Chapter Twelve:

Targets

9 November 1902.

The next day, on a misty Sunday morning all three of us were in Sussex, having arrived by the first train, and then by horse and trap. Whenever I travel by horsepower, I tried not to get too close to the poor creatures, as they then get noisy and nervous of me. They can sense that I am an unnatural predator.

At Hurlstone Manor, we were met by one of the inspectors that Sherlock and John had met during 'The Valley Of Fear' investigation, in the same county, not long before the shadow of Moriarty had reached out, in his attempt to eliminate the great detective. Although pleasant to me, Mr Mason – like other inspectors before him in my experience, had to be persuaded by Sherlock that his female apprentice could tolerate the horrors within Hurlstone Manor.

Even so, I was overcome with the mortal urge to be sick after what we saw there…

The dozen or so servants had all been slaughtered in various ways – their bodies left in pools of dried blood, but to my vampiric eyes there was not enough blood on some of the corpses. Each victim had been drained. The bite marks on their necks added confirmation.

One young man, the groom, was found naked and drained in his quarters next to the stables. In his case, the bite marks were around the most private of his body, as well as his upper legs, where his arteries came close to his skin.

"Shocking… Just shocking, Mr Holmes," White Mason said to Sherlock when he escorted us away from the deceased groom. "All of the servants are accounted for. All of them dead. Am I really to believe the official message I had from your brother? That this is the work of…vampires?"

"I realise that this is hard to comprehend, but indeed it is, Inspector," Sherlock told him firmly. "Judging by the savagery we have seen, and the lack of effective resistance, the servants must have been ambushed around the same time. I suspect that there must have been at least four to six intruders. Perhaps more."

"And we have learnt that Sir Reginald was attacked whilst in his study. The smashed clock there, indicates that he was overcome around nine o'clock," John spoke up. "Some of the servants would have been about to go to bed. They would have sluggish at that time – easy to overcome."

"Exactly, Watson. Your thoughts on what you've observed, Miss Summers?" Sherlock asked, as he turned his attention to me.

"I agree with you gentlemen. I've managed to trace some footprints with traces of blood on them, in some of the rooms, including the study," I told them. "The size and shape of those footprints suggest women. I have no doubt as to who led this attack – and who were her accomplices. But as to how they got in…"

"The doors and windows were all locked!" White Mason pointed out. "Apart from the study window. And there are no footprints on the ground outside."

"But there is a pathway close by. And I detected the trace of a person having been there. There was also a chipped mark on the window, as if a small stone had been thrown at it," I added. "I suspect that the intruder had chipped the glass with a pebble or something similar from the path, gaining Sir Reginald's attention, and when he looked out…"

"…he fell under the hypnotic gaze of the vampire present, and opened the window. All the vampires then had to do was to mist their way through the window gap, after being invited in," Sherlock completed my thoughts. "It was foggy weather around here, last night, was it not – Inspector?"

"It was, sir."

"They took advantage of the fog, to mask their approach," I put to Sherlock. After all, Mina and I had used it during our blood hunts around the London docks, to sneak in close upon our prey, before striking…

"Our killers had a flair for the dramatic, it seems…," the detective muttered as I spied him tighten his glove-handed grip upon his walking stick. I could tell from the tiny signs that, despite his composure, Sherlock was disgusted just as much as the rest of us at the slaughter.

"What about the risk of…infection?" John suggested, looking pained.

I nodded. "It is possible. We must guard against them rising as agents set against us."

Sherlock's expression twisted with disgust, and he turned to White Mason.

"Inspector! Please arrange for the bodies to be decapitated."

"What…!? But the relatives will be…"

"Do it, man! Or we might have new vampires to fight, a few nights from now. We will have to tell any relatives that the attackers were responsible for the beheadings." He strode away from the stables, motioning with a hand gesture for me and John to follow him, underneath the grey, cloudy sky that was delivering a light rain. I was glad of the weather. The mist felt cool and refreshing to my pale skin. Still, John was mindful enough to open up his umbrella, in order to shield me from the drizzle as we made our way back to the main path.

"Come, Watson. Miss Summers. Back to the horse and trap!"

"The hospital?" John asked him.

"To the hospital," Sherlock confirmed.

*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*

At the nearest hospital, where Sir Reginald had been taken to, we found Sherlock's friend placed in a private room, with a policeman standing outside on guard duty. We found out that he was there to keep watch over the unconscious man – a man who was the only survivor to the attack upon Hurlstone Manor…

John excused himself, in order to talk to the doctors treating Reginald Musgrave. Nodding, Sherlock and I entered the room itself. Sir Reginald was in a coma, lying in bed – his skull wrapped around by bandages. His chest was barely moving, and we soon saw the dressing over the bite on the man's neck. His glasses were absent – having been smashed during the attack upon him, we had learnt from White Mason.

I saw Sherlock shake slightly. His lip quivered.

"Sit down," I whispered to him, as I placed my gloved hand upon his shoulder. "I can hear his heart beating regularly. And I can see that this is not easy for you. You have few friends, after all…"

"I am not being the gentleman if I take the only chair…," the great detective muttered. His facial muscles twitched as he fought to control his emotions.

"Do not worry about that, Sherlock. The rainclouds are slowing down the draining effect of the day upon me. I am…fine," I told him.

"But you are right, Mrs Watson, I do n-…."

I shook my head. "Please… It is Mary to my friends. What is it that makes you so scared of me, Sherlock? That I am a vampire, who must feed on people on a frequent basis. Possibly even kill them. Or that I am a woman, who could take John away from you?"

He chuckled, then gave his characteristic short, sharp laugh.

"I am not attracted to men, Mary. But yes, I dread the day that Watson will have to decide between staying with me - as my best friend, as well as a compatible lodger. Or that he will decide to become like you, in order to stop himself from growing too old. In order to share immortality with the woman he clearly loves. Whilst I and Mrs Hudson spend our remaining years growing older, becoming more lined. And eventually dying. That is, of course, if someone – or something – does not kill me before I retire."

"You and Martha could…," I trailed off, and I momentarily closed my eyes with annoyance. A part of me felt disgusted for even thinking what I had just thought.

He read me correctly, of course – his keen grey eyes boring into my head.

"…follow Watson in joining yourself in everlasting immortality, as vampires – you were about to say."

"Yes," I admitted, glancing down at the floor.

"And if we did, what then? I would be separated from my brother by the invisible divide between vampires and mortals, would I not? Do you regard vampirism as a blessing or a curse, Mary Watson?"

"It is both," I answered carefully. "I have learnt that through my experiences. But I was lucky – having the Harkers teach me how to control myself. But think of the possibilities, Sherlock! You and John will still be the best of friends. And your intellect will ensure the survival of our nest…"

" 'Nest' being the collective term you vampires use for your clans?" he probed.

I nodded.

Sherlock's expression darkened. "Immortality would be a curse for me, Mary. You should read your husband's writings about my temperament. He has correctly observed that my moods are changeable, and dependent upon how stimulated I am. Or upon how bored and restless I become. Mortal time is a useful framework that the world in which we live in is shaped around. Including mealtimes. The barriers serve as a reminder that we should not waste too much time. How would I cope, if time itself became meaningless to me? If I was unable to tolerate the days at first – and if I became bored with the endless cycle of nights? And all of this, is before I even contemplate the notion of needing to feed on people, in order to survive. Let alone, the likelihood that I would kill in order to…feed. I would risk becoming an outlaw, even if I tried to remain being a detective!"

I bowed my head as I took in his point of view. "You make a good argument against it. And it would be hard for you to only see clients during the evenings. Let alone work only at night – at least to start with," I concluded, smiling a little to reassure him.

Sherlock's lips twitched with brief amusement. "Quite so. I would be an intolerable vampire. And I dare say that Mrs Hudson would lose her desire to cook her delightful cakes if she joined your kind, given that she would soon develop different ideas of what passes for 'food'. And though I am a man who eats to live, rather than lives to eat, I would be unable to eat my landlady's cooked fare if I was undead, myself. No, no – that would never do! And so, I must respectfully refuse your offer, Mary."

I bit my lip, before managing to put to him the question that I wondered about for so long. The question that John had not dared to ask.

"Did something happen between your parents, that caused you to become so cynical towards women?"

Sherlock gave me a sharp look.

"Your intuition is sound, Mary. I…I do not wish to talk about it."

"Just tell me… Who was responsible for influencing you so?"

"My mother. She did not feel that father loved her enough… Oh, very well, then… I will make this brief. When I was still at home – when Mycroft was at boarding school… My mother had an affair with a younger man. When he found out, father was furious. He did love mother – but he was not good at showing it. The drama damaged our family…"

"…and it scarred you. You felt hurt by what your own mother did. So much so that it made you distrustful of women. Of love. You only saw, heard, and felt the hurt…," I whispered.

Sherlock gave a tiny nod. Then he sniffed in his familiar, dismissive manner, determined to close the door once more upon that part of his past. "All of the players in that drama are gone now. All I have left of my family is Mycroft," said he.

With that said, Sherlock then finally sat down. His gloved hand rested briefly on Sir Reginald's shoulder. Then it was withdrawn.

"Reggie here was one of my closest acquaintances in college. Victor Trevor was my only friend whilst we were undergraduates. But Reggie had my back when I was the target of a bully, who I later managed to have expelled. I could tell you about those distant days, Mrs Wat- I mean, Mary. I felt that I was becoming my own man, and I was beginning to discover my calling when some of my fellow students realised that my powers of observation, inference, and deduction, could help them to learn more about the staff and other pupils. And help track down the occasional petty thief or prankster amongst us."

I smiled at the images he was putting into my head, before asking, "I take it you have no contact with Victor Trevor anymore?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It has been many years since we last exchanged letters. I really have been remiss about my past acquaintances, whilst burying myself in my work and establishing my network of informants… What the blazes…!?"

I suddenly tensed, and I reached out a hand to hold Sherlock back as he shot up out of his chair. Sir Reginald's eyes had snapped open, and he had shifted his head on the pillow to face us. But the orbs were black. Purely black.

I hissed, and stepped back. I began to quiver, realising that I was in the presence of a power that even I – a novice vampire – did not understand.

The patient's mouth curled into a grin. "We meet again, Mr Sherlock Holmes. And it is good to see you once more, Mary Watson!"

The voice was not Sir Reginald's. Indeed, I am not sure that his throat even twitched. Instead, the voice was that of a woman approaching middle-age. A cultured speaker with a slight Spanish accent. A voice that I had learnt to fear. And to hate.

"Isadora Klein…," Sherlock spoke slowly. Cautiously. He now held himself quite still at he glared at the man before him. "You continue to surprise me. Whilst I appreciate this opportunity for us to talk directly, I must ask you this. What have you done to Sir Reginald?"

"I am using him as my mouthpiece. I would prefer to speak to you directly – but I suppose that if I came to you, you and your allies would either have me killed – or captured, so that your government can experiment on me. Should as has been done to John Clay."

"And of course, you were listening to myself and Mrs Watson just now," Sherlock fumed.

There was a smile in Klein's voice as she replied. "Precisely, Mr Holmes. Oh, what a prize you would be, if you were my vampire childe – loyal to me! I might even persuade one as cold as you to enjoy the sins of the flesh, if you were to become my lover. But I suspect your will may be too strong for even my powers."

"I must decline you – as I have declined the lady besides me," Holmes muttered darkly.

"She must be powerful in the ways of the blood, in order to achieve this…!" I whispered.

Klein laughed at us. "Indeed I am, child. I have been a vampire for over three decades, having changed my identity and background story when it suited me. In that time, I had endeavoured to develop my potential – so that I can now possess a human body, even during the day, as you see before you. I am stronger than any mortal. And I am stronger than you and your undead teachers, dear Mary. Oh yes, do not look so surprised. I know more than you think. I could have taught you how to embrace your full potential as a child of the blood…"

"As a pr-prostitute…? As another of your captive dolls, to beguile mortal men into becoming our tools?" I spat, still shaking a little as I clung to Sherlock. "I prefer my freedom! And I much prefer the company of my husband and my friends, compared to any power you would have granted me – Senora Klein!"

"So you were already a vampire when Douglas Maberley became your lover," Holmes purled. "Ah… I see. He discovered your secret during your relationship – and that drove him mad, not your rejection of him. You wanted to buy the Three Gables, in order to locate Douglas's manuscript – because you feared that he would expose the truth of your vampirism to the world that way. Only, thanks to his failing health, he did not manage to complete his manuscript and publish it before… Ah. Of course…"

"You fed on Douglas Maberley – not enough to kill him. But it weakened his constitution. Caused him to fall ill," I reasoned, picking up Sherlock's trail of thought.

"You are too clever, Mr Holmes. You also, Mary. But that boy was such a wonderful lover," Klein cooed. "He would have become a delightful vampire, if only he had accepted the Dark Gift. He was stupid to rebel against me. He failed to reveal my secret – but now too many others know…"

"Enough of Maberley! If you wish to pit your wits against me, Miss Klein, then kindly release Sir Reginald, and face me in person! Just you and me," Sherlock snapped at her. "What is it that you want?"

Musgrave's mouth suddenly twitched, so that the puppet was grinning. "Want? Why, Mr Holmes. I would have preferred it if we had never crossed paths again after the business over Douglas. You humiliated me and made me pay a great deal of money – though I was prepared to let matters be. After all, you did not discover my true secret. But now… Now, I want you to pay for your interference in my plans! I will see you swept aside…"

"So many have said before. And yet here I stand," he cautioned Klein. "If you or your minions come for any of us, we will take down as many of you as we can in the process!"

A mocking laugh issued from the now-open mouth. "It is not necessary to come after your party, to make you suffer, Sherlock Holmes. Upon my order, my forces can go after anyone who has been connected to you. And that is long list of people, is it not? Can you truly protect them all?"

Sherlock's expression tightened with anger. Yet despite the brave words that then came from him, I sensed his fear.

"You will leave them be, Miss Klein. If you really wish to prove yourself worthy of a fight between us, you will face me directly!"

There was another pearl of laughter from our enemy. "Oh no, Mr Holmes. You do not get to decide the rules of the game. I do. And now, you will pay! As will Sir Reginald for what he did to me!"

Abruptly, without any further warning, Sir Reginald began to convulse, cough, and choke.

"Nurse! Doctor!" I screamed. "John…!"

Sherlock and I tried desperately to hold the man between us. Remembering some medical advice that I learnt from John, I managed to get Sir Reginald onto his side, even as his body thrashed wildly. We tried to keep his mouth open – but the power within him was too strong. He was being choked from within…

I spied - out of the corner of my eye – John hurrying into the room with a nurse, and the attendant policeman. Shouting instructions to them, John – aided by the others - tried to help us save Sir Reginald. Then, I heard the racing, pounding, agonised heartbeat suddenly stop. The blackness around his eyes vanished, to give way to an expression of sheer horror from now-normal orbs.

It was a brief moment of clarity for the poor man. Just before he went limp in our arms and died.

We all froze in shock, staring at each other. Then John was the first of us to snap to.

"Quickly! If we can get his heart pumping again, w-"

"Watch out!" I yelled, pulling him back.

A black mass – like concentrated gas, and about the size of a rugby ball – billowed out from Musgrave's now-gaping mouth. It floated towards Sherlock, engulfing his face. Quickly, he pressed one gloved hand over his nose and mouth – with the other, he swatted at the black mass.

The nurse and policeman yelled out, and backed away - out of their depth and scared out of their wits.

I looked around, my mind racing furiously. John was brandishing his crucifix at the black form – with no apparent effect. It was trying to possess Sherlock – or choke him to death. Just as Sir Reginald had just been killed.

There was nothing to aid us in the room itself. Then I thought of John's case, left next to the bed. I rushed over to it, opened it up, and – trembling, despite wearing my gloves – pulled out a prepared test tube. Running back to the struggling detective, I pulled out the cork stopper and splashed the holy water within onto the evil, smoky form.

There was an unearthly screech which rang throughout the room, as the water hissed upon passing through the black mass. Then, gathering itself, the unnatural entity sped out of the room. The policeman and nurse flung themselves aside as it passed by.

"Stop it, you fools!" Sherlock roared. "Watson! Your pistol…?"

"In my coat pocket, Holmes! It slipped from my mind, with the shock! One moment…"

But even as John whipped out his pistol, the thing was getting away. Sherlock, John, and I ran after the self-directed small, dark cloud as it raced away along the corridors. John fired once at it, but the holy-water filled bullet passed through and embedded itself in the frame of one archway that connected two passageways, causing a nearby doctor to yell and flinch at the spectacle before him.

Then, the form passed through an open window in another ward, before we could stop it. We raced outside – but by then, searching the skies and the outside of the hospital as we did, we had lost the manifestation of Isadora Klein…

When eventually, we were able to return to the private room, a nurse had already turned up Sir Reginald's blanket, in order to cover up his face.

John bowed his head, and muttered, "He was a good man. I am sorry for your loss, Holmes."

"As am I…," I added, feeling heartbroken at the terrifying, ruthless act I had just bore witness to.

"Don't be," he muttered, almost too low for a mortal to hear. "There is only one person who should feel regret for this…needless murder. And I will hunt her down." His eyes were narrowed, and he was fighting back tears. His fists clenched with suppressed anger. "Let me be alone for a time with Reggie. I will find you later."

And so we left him alone to grieve. To grieve in his own private way.

*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*

John got into trouble for the shooting, of course – but between Sherlock and the attendant constable, the situation around Sir Reginald's death and the dark vaporous mass was quickly explained to the Director of the hospital. Then the detective, acting upon a sudden flash of realisation, asked to have the morgue checked out…

To be more exact, he persuaded the Director to have two attendants check the bodies, whilst John examined the records in the morgue's antechamber, its records office. In the meantime, Sherlock and the constable examined the outside of the premises of the hospital.

By this stage I was feeling drained by the ongoing day. A sluggishness that had been delayed by the dull weather, and with myself being indoors for several hours. And so John dismissed the attendants from the morgue, before I laid down in one corner and entered my death-sleep, in order to rest.

Leaving John to work by himself, and to guard my vulnerable, inert body – my heart now as still and silent as the truly-dead in the rest of the morgue.

My eyes snapped open when I instinctively sensed the moment of sunset, as I did each evening. My ears seemed to twitch, as I heard John and Sherlock talk between them. Thankfully, there was nobody else present in the morgue.

I sat up suddenly, startling John.

"Sorry..." I smiled.

"I should be used to that by now…," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Sherlock and John offered their wrists to me. I accepted graciously, but was careful to take only a little blood from either of them.

"What is the latest news?" I demanded.

"The records here are all correct and accounted for," John began. "Holmes's first guess did not hit the mark."

"I do not guess, Watson!" the great detective fumed. "Nevertheless, I have had some success outside. The constable and I were able to locate a disturbance in a clearing, within the woods next to the hospital. The earth had been dug up with a spade, then evidently patted down, before being shoved aside when…"

"…Klein arose from the makeshift grave that had been dug for her by an accomplice," I surmised. I took a deep breath, and spoke again as I exhaled – the habit now imbedded in me, as per my vampiric need to consciously draw in air into my airways, before I could speak. "The dark mass that was her spirit must have gone to her body, in that hole. Now she's escaped us, has she not?"

Sherlock nodded grimly. He produced a telegram in his hands. "Let us leave this place of death, so that the staff can work without us in the way!"

I nodded, but hesitated.

"And that telegram…?"

"It was given to us, outside in the corridor, by White Mason," John explained. "Tobias Gregson sent word to him, so that he could notify us…"

I felt a cold dread begin to spread through my undead body. "What has happened?" I pressed him.

John hung his head. "I'm sorry, Mary. The police are investigating the deaths of Isa and Kate Whitney. Their bodies were found ripped apart in their home this morning. Both drained of blood. Each one of us has now lost a friend."

I gasped and staggered. John, bless him, caught me.

"We need to get back to London and hunt them down," I hissed. "They will pay for this!"

"No." Sherlock's eyes stared directly into mine. His tone was firm. "I will stay here. Klein has planned her game in advance – and now she is playing us. She must have had someplace nearby, to operate from – not just a hole in the ground, next to the hospital. That was just for convenience, for her black soul to quickly return to, once we had activated her trap by coming to see Musgrave. No. The raid upon Hurlstone Manor… She and her acolytes could not have set out directly from London to do that."

"So you will track down Klein's lair," John agreed. "We will help you…"

"Watson – you will take your wife to the Harkers, and seek their help! I sense that Mary is the real target here. She must stay in their sanctuary. Then, you will go to 221B Baker Street, and pull out my records on all of my allies in London. Langdale Pike, Shinwell Johnson, and so forth. They must be urged to protect themselves from vampires – and from any mortal lackies that Klein may use, such as Steve Dixie. Ensure that word is passed to brother Mycroft, and the current gang of the Baker Street Irregulars!"

John opened his mouth to protest – then he nodded. "I will do what I can, Holmes. Thank heavens I have not yet published the story involving my friend, Robert Ferguson. Otherwise, he could become a target."

"Good man."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not here!" I hissed at Sherlock, flashing a fang in my anger. "Why do you believe that I am Klein's real target?"

He returned his stern gaze towards myself. "Because of the murders of the Whitneys. I believe that Klein and her thralls are hoping that you will investigate their deaths. By enraging you, they are counting on you making a mistake with your security. Then they will strike directly for you."

"And you deduce this… Because of Klein's attempt to kill you, after setting a trap for in the form of Sir Reginald himself," I breathed.

"Precisely. Klein is well aware of the people in our lives, thanks to Watson glorifying me in his published writings. And she is striking at our old friends – to hurt and anger us. To break us. Before she takes the game to the next stage – whatever that may be, given her failure to kill me today. A failure of hers, for which I have you to thank."

"But you may be vulnerable, if we split our forces, Holmes!" John tried to reason with him.

"I am aware of that, Watson. I will not be unarmed. I will keep my pistol with the special bullets we have prepared. As well as a crucifix. Now go, both of you! There should be a train heading for London about half an hour from now. If you head for the local station, you will catch it. No! No arguments. Either of you! Take good care of each other, as I know you both will endeavour to do. I must finish my work here – so that Isadora Klein and her acolytes are no longer a threat to the world. I will send word to you both when I can. Now – go!"

I could have tried to use my vampiric glamour on him, of course. But I do not think that it would have worked. As Klein had remarked today, Sherlock Holmes had a strong will.

So, unable to argue with him, John and I left – to take the train back to London. To seek the reassuring comfort of their sanctuary.

*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*

During our ride back to London, John checked his watch more than once whilst we sat in the train carriage. At this time of the evening, there were few passengers – and so we had the carriage to ourselves.

"I've got a busy night ahead of me, getting out word to all of Holmes's contacts," he explained, as I commented upon his restlessness. I had sensed it even before we boarded the train, given his quickened heartbeat and agitated movements when we arrived at the station.

"Kaitlyn…," I muttered. "She will be at Baker Street, awaiting our return."

"I will direct her to join you at the Harkers' sanctuary," John declared.

"And what of you? When you have done your work, dear…?"

He looked troubled. "I will come over to you when I can, Mary. I am worried for Mrs Hudson; despite the garlic and holy wafer we have crumpled at 221B. But I am also concerned that the Scotland Yard inspectors could be got at. They do not know the true nature of what we are dealing with! And Athnelney Jones was enticed into becoming a client of Cherry Tree House, as you know. I just wish this train was faster…"

"We could have just flown…," I mused, my eyes looking through the window to stare absentmindedly at the terraced houses of the southern parts of the capital. My slightly-distorted reflection – barely visible, given the darkness outside against the lit carriage – was smiling wistfully.

"Flown?"

"As bats. It was disorientating and scary at first, but over the years I have come to love my nocturnal flying, above the rooftops, with either Mina or Jonathan. It feels natural now, and flying is wonderful…" I shook my head, coming back to the present moment. Back to reality. "I am sorry, John. I was dreaming…"

"…that you and I were both vampires, united in nature and purpose," he deduced.

"Yes," I sighed. "Sorry…"

"Don't be…" John, sitting next to me, ran his thumb across my cheek. "I have been giving our relationship a lot of thought…"

I stirred and turned to him, sensing his heartbeat quickening again. My mouth turned dry, and my own, sluggish heart pumped faster in my moment of anxiety. Fast enough to match a mortal's heartbeat.

"Whatever you decide, I will respect and support it, John," I whispered. "If you wish to part from me, I will miss you – but I will accept…"

"No. I will not part from you, Mary. I will not divorce you, in any sense," he shot back, looking pained. He swallowed hard. "I want you to turn me into a vampire – so that we can love and protect each other. For as long as God, and fate, will permit us to be together!"

I drew in my breath, shocked by my husband's words. He had chosen me over the great detective!

"I… I do not wish to destroy your friendship with Sherlock!" I stuttered, speaking from my tainted heart. "He will not accept vampirism himself. He told me so, when I pondered how we could all stay together!"

John took this in. Then he shook his head. "Don't feel guilty, Mary. Holmes has made his decision. And I've made mine. Holmes will just have to deal with it…"

He trailed off because I was now fiercely clinging to him. In between our hungry kisses as he embraced me in return, I whispered, "Thank you… Oh, dear god! I accept you and your offer, John... I accept!"

When eventually we broke lip-contact, I frowned as a dark thought came to me. "What about your Hippocratic oath, John? You are not a practising doctor now, of course, but surely…?"

"My oath will be replaced by a new one, Mary," he spoke gravely. "If I return from the dead, as I wish to, my code of conduct will be the same as yours. I will seek to do no harm to the innocent…"

"…and to the guilty?" I tested him.

"I will deal with them as I morally see fit. Even if that makes me an angel of death," John vowed. "God knows, thanks to working with Holmes, I have seen enough men who deserved to meet their maker sooner rather than later. Milverton got what he deserved at the hands of one of his victims. But there have been others who slipped away from us, such as that murderous Ku Klux clan who came to London. I hope that they really did go down with their ship…"

"There will be more than enough hardened criminals for us to deliver God's wrath upon," I told him, the ends of my lips puckering upwards. "Between Jonathan, Mina, and myself, we will teach you all that you need to know, John. You will be my first childe – but after a few months, you will be my equal. My equal!" And with that, we hugged again. I savoured the smell of his tobacco hanging around him. I also detected the scent of faded aftershave, his sweat, and the scent and sound of his pumping blood.

"You realise that you might not be able to enjoy smoking if you become a vampire?" I told him.

He groaned. After a few moments, he replied. "I had not thought about that... Oh well. I am coughing too much these days. Being with you, is more important to me than my pipe and cigarettes, Mary."

I chuckled and kissed him. "Good answer," I replied.

John gently pushed me back. "How is it best done?" he put to me.

I smirked. "I have learnt from the Harkers…"

"I really should not be surprised… Go on."

"The Baptism of Blood, as Jonathan and Mina term it, is best performed upon the 'initiate' – the mortal to be turned – once each night, for three consecutive nights."

"But you experienced the exchange of blood only once…"

"My turning was an accident. It can happen, Jonathan and Mina have told me. And Sherlock was wise to advise White Mason to ensure that the staff of Hurlstone Manor did not rise again. They could have risen as mindless revenants and attacked anyone mortal within their reach."

John frowned. "You did not..."

"Yes, I did! But I only regained my wits after my first frenzied feeding. It appears that Count Dolingen's blood was powerful enough to turn me into a competent vampire after just the one, accidental… Oh!" I pulled back, shaking as the realisation hit me.

"What is it, Mary?"

"During Klein's possession of Sir Reginald, she told Sherlock and I that Sir Reginald would pay for what she did to her."

"Well, he killed Count Dolingen – her business partner," John declared.

I shook my head. "Her words were Sir Reginald would pay… 'for what he did to me'! Not to Dolingen – to her."

"But…Sir Reginald and Klein have never met, to our knowledge!"

"And the daymares…I still occasionally have of Count Dolingen, taunting me. We know that Dolingen is a much older vampire than even Klein. Sherlock thinks I am Klein's real target. Why? Because I have escaped her – and exposed her network? Or is there something more I have overlooked?"

John wrapped his arm around my neck and shoulder, as he mulled over the problem. Then his grip stiffened, in realisation, as he looked at me. "What if… What if Count Dolingen was Klein's lover – as well as her business partner? One of her lovers, at least. Besides Douglas Maberley…"

"The Count was Klein's sire!" I gasped, as the pieces slotted together in my head. "That has to be it! I could be Isadora Klein's blood-sister! And she never told me, because…"

"…not knowing that, helped kept you in your place as a newborn vampire, subservient to Klein! You would be a potential threat to her, if you had come into your new powers and suspected that you were her equal – not her adopted 'daughter'," John reasoned. "She wants you dead!"

I considered this, and then shook my head. "No. She did not kill me during my enforced stay at Cherry Tree Lodge. Granted – she resents me escaping her clutches. Exposing her. Humiliating her, by breaking free of her control. But if she really feared my potential as Dolingen's childe, why did she not have me killed by the likes of Grimes, when I was in my death-sleep during my early days? No, John! There's something more we're not seeing…" I sighed.

"Then if you performed the Baptism of Blood on me…," John began.

"…you would start to become the latest addition of Count Dolingen's bloodline. Also, I now have some of Count Dracula's bloodline in me…"

"What? How…?" John questioned.

"I'll explain another time, darling. But if we do this right, before very long, you should become as capable a vampire as I appear to be," I teased him.

"When do we begin then, if it takes the course of three nights? I will have no time, once I leave you…"

"Then let us hope that we are not disturbed for the next few minutes, darling…" I grinned at my husband, flashing the tips of my fangs as they tingled and slowly expanded outwards from their settings within both of my jaws.

John breathed, and then nodded. "Where do you need to bite…?"

"Your neck. It needs to be your neck. And you need to drink from mine," I whispered to him. "The intimacy will…strengthen our exchanged bond of blood."

John reached over to pull down the blind to the door of the carriage. As he undid his collar, his face flushed a cute pink.

"If anyone opens that door, we need to look as if we are shamelessly kissing! And if we get blood upon our clothes or the seating…"

I shook my head, smiling impishly, as I opened up my own collar. "I will not let a drop escape my tongue or lips. Try to follow my lead, dear."

And so, for the next few minutes, we embraced as I carefully sank my fangs into a succulent vein on John's neck and gulped down roughly a half-pint of his warm, red essence – a gift of love which I relished. Then, I willed one of my fingernails to grow into a claw – before delicately cutting a vein on my own neck whilst my husband panted for breath after my drinking of him. I then pressed John to my neck and lovingly stroked his face whilst he slowly lapped up the dark, sluggish blood that oozed out of my cut. Coughing at first, he then forced himself to gulp it down. After waiting a little, he lapped again at the tiny spring I had created, drinking in my essence, my power.

My gift to him.

Thankfully, we were not disturbed. When we eventually finished – just as the conductor in the corridor called out our stop, John apologised for the splashes of blood that now soaked the collar of my blouse. I just smiled and drew my petticoat over it. Then I helped my unsteady husband to walk after his ordeal, out of the swaying train as it stopped, and we walked out of the station. On the streets, I paid a nearby muffin-boy, so that John had something to help him regain his stamina as we continued on our way.

When we reached the hideout of the Harkers, we explained what had happened with Sir Reginald Musgrave, to Jonathan and Mina as they insisted upon serving us both with cups of warm tea. A reminder that, despite my undead nature, us vampires could still drink other forms of liquid refreshment. Just not solid food. I savoured the tea as I gulped it down – one connection to my former life that I had not lost. I had just fallen out of the habit of drinking tea, since blood was now the only thing that nourished me. Tea now just appealed to my taste buds, and my enduring sense of respectable decorum. It did not actually refresh me anymore.

When we came to the end of our story – with John and myself suspecting that I was actually Isadora Klein's sister-in-blood – Jonathan nodded.

"You are strong in the ways of the blood, Mary," he declared. "Count Dolingen was a centuries-old vampire – and you are his childe. So that would be part of the explanation as to how well you have progressed, even in your first year. But the other part would be down to your drive and determination to adapt and better yourself, as a newborn vampire."

"It would not be surprising if Isadora Klein had been sired by her business partner, the Count," Mina added. "Given what have learnt from you both, and Mr Holmes – and from other sources – Klein is also formidable in the ways of the blood. Her possession, and killing, of the unfortunate Sir Reginald Musgrave is particularly disturbing."

"Other sources?" I frowned.

"Our brother-in-blood and sister-in-blood have conducted their investigations into Dolingen's past – at our urging," Mina explained.

"Having learnt that the Count had accidentally sired a new vampire in his dying moments, it seems likely that Klein would have wanted to keep you - to see how you would develop in your journey into vampirehood," Jonathan mused.

"Will you help look after Mary?" John asked aloud.

"Of course! And we can do more than that, I think." Mina played with an overhanging strand of her hair, which was now back to its undyed blonde lustre. I liked it, and wished that I could drop the disguise of my hair dye. But then some of the Scotland Yard Inspectors would recognise me…

Mina looked pointedly at her husband. "Jonathan could escort John over to Baker Street and assist him in getting the warning out to Mr Holmes's contacts. Then, he can escort Kaitlyn back here, so that Mary has her Follower and maid for company."

Jonathan Harker smiled and nodded. "And I will do all that."

"There's no need…," John protested. "I can make my way…"

"It would be safer for you, if we travelled together, my friend." The former solicitor smiled disarmingly at my husband, as he sipped at his own cup of tea. "We need to speak along the way – whilst our wives confer between themselves."

I stiffened. Could it be that the Harkers sensed that John and I had exchanged our blood?

A little later, after the men had departed in the private coach that was being driven by Ravindra and Shiner on this occasion, Mina Harker confirmed my suspicion as she laid her hand upon mine.

"Mary… Be very sure in your decision. But I wish to tell you that both Jonathan and I approve of your choice – if indeed your husband is prepared to join our kind."

I sighed as my fingers squeezed hers. "Thank you. The two of you…sensed John's weakness, did you not?"

"Indeed. That is part of the reason why dear Jonathan is escorting your John. To safeguard him, even as he gives the good doctor the advice he needs to hear. After all, Jonathan willingly gave up his mortality, in order to stand by me in my unlife. So that we would not be divided by the gap between vampires and mortals." Mina paused, before continuing. "I know that your John is no longer a practicing doctor, as you have told us. But what about his…?"

"…Hippocratic oath? We have discussed it. John seems determined to be like us – in mind, as well as nature. To kill only the guilty," I confided. "I realise that this isn't to be taken lightly. I am… I am considering turning my husband into a predator such as myself. A likely killer, to pray upon the herd…"

"We cannot create too many wolves from the sheep, as that would be unhealthy for the city, and for our self-preservation. We have to be a select elite, of sorts." Mina nodded sagely. "And as well as both of you needing to be absolutely certain – given that there is no way back – the process needs to be handled carefully. I have learnt from my sisters that turning a mortal into a vampire does not always work. As you now realise, your own turning was an accident, a…fluke, as your billiard-playing husband would say. You need to suck out enough blood from John to weaken – but not kill - him. Before giving your beloved enough of your own vampire blood, for the Dark Gift to be passed to him. Your intuition during each bite will be your guide. Listen and trust it – and your husband will successfully join our kind."

I swallowed hard at the realisation that John would die, and yet possibly not return to me, in unlife. "I have only given him the first Baptism of Blood, hours ago. I know that I would need to repeat the performance tomorrow night. And the night afterwards," I announced.

"Exactly, dear sister. And this may not be the best time for John to join our ranks as our new brother-in-blood, if Klein is indeed after you. But Jonathan and I will do all we can for you and John – as well as aid Mr Holmes in his investigations."

"Thank you." I gave Mina's cool hand a gentle squeeze with mine. "John and I are certain about this."

"Then he should return and stay here, two nights from now. We will prepare a coffin for him to rest in. One of the larger ones that the capable Ravindra has made for us, perhaps? Such as that which Jonathan and I share?" Mina's lips curled up in amusement. "Room for someone to lay besides him?"

My eyes widened with surprise, and then I giggled. I reached forward and hugged my sister-in-blood. She embraced me in turn.

"If John is beside me, I think I can overcome my fear of being shut in a coffin, dear Mina," I admitted, smiling.

"That is what I hope, also," Mina replied, kissing my forehead. She lovingly stroked my still dyed strawberry-blonde hair. But as I pulled away I saw that her gaze was now pensive.

"What is it?"

"You remind me of a dear friend who I lost to a monster. She had such lovely red hair, a few shades darker than yours. I still miss her…"

"Lucy Westernra," I said. It was a deduction – not a question. I remembered the story of the Harkers.

Mina dipped her head in acknowledgement. She forced herself to smile. "Come now! The night is still young – and we should use our time well, whilst you have to stay indoors. What do you wish to do?"

I thought about that, then gave my answer, straightening my posture. "I wish to practice my combat skills. Rachel Howells nearly killed me! I need to be stronger – not just for myself, but for all of us!" I replied passionately.

"To the training room then. We will fight first as ladies – then as wolves." Mina took my hand and led me to the chamber, to begin our shared work, before Jonathan would return to us, along with my servant…