skin without it weakening me – if only for a few minutes every now and then.
Although Klein's vampires could not enter our house, the fact that two of them had invaded our yard and garden made both John and I fearful of another attack. As a couple, we held discussions with the Holmes brothers – which resulted in Mycroft getting his trusted contacts in the government to buy our house, ready to apprehend our undead enemies, if they made a move against our property again. They would also buy the small, terraced house that Kaitlyn lived in by herself. John would move back into 221B Baker Street, once Sherlock had pulled out the clutter he had dumped in John's old room. In the meantime, I would talk to the Harkers – with the end result being that I, along with my new Follower, Kaitlyn, would divide my time between staying at the Harkers' safehouse and 221B Baker Street. After all, Kaitlyn needed to learn the rules about being a Follower – to have unwavering loyalty and commitment, to me. But now she was a mortal with slightly enhanced strength and health. She would age a little slower. Provided that she continued to feed from me on a more-or-less weekly basis. Drink a little of my vampire blood.
I was worried that once both she and I learnt more about the vampire-Familiar relationship, that Kaitlyn would turn angry towards me for turning her into an addict of sorts – for she would suffer withdrawal symptoms if she did not feed from me once a week. But although Kaitlyn was disturbed by the fact that she would need to put greater distance between herself and everyone in her past life, once she and her fellow Follower - Irene Adler - had a long talk, Kaitlyn came to me and hugged me. She thanked me for saving her life, and that she was grateful that I had returned from the dead.
"I had missed you, Mistress Mary," she declared, smiling. Just like the red robes in reference to Klein, Kaitlyn now said 'mistress' as a title of respect. Only, I – not Klein – was the one she looked up to. "And now, I am truly your faithful servant," she added.
I patted her shoulder in appreciation. "I am sorry if this turn of events will prevent you from having a full life of your own. I know you did not have a gentleman friend of your own – but that you hoped for one, for example…"
"Mistress… Please allow me to work on that problem, meself. If I find a suitable man…, perhaps he too could become a Follower for one of your kind? Madam Mina, maybe?" Kaitlyn smirked.
"Maybe," I grinned back.
And so, Kaitlyn and I started to become friends, instead of just being mistress and paid servant. After she moved out of her small house, she would sleep in whichever house I did, so to be close at hand to serve me. When I slept at 221B, Martha Hudson allowed Kaitlyn to sleep in the spare bed in her own bedroom, on the top floor. Whilst I slept in a coffin that had been brought in by John and Sherlock from the Harkers. Why a coffin now? Because the Harkers advised me that it was the best way to rest and build up my strength and power during the day, ready for me to become a 'daywalker'. I had to shut myself away from total daylight when I was sleeping like the dead in the meantime. Otherwise, even indirect light from around closed curtains could inhibit the development of my budding power whilst I was dead to the world.
It seemed strange, but I accepted the wisdom of my tutors.
The problem for me was I hated to wake up in the darkness of my coffin – as I remembered the horror of my first awakening, in that cemetery, all too well. Kaitlyn helped me, whenever she could, by opening up my coffin lid a few minutes before sunset, each evening. Before my still, vampiric body would animate once more.
I should mention two more matters from that gruelling fight in our yard. The first is that John, despite his worries, was not arrested for killing Rachel Howells. After all, we had witnesses ready to pledge in a court of law, if necessary, that my husband acted out of self defence against a dangerous woman. A woman who was no longer human – or even technically alive.
The second is that, after the purchase of our house, government agents were able to bring Howells's remains out of the well. It was confirmed that she was definitely dead, this time. The body had decayed, after the collapsed bricks had crushed her ribcage and heart. Any doctor who might have been called to examine her remains, ignorant of the facts, would have stated that Howells had been dead for years, instead of a matter of weeks.
As the following months went by, I gradually awoke earlier each evening as my resilience to sunlight increased, forcing Kaitlyn to see to her coffin lid duty sooner and sooner before sunset. Eventually, I managed to overcome my fear of awakening in a closed, dark space – and be able to open my own coffin lid without panicking.
John saw how this was a struggle for me over the course of 1894. And he was always supportive of me, knowing that I was trying to return to being a woman who walked during the daylight. For his sake, so he thought.
I remember the conversation we had in our shared bedroom in 221B as I smiled and shook my head.
"Not just for your sake and mine, John. But for Martha, too. And for Sherlock," I corrected him.
"For…Holmes?" John was puzzled.
"There's been no other attempt by Klein and her agents to hunt us down since the death of Rachel Howells." I paused, and then said what I had been wanting to say since my escape from Cherry Tree House. "Let me help you men with your cases. Some of them at least. You said that Sherlock complimented me on my organisation and intelligence over the business of the Agra treasure. That he thought I could be useful to your shared work."
John opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. He held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes, as he thought again. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, whilst I was perched on my coffin of fine, polished wood – which filled the available space to one side of his bed.
"The daylight…," he began.
"I will pace myself, so to speak," I answered quickly. "Gradually increasing my exposure to sunlight over time. With an umbrella or parasol to shield me. Autumn will soon be here, and so there will be less sunny days. And the foggy evenings of the coming months will be delightful for me! Better for sneaking upon prey…"
"Well… Quite." John coughed nervously as he quickly steered the course of the conversation back onto course. "But the public are used to Holmes and me acting as a team. If I now write of a woman joining us on our adventures, that will upset some of the readers…"
"Then do not include me in your write-ups, John," I suggested to him. "Though I admit it would be nice if you did so, occasionally."
"It will be difficult for Holmes and myself to explain to others why a woman is with us!" he pointed out. "Think about the government officials that occasionally call upon the services of Holmes. And some of the places we go, are…"
"…not appropriate for a lady to be? Such as the opium den where you found Isa Whitney? And where Sherlock was in disguise whilst he was searching for information on Neville St. Clair?" I sighed. "I miss Kate Whitney… Another good friend I have lost, as a result of me dying…"
John nodded. "Like Mrs Forrester, Kate was present at your funeral. But yes. I am concerned about how it would seem, if you accompanied me and Holmes on our investigations, Mary! It would be dangerous…"
"But I am potentially more dangerous than another Doctor Roylott bending a steel poker." I smiled sweetly. "I am now stronger than a typical woman, John."
My husband huffed. "You would need a new identity!"
"I know. Perhaps I can be a distant cousin of yours…"
He threw his hands into the air. "You've already plotted this out, haven't you?"
"Of course! Or…I could be a lady wanting to become Sherlock's apprentice," I put forth, giving him a coy smile.
"He won't agree to that!"
There was a knock at our bedroom door.
John sighed. "Come in!" he called out.
Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the room, dressed in his usual dark waistcoat and trousers, over his crisp white shirt – and with his bow tie half-hidden underneath his collars. He regarded us keenly as we both rose to our feet.
"I would not normally intrude – but your wife presents an interesting proposal, Watson," he declared in his usual sharp voice.
John sighed "You heard it all from the sitting room?"
"Quite so. Well, Mrs Watson. Your husband naturally is concerned for your safety, even allowing for your…enhanced nature. But he does raise some legitimate concerns. If you can overcome these, I – for one – am prepared to test your potential as our assistant in our detective work and fighting crime."
"Thank you, Sherlock," I breathed. I paused, and then I stated my case. "For one thing, my senses are now sharper than when I was…mortal. And…I can act as a spy. In the form of a cat."
Sherlock's stormy grey eyes bored into my own. "We will have to travel out of London on occasion. As you know. Travelling during the day."
"So be it. I look forward to seeing more of the countryside than I am used to," I replied, smirking.
"With your maid?"
"If you permit her to accompany us. Yes."
"What if you being seen with us leads Klein to track us down again, via any agents she still has?"
I took a deep breath, and then spoke as I released it. "Then she will have to reckon against us as a team. I no longer wish to hide from the world! I know I am undead – but I want to feel…alive…again. Is that so hard to understand, Mr Holmes?" I challenged him.
"Not at all, Mrs Watson." He smiled and looked across to John – who slumped his shoulders in defeat.
"Very well. If Holmes has no objections – then I will not deny you being part of our team, Mary. I just want you to be safe!" John declared, placing his hand upon my shoulder.
"I know. And I appreciate that, John. But I want to feel…that I can put my mind and my new powers to good use. And that I can be happy, working with you both," I said as I stepped forward, laid my hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on the lips - making my husband smile, despite his worries.
"Such as tracking down a murderer, for example? The thrill of the hunt, Mrs Watson?" Sherlock's eyes flashed knowingly.
"Quite so," I agreed, with a sweet smile, as I breathed a sigh of relief, once again appreciating these two remarkable men in my life…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
"…I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."
Upon hearing the voice of the young man speaking to Sherlock Holmes just outside the front door, via the barely open kitchen window, I stopped stirring the cake mix for Martha. She and I glanced at each other.
"Go on, Mary," she whispered. "I can manage just fine for now – and I know you are eager to sit in when there's a new client."
"Thank you, Martha," I replied, grinning. Then, once the three men – Sherlock, John, and this flaxen-haired man had climbed the stairs to the first floor sitting room, I opened the kitchen door that I had been peering out from, and I followed in their wake.
John was about to close the door behind him, when he saw me approaching. He saw the look on my face and paused.
"Let me check with him first, my dear," he told me. Then, once Sherlock had given me permission to join them, I slipped inside.
Mr McFarlane looked up at me from his chair, in surprise.
"Who…?"
"Ahh. Please meet my new understudy, Mr McFarlane," said Sherlock, gesturing to me, with a smile. "She is a promising lady, with a keen insight."
"Miss Catherine Summers. Pleased to make your acquaintance," I declared, holding out my hand for him to shake, which he did – with a loose grip. At the same time, I was taking in what details I could from him. The very first that came to mind was that he was aged in his late twenties.
"Likewise, Miss S-Summers," McFarlane stammered.
"Have a cigarette, Mr McFarlane. Now, you mentioned your name, as if I should recognise it. But aside from the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a freemason, and an…" Sherlock turned to me, smiling.
"…asthmatic," I concluded. "Judging by your ragged breathing."
"Precisely. But, to continue, aside from those factors, I can assure you Mr McFarlane, that I know nothing about you…"
And so, with John sat on one end of the sofa, using his pencil and pad to take notes, and with me on the other, we both listened and watched the shaken-looking man as he gave his account of his meetings with Jonas Oldacre of Lower Norwood.
I should point out at this stage that I had changed my appearance somewhat, alongside taking up a new identity. My blonde curls had been cut off, leaving me with a pixie cut – and my shorter hair was now dyed a lovely strawberry-blonde. Today, I was wearing a light blue dress that complimented my eyes. Apart from Sherlock, John, Martha, Kaitlyn, Billy the page (who slept in the kitchen) and Wiggins (all of whom were sworn to secrecy), no one within the house knew of my true identity.
It pained me that I had to hide my marriage ring by removing it and giving it to John for safe keeping. But after all, Mrs Mary Watson was officially dead.
So when Inspector Lestrade arrived, in order to arrest McFarlane for the murder of Jonas Oldacre, I kept quiet, keen not to give him any clues as to who I really was.
But when the two policemen with Lestrade had taken the dour young solicitor with them downstairs, the ferret-like Inspector paused as he looked curiously at me.
"You said that you are Miss Catherine Summers? Mr Holmes's understudy?" he asked.
"Yes. That's right," I replied, tensing.
"Of what address – before you came to live here?"
"Inspector…? What is the matter?" John, bless him, tried to defend me.
"I am sure that Miss Summers's face is familiar to me…," he began to say.
I hissed my annoyance and my hand lashed out, to seize his wrist.
"What!? Your hand! It is cold…," he protested. "Why are your eyes glinting red, madam?"
"You have not seen me before, Inspector," I told him calmly, directing my will onto Lestrade's mind, through our locked gaze. "I am Mr Holmes's new understudy. I know that may seem unusual – but there is nothing suspicious about me. You will forget your concerns about me – and you will return to your work."
"Yes… I-I will see to young McFarlane."
I let go of the Inspector. Lestrade shock his head, as if stirring from a daze.
"Are you alright, Inspector?" John stood up.
"Just felt a touch dizzy… I must have been out in the sunlight for too long, yesterday," Lestrade grumble. "Still, this is no time to dawdle! Good morning to you all."
We all breathed a sigh of relief as the front door slammed shut behind the departing Inspector.
"Good work, Mary," John complimented me.
"Indeed." Sherlock turned his keen gaze in my direction. "Well, 'Miss Summers'. What did you make of our new client?" the great detective challenged me.
"His handshake was weak, and he trembled a little as we touched hands. Though I think that was more than due to my cold skin," I began, thinking through my words. "I could hear his heartbeat. He really was a nervous man. And whilst that could be due to guilt, I cannot imagine him being a murderer…" I started to trail off. My eyelids fluttered with the sudden effort to keep them open.
John looked at me with concern.
"The sun and the heat outside are affecting you," he announced.
"Well, it is forecasted to be another warm August day," I groaned. "I have done well to stay awake for this long into the morning."
Sherlock nodded. "I believe that you may even make it until midday, one day, before the year is out, Mrs Watson. Thank you for your input thus far…"
And so, declining John's offer of assistance, I left the two men to arrange their starting point of investigation, whilst I carefully walked into the Watson bedroom and prepared myself for my coffin, to sleep the daylight hours away.
Bracing myself, I shut the lid to – plunging myself into darkness. The darkness that my vampiric body needed during the day, to build up my strength and budding power.
Following my now months-long habit, I lay my arms across my chest. I then closed my eyes and allowed my tired senses to first drift, then shut down. Not needing to speak, my chest was already still. My heart stopped beating as my body entered its daily vampiric state of hibernation.
Soon I was dead to the world once more. Literally.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
I awoke at sunset – as per my new habits. Kaitlyn had already removed the lid for me, as was her duty. Still, I did not rise for some time, and I remained in my coffin, wondering if by doing so, I could use my strength to extend the time I could walk in the summer sunlight, upon the next opportunity.
John came in, asking why I had not yet risen – and I told him of my musings. I digressed at first, thinking of the case I had missed whilst staying in the Harker's safehouse, which John had written up as 'The Adventure Of Wisteria Lodge'. I had been reading his account yesterday.
"John…," I began, frowning. "Maybe you should let me proofread your accounts before you send them out for publication! You dated the Wisteria Lodge business as at the end of March 1892. A year when Sherlock wasn't even in this country!"
He winced. "Did I? I meant to write May 1894. I must have rushed the beginning… Oh well, I'll correct it sometime…"
Then I got John to relate what had been learnt during the day. How he and Sherlock had visited Hector McFarlane's mother in Blackheath – and learnt that she and Jonas Oldacre had been suitors at one time, before she had turned him away. Mrs McFarlane was clearly very bitter towards Mr Oldacre.
"Could she have got her son to kill Oldacre?" I put to John.
He shook his head. "Possibly – but why do so in a manner that would clearly place him as a suspect? Holmes also visited Deep Dene House, Oldacre's property where the murder took place. He spoke to the housekeeper, a woman by the surname of Lexington. He feels that he is missing a piece of the puzzle."
"Where is Sherlock now?" I asked.
"Out. He's disguised himself as a tramp." My husband shrugged his shoulders. "He said that he saw signs near around the property that indicated the presence of tramp activity. So he's out to see if he can find a tramp near the house tonight."
I narrowed my eyes in thought. "Sherlock did speculate that a tramp could have killed Mr Oldacre."
But nothing significant happened from my perspective until breakfast of the next day. Well, it was breakfast to the mortals in 221B. Apart from Kaitlyn, who was now adjusting to sleeping during the day, in order to attend to me through the night. But breakfast time to John and Sherlock was, this morning, also supper for me. I drank a glass of refreshing pig's blood, whilst Sherlock told us about his meeting with a tramp. This tramp spoke of another 'gentleman of the road' who had gone missing, after leaving a mark that the housekeeper would accept tramps into Deep Dene House and feed them. Only for the tramp that Sherlock had conversed with to be turned away by Lexington.
The telegram from Inspector Lestrade beckoned Sherlock back to Deep Dene House. Sherlock wanted John to go with him.
"Please let me accompany you gentlemen," said I. "I would like to examine the house for myself."
They allowed me to – and just as well.
When Lestrade showed the blood print of McFarlane's thumb in the hallway, both John and I could tell that Sherlock's agreement of 'Yes, it is final', was different in tone to what Lestrade had himself implied.
Once the Inspector was busy writing his report for the Yard, Sherlock took me and John upstairs to the first floor. "Use your eyes, both of you. Mrs Watson – use your other, enhanced senses. Search this floor."
We all did so. Soon, we had regathered in the bedroom of the housekeeper. Lexington was somewhere downstairs at this stage.
John huffed. "I am not seeing…"
I quickly put my finger to his lips, shushing him. I pointed to the upper part of the wall furthest from the window.
"I examined the bloodstain. The edges were clear. Too clear," I whispered to both men. "It was not an accidental smudge."
Sherlock nodded. He too kept his voice low. "And I am certain that the mark was not there yesterday, when I was previously in the house."
"Then… McFarlane could not have placed it there himself," John breathed, just loud enough for only us to hear him. "The housekeeper…?"
I held up my hand for absolute silence, as I silently walked to the opposite corner of the room, then closed my eyes and concentrated – filtering out the heartbeats of my two companions. After several moments, I managed to pick out the third heartbeat, the previously undetected breathing, with my focussed senses.
Snapping my eyes open, my lips curled into a snarl as I put the pieces together. As silently as I could, I strode back downstairs, waving to the men to follow me.
"What is it, Mary?" John pressed me.
"There is a man hiding somewhere behind that bedroom wall!" I hissed. "He is deliberately being silent. It can only be…"
"…Jonas Oldacre, the supposed murder victim," Sherlock purred. He nodded respectfully to me. "Thank you, Mrs Watson. You are indeed proving to have a knack for our line of work!"
John gaped at us. "Then whose body was burned?" he asked.
"The missing tramp's," Sherlock answered, with a grim smile.
And, minutes later, with the aid of Lestrade's constables and ourselves setting fire to some hay on the first floor, and our voices crying 'Fire!", Jonas Oldacre was flushed out of his secret hideaway, to Lestrade's shock (and our amusement). The vindictive Oldacre had hated McFarlane's mother since she had broken off their love affair – and this had been his scheme to strike back at her, by tricking her solicitor son into a meeting that would result in fake evidence suggesting John McFarlane had killed Oldacre. Oldacre himself had mounting debts – and, with the aid of his housekeeper, he had concocted a scheme to 'die', adopt a new identity elsewhere, and gloat at the impending hanging of his old sweetheart's only child. A man who was the reminder of his failure to woo Mrs McFarlane when she was younger.
Added to which, Oldacre and Lexington were responsible for the death of the missing tramp. They had then burnt him, so that it seemed that Oldacre's body had instead been destroyed.
"I'll see you hanged for this!" Oldacre bristled at Sherlock as he was shut in the police coach, wide furious eyes glaring from amidst his red face.
"That honour should surely be mine," Sherlock cooly replied, as he stared back at the villain without flinching.
I sighed with relief as Oldacre and Lexington were carried away on the police coach. John rubbed my shoulder whilst he opened my parasol, in order to shield me from the August sun.
"You wanted to bite them, did you not?" he whispered to me.
I nodded. "That vile man wanted young McFarlane to be found guilty at a trial, and then be hanged for murder. When it wasn't even the right body."
"And thanks to our parts in this affair, they will instead face trial. If anyone will hang for this business, it will be Oldacre – for the death of that unfortunate tramp," Sherlock Holmes declared as he turned to me. "You look tired, Mrs Watson. The morning is getting hotter…"
"I must retreat back home to 221B, and rest," I assented. "But I will sleep, knowing that I played my part to deliver justice, this morning. So… Do I get to accompany you men on further cases?"
"Most certainly, Mrs Watson," Sherlock agreed. "I saw the potential in you to assist us in our work, before… Before your life-changing event."
I smiled at him. "I know. John told me. I am glad that you have a good regard for me, despite being a woman."
I was rewarded by the sight of Sherlock Holmes looking abashed, as he looked away, bowing his head.
"Do you wish me to include you in my accounts? As Miss Catherine Summers?" John asked, as we climbed into the cab that would take us to Baker Street.
I shook my head and patted John's sleeve. "My present view is that the less that your readers know about me, the better – I think, John. As you previously said, they will only start to ask why a lady is travelling and detecting with the two of you. A widower, and a man who is indifferent to the charms of the fairer sex."
"It seems unfair to me now. But as you wish," John agreed to my request.
For his part, Sherlock would say nothing in response to my observation. As we rode back, he watched us over his steepled fingers whilst I snuggled myself against John, who wrapped his arm around me – my husband's smile matching mine…
When my thirty-third birthday came around, in early September, John, Martha, and even Sherlock presented me with greeting cards. Sherlock donated money towards a new green dress for me that John bought. Whilst Martha and Irene collaborated and paid for a matching hat. And a new pair of smart, sensible shoes.
Bless them. I looked good in my new gear, as I twirled before a mirror – grateful to still have a reflection.
For their part, the Harkers told me – during the following night at the safehouse - that they were very pleased with my growing powers, and my control over them. Despite being 'blood-cousins' they now regarded me as a trusted member of their family.
"We could make it official. Mary becoming an honorary Harker," Mina suggested, with a smile towards her husband. Upon this evening, it was just us three to ourselves. With our collective servants and Followers close by on the premises.
Jonathan gave her a long look, and then nodded.
"What do you mean?" said I.
"If you agree, both Mina and I will share our blood with you – and you share yours with us both. That will create a bonding between us that will last for a day or so, each time we share alike."
I was immediately intrigued. Not surprisingly, as blood was now my sole diet.
"But…our blood… It will not be fresh," I pointed out. "What do we…taste like…to our own kind?"
"Not warm. But acceptable," Mina answered, with a smirk – making it clear to me that they had tasted each other on a frequent-enough basis since they had joined the ranks of the undead.
"Do vampires…normally share their blood with each other?"
"In as much as we learned from our elder sisters – no. They themselves did share their blood with each other, upon occasion, to renew their bonds with one another. Their sire – Count Dracula – was a cruel master, who did not truly love his ladies once he tired of each one of them in turn over the decades, after they each became his latest undead thrall," Mina told me.
"But vampires in general… We usually bite each other, whilst fighting. As a sign of strength and dominance. Or to kill," Jonathan concluded darkly. "But we are not like that, Mary. We want you to grow to become our equal. We will share our dark blood alike, out of trust. We will become as siblings to you, if will accept us."
I sucked in my breath, out of mortal habit. I had no family left in the world – except for John. Now I could have a blood-sister, and a blood-brother.
"I would dearly love that," I whispered, feeling the tendons around my fangs already tingling in anticipation. "But my new dress. What I'm wearing tonight…"
"We will not let a drop from you strain your clothes. And you must be clean whilst you feed from us, also," Mina smiled mischievously.
"There is a likely disadvantage…," Jonathan said, holding up his palm to me.
"Yes?"
"Being of Count Dracula's bloodline, neither Mina or myself having reflections – and so, if you drink some of our blood, your reflection might be weakened…"
"I see," I mused. After some moments, I spoke again. "I still wish to be bonded to you both. I will take the risk."
They smiled gratefully.
And so, the three of us gathered upon the lounge sofa. Firstly, Jonathan fed from me – then Mima bit into the other side of my neck as I moaned and sat between them, my senses reeling from their careful bites and the slow lapping of their tongues. Feeling weakened, I felt my undead flesh quickly mend itself, reducing the bite marks to mere pinpricks. Then Jonathan held himself steady, as he pointed towards his exposed neck and the slowly throbbing vein that I could sense there, just under the surface. I drooled a little as my eager fangs expanded, wanting him as my blood-brother…
He gave a little moan, as my canines expertly pierced his cool skin in the right place. Within seconds, a sluggish flow of lukewarm blood entered my mouth – and I carefully gulped it down. It was nowhere as intoxicating as fresh mortal blood, but I could feel the latent power within it fusing with me, binding me to Jonathan Harker, making me stronger.
And after I pulled back and licked his wounds clean with my vampire saliva, I smiled dreamily and turned to Mina, who held me close as if she was my long-lost mother. Soon, I was biting into her neck, making her gasp with delight. Again, a little of the sluggish blood – previously stolen from a mortal human being, entered me – and my taste buds savoured it for what it was, before I carefully swallowed it down. Again, I felt an invisible connection form between myself and my partner in the sharing. I felt a little of Mina's power.
Now I was connected to the bloodline of the dreaded Count Dracula, via Mina and Jonathan. I sensed that my budding powers of the blood would grow stronger.
Minutes later, it was over. All three of us now felt wonderful. Connected. Bonded. And we had avoided wasting even a single drop. Our clothes remained clean, thanks to our careful self-control.
Checking one of the few mirrors in the safehouse, in the sitting room, I saw that my reflection was now slightly out of focus. Whereas my tutors failed to show up in the large mirror, on either side of me.
Oh well. I would have to avoid mirrors as much as I could. A mortal might see my distorted reflection in my passing, but convince themselves that it was a trick of the light. Hopefully…
"Why are our clothes affected as well, in mirrors…?" I began to ask.
Mina shrugged with good humour. "We do not know. We are truly supernatural beings, Mary! And Jonathan and I are not ashamed of what we are. We are better vampires than Count Dracula."
"Whether or not God intended for vampires to walk the earth, we have created a purpose for ourselves. And that is to be shepherds watching over the mortal human race," Jonathan added. "We will cull the black sheep – the irredeemable villains of humanity – and not kill the innocent."
"I will not be ashamed of what I am, either…," I whispered, even as I felt a thrill run through me. "I will take the same role as yourselves. I too am now a shepherd. I will use my dark powers to do what good I can - even as I hunt down and cull the worse of humanity in this city."
Turning round, I hugged Jonathan and Mima, in my happiness. Between them, they had taught me how to find my self-confidence after returning from the dead. How to fight against other vampires. Now I was part of their blood-family. I belonged with them – just as I belonged, in a different way, with John, Martha, and Sherlock.
"One more thing," added Jonathan, as the three of us raised our glasses of pigs' blood, some minutes after our bonding. "Now that we are established as an agency of three vampires, besides our band of Followers and servants, Mina and I believe that we should become a named agency – an agency that remains in the shadows, watching over the mortal human race with a benevolent eye."
"Do you have any suggestions as to what we should name ourselves, dear?" Mina smiled at me. "I thought we should be a lodge of some kind – such as that in your husband's account of 'The Valley Of Fear'."
I pondered on this, as I straightened out my new green dress, turning to look out at the yard from between the curtains that I had parted, wanting to view the moonlit sky over the streets of London…
I turned to my fellow vampires and smiled – the tips of my fangs just showing.
"How about the Lodge of the Watchful Moon?" I suggested.
The Harkers looked past me, through the parted curtains, seeing Earth's satellite shining brightly that night.
"To the success of the Lodge of the Watchful Moon, then," Jonathan assented. "Happy birthday, dear cousin."
"May you have a long and happy life, Mary." Mina added, nodding.
"Thank you. My good wishes for the same to you both, my friends," I replied.
Our glasses all clinked.
"To us. The Lodge of the Watchful Moon!" we all cried out in unison.