Diaries Of The Family Dracul - Children Of The Vampire Part 10

The blow would have knocked a st.u.r.dy man from his feet; but in this case it only displaced the small velvet hat, causing a cascade of blue-black curls to spill down onto her swan-white neck and bosom.

She scarcely flinched. The blow clearly provoked no pain-only an anger that was terrifying to behold. She rose to her feet, the child draped over one arm, and growled-a sound that was entirely feral, inhuman. Her face, which only an instant before had been stunningly beautiful, transformed itself into a Medusan rictus, revealing sharp hideous fangs and eyes whose soft clear brown had grown opaque gleaming gold.

With a movement so swift I was taken off-guard, she struck back-with one arm sending me reeling backwards, off-balance, so that I slammed against the seat and slid to the floor.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I half-sat, one elbow propped upon the seat- cushion, and fought to recover my breath while her quicksilver visage transformed again from beast to beauty.

She smiled tenderly down at the pale cherub in her arms and smoothed the hair from his forehead. "I would never hurt you, would I, darling? No ... I only give you kisses-the very sweetest-so that you can stay and be my little man forever." And she lifted him higher in her arms and brought her face low to his small white neck.

I forced down a gulp of air and lunged at her.

Again she struck out with a slender blue satin arm, this time not even bothering to remove her attention from the tiny victim in her grasp. But her second blow hurled me against the window-seat with such force that I heard, upon impact, a loud crack and knew not whether it was my own skull or the wooden seat-frame.

I collapsed, dazed; I may have spent a few seconds unconscious. And when I came to myself I saw my little nephew lying horridly limp and motionless in Zsuzsanna's arms, while she sat with her red lips fastened upon his neck, her own pale throat working mightily as a single crimson drop spilled upon her white bosom and threaded its way down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

And as I watched, poor Jan emitted a death-rattle; his murderess raised her face and graced him with a b.l.o.o.d.y smile. "There, now," she said in the most maternal, soothing tone.

"Sleep, my sweet. Sleep, and when you wake, your new mama shall see that you have everything you desire!" And she wrapped the small corpse more tightly in the blanket, patted its backside, and hummed the strange lullaby as though it were a living drowsy child.

I could bear no more. I had seen the mother stricken with guilt on my account and could only imagine her agony at finding her child gone. Now to see little Jan killed, my dear nephew, while I watched, unable to prevent it ...

I covered my face and burst into hoa.r.s.e, loud sobs.

Almost immediately I felt a cold, feather-light touch upon my arms, my shoulders. In the midst of my racking grief, I expected her to strike out again, to beat me into silence; yet I was too overwhelmed to raise my hands in defense, to do anything other than weep. I should not have cared had she killed me then.

But no blows came. Her touch remained light, and I came to realise, after the first horrible wave of sorrow pa.s.sed, that she was gently stroking my hair and murmuring rea.s.surance.

Comforting me, and when I looked up at last, my vision blurred by tears, I saw she had left Jan's swaddled body upon the seat and knelt beside me; and in her eyes shone genuine compa.s.sion.

"Ah, my poor Stefan," she said, tenderly wiping my cheeks with her cool gloved hands and leaning her face next to mine so that I smelled her breath, bittersweet and metallic. "I know how difficult all this is for you. But do not cry for your nephew! He died gendy, in a state of pure bliss-this I swear to you, for I have done it myself. He felt no pain, no fear; and when he wakes, he shall never, never feel pain or fear again. He will live forever! And I shall see to it personally that he will always be loved and cared for. I spent my life a lonely woman, without the love of a man or child. Please-do not deny me this."

I could answer her only with more tears. She put her cold arms round me as I wept, rocking and shushing me as though I were little Jan. I yielded utterly to grief and guilt, and how long we remained thus I cannot say.

But after a time I had no more tears and came to myself enough to realise that I was still in her arms, my cheek nestled against her neck, her shoulder, her perfumed hair. I lifted my face and found it pressed against her bosom; I drew back slowly, reluctandy, aware of the sudden rapid beating of my heart, of her desirable beauty. Remembering the pa.s.sion of the night before, I drank deep of her seductive, laughing gaze and wanted nothing more than to embrace her cold perfection. . . .

To my utter disappointment, she pulled away from me with a bemused grin; I think she quite relished my reaction to her loveliness and enjoyed the flirtation. "Ah, yes, you are a lovely young man, Stefan. But if I yield to one appet.i.te, it is not so easy to control the other-and I have not fed sufficiently for that now. Were I in pa.s.sion's throes to give you one of my special kisses, he should never forgive me." And she smoothed a hand over my cheek, my neck, down to the centre of my chest, where she lingered coquettishly. "Perhaps later, my dear. But if there is anything else you should require during your journey- anything within reason -just ask, and I shall see it provided."

I looked away, disgusted that such thoughts should enter my head at such a heartbreaking moment, when the child of my lover and my brother lay dead before me.

I spent some hours staring out the window at the changing countryside, contemplating when and how to make my escape. Thus far, I have had no opportunity; Zsuzsanna does not sleep and is quite watchful-despite the fact that she still holds my little nephew's corpse in her arms and coos at it from time to time. I attempted once to bolt from the compartment, thinking to jump from the train-to death or freedom-but she restrained me all too easily.

Like my dear dead nephew, I am her prisoner, her pet.

So I demanded paper and pen, which amused her -you come from a family of inveterate journalists, she said-and I spend my time writing it all down. Now I await another chance; but from her hints, it is clear that someone else-a human woman, I think-is somewhere nearby, armed with a pistol, and that she will serve as my guard when day comes again.

Arkady! Where are you? Summon me in your thoughts, you said, and I will come. . . .

I have summoned, but I know not where I am, only that dark place whither I am bound.

The dying of the light brings with it fear; at the same time, it brings hope that rescue will come.

But I look over at the cooling flesh of Bram's boy, as he lies stiffening in the arms of his diabolical nursemaid, and know I do not deserve to be saved. I am glad, now, that I cannot give Arkady direction. Let the darkness take me. I have destroyed my brother's life, his wife's, and now his little son's; let the sacrifice of my own bring them some measure of peace.

Chapter 10.

The Diary of Arkady Dracul 23 NOVEMBER.

I shall not be able to control the hunger much longer.

Travelling is problematic. Without my Amsterdam henchman, I have no means for feeding without creating others like me-and this I have sworn not to do. The world suffers enough from my existence; let me sp.a.w.n no fresh monsters.

Perhaps if I can control myself, drink but a little and permit my victims to live, then pray that I and Vlad will soon meet with destruction . . . but I fear I have gone too long without nourishment for such self-control.

In my desperation, I thought to-night to broach the subject with Abraham. I have sensed Stefan's thoughts and know the fate that has befallen his little nephew, Jan; I cannot bring myself to tell the father this heartbreaking news. But Bram will learn of the grisly art of setting a vampire to rest one way or another. Why shall he not learn of it now?But it is too soon, too soon.

I trust Abraham; trust him as I have always trusted my beloved Mary. He is so like her- even, coinciden-tally, in appearance, for being Dutch, his eyes are blue and his colouring fair, though the gold in his hair is kissed with red. But it is in temperament that they are so utterly alike that one might think she bore him. She has raised him to share her calm, her strength, her loyalty-and even her stubbornness.

I will need to rely on that strength and determination when we arrive in Transylvania.

Before then, there are many things he must be taught, for Stefan and Jan's sakes as well as his own. But I can see my trust in him is not returned.

After rising this evening, I found him in our compartment, lost in thought as he stared out at the grey wintry landscape, a writing tablet on his knee, one hand absently fingering his golden beard. He did not hear my approach; and I saw in his pale furrowed brow, in his blue eyes, slightly magnified by thick spectacle lenses, such worry and love that it touched my cold, unbeating heart. I have spent a quarter-century immersed in a decadent, predatory world, with only the hope of revenge and the fading memories of my dear ones to keep my humanity alive; my life as a murderer has calloused me.

But experiencing once more Mary's love, and her goodness, is sloughing the layers of coldness away. (I worried that my very touch might taint her-but no. I am convinced that, for all my wickedness, our act did not, could not sully her goodness; if anything, it redeemed and elevated me. For the first time in twenty-six years, at her caress, I felt a surge of honest warmth course through my being; I am ready now to face whatever fate awaits me.

Mary, dear, can you forgive me for putting you gently to sleep afterwards? I cannot save your one son without the help of the other-and I remember all too well your resolve; I knew you would not let us leave without you.) Bram's goodness, too, reminds me of the horror I have become. I saw the anguish he suffered the night of his wife's terrible confession of betrayal in the presence of us all; but his concern for her suffering, and Stefan's, eclipsed his own pain. He showed her naught but forgiveness and gentleness afterwards; nor has he once mentioned her transgression, or his brother's.

Without opening the door, I slipped inside the compartment and said, "Doctor Van Helsing."

I expected to startle him; but he was a man too burdened, too drained, to waste energy on such a frivolous emotion. Slowly, he withdrew his focus from the dark, changing scenery on which it had rested-though I knew his mind was not there but far, far distant in s.p.a.ce and time: in Amsterdam, in his wife's bedroom, at that terrible moment when she recounted her tale of violation and betrayal. His gaze went inwards a moment, then at last emerged and discovered me. There it rested, and he beheld me in silence, waiting.

d.a.m.n the hunger! It a.s.sailed me as I caught his scent, and for a fleeting second, reason left me: I could think only that here was a healthy victim, full of fresh strong blood, yet too worn, too distraught to put up much struggle. And we two were alone, un-watched. . . .

Only an instant of weakness, no more: I forced it to pa.s.s. He glimpsed it, I am sure, but the weary blue eyes behind his spectacles showed not the slightest hint of fear.

He drew a long breath-one in which I heard that infinite exhaustion caused by emotional pain-and said at last, "Certainly, sir, these circ.u.mstances are too desperate and familiar for formality. My name is Abraham; my family calls me Bram."

"Abraham," I said. "As a father, I can understand your suffering. Please know that you have my full sympathy."He turned his face back towards the window and kept it there as I continued. "Before we arrive at our destination, there are things of which we must speak. First and most important, you must be trained to protect yourself from creatures such as I. As a man of science, you will no doubt find some of the methods bizarre, even fantastic; but I a.s.sure you, before my transformation, I was myself the greatest of sceptics."

"Tell me what I must do," he said softly to the window.

I spoke to him then of what I had learned-both as a terrified mortal and an undead patron of the Scholomance. I began with the basics: the protection afforded by sacred relics, and the simple skills of inducing self-trance, of concentration and meditation, of the need to build the aura through imagery so that another might not easily penetrate; of the need to recognise and resist another's attempt to invoke trance.

With the theories of Franz Mesmer, he said he was as a physician familiar, but that he lent them little credence; they were useful for stage performers and the circus, nothing more.

For he, he stated emphatically (and with more than a little of the arrogance I have seen in current-day pract.i.tioners of medicine), could not be mesmerised. I wasted no time arguing.

Abraham, I said without moving my lips, and his eyes, startled and ingenuous, focussed instantly on mine.

I had him at once. With the thrill of the hunter knowing the prey is his, I leaned towards him until our faces were almost touching; his went utterly slack, and the pupils of his eyes dilated until only a tiny rim of blue, blue iris could be seen. His breadiing grew slow, shallow.

He sagged back against the seat, his hands limp at his sides, awaiting my command.

Your life and death are in my hands, I told him- and meant it, for I realised that my little demonstration was a grievous mistake. I was almost as helpless as he- helpless in the face of my own appet.i.te. I was near enough to smell his warm, warm skin, feel the heat of his body, hear the gentle, barely perceptible throb of his heart and the murmur of rushing blood.

Unfasten your collar, Abraham.

I had not meant to issue the command, but it came forth unbidden, and I watched, hypnotised myself by desire as he unloosed his cravat and removed the stays.

And then the appearance of skin, flushed with blood, pulsing, ruddy against the stark white of the open collar ... I found myself drawing closer, closer, until my lips tingled from the heat; until they hovered a mere inch from his bared throat.

The shrill cry of the train distracted me an instant; it was enough to rescue us both. I pulled back in dismay and thrust him from me-too roughly, I fear. He struck the wall beside the window and tumbled to the floor, then gazed up at me, his spectacles askew, in complete astonishment.

"We will discuss this at a later time," I said abruptly, and left the compartment while I still could.

To-night! It shall have to be to-night; if only I can control myself. . . .

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 23 NOVEMBER. Darker and darker it grows. Darker and darker . . .

I was sleeping in the wagon-lit, secure in my privacy, knowing that Arkady would be gone until daybreak. In truth, that sleep was restless and long coming, for the earlier incident in the compartment with him troubled me. I had indeed lost control of my will, and the immediacy of the experience-and its frightening culmination-brought home the notion that perhaps what was happening was real.

He came close to killing me to-day; I know it. And if Arkady is capable of such sudden arbitrary violence, then what of Vlad?

And Stefan, and Jan . . .

Stop. That way leads to pointless torment.

To continue: After some hours, I had fallen into an uneasy sleep only to be abruptly awakened by a hoa.r.s.e groan.

"Abraham . . ."

I opened my eyes to see Arkady sitting on the berth across from mine, face buried in his hands in a gesture of utter despair. I sat up, instantly alert, heart pounding, convinced that he had somehow come across terrible news: that Jan or Stefan was dead. "What is it? What has happened?"

He looked up, revealing an expression not so much of grief as of shame. I sensed at once that something was different; his pallour had vanished. Indeed, his face was quite flushed, as some men's become when they overindulge in drink, and his lips cherry-red. "I need your help," he said in a voice drowsy and faintly slurred, which increased my suspicion that he was drunk. "In the compartment."

He faltered, until I demanded: "Out with it! If you must interrupt my sleep, do so efficiently!"

He was silent a moment, then said, more calmly, "Very well. In our compartment, you will find a man. A dead man. I had not intended this to happen, but I should not have waited so long-"

My voice dropped to the faintest whisper. "Are you saying that you killed him?"

This time he met my gaze steadily; his own was heavy-lidded, as though he fought imminent sleep. "Yes. Inadvertently. And I require special a.s.sistance."

I did not wait to listen to the rest but climbed from my berth and hurried, barefoot and clad in only a nightshirt, to the compartment. Time was of the essence; many times the untrained eye and ear may fail to detect a pulse and proclaim death prematurely. If Arkady was wrong, I wanted to provide whatever medical a.s.sistance I could.

And if he was right, I had to see the evidence with my own eyes.

The lamp had been extinguished. The compartment was unlit save for full moonlight, which streamed through the unshuttered window and was broken by the occasional denuded branches of tall trees, which dappled the scene with fast-moving bands of dark and light.

I stepped into that ever-changing chiaroscuro and nearly stumbled over a body upon the floor, quite hidden by the darkness.

I did not light the lamp but instead knelt down at once to conduct an examination, making use of the fleeting moonlight and the degree to which my eyes had adjusted to the dimness.

It was a man, lying on his side in a sprawling pose that suggested he had lain upon the seat, then rolled off due to the train's motion. He was well dressed, white-haired, with a long, drooping mustache, and so portly he took up most of the floor between the pa.s.sengers'

seats; I could scarce find the room to kneel beside him.

With difficulty, I rolled him over that so that he lay supine, and pressed an ear to his chest.

The heart within was silent; nor could I find the pulse in the wrist or neck-but at the throat was a small dark stain. I touched it with a finger, and raised it to my face, and smelled cooling blood.

Arkady had been right; he was dead, but the skin was still quite warm. The murder had taken place recently.

"I was careful," Arkady said softly, his tone one of regret and dismay. I glanced up to see him sitting, knees clasped to his chest, upon the seat beside us. "Quite careful not to drink too much-but of a sudden, he simply . . . collapsed."

"Light the lamp," I said.

He tilted his face, curiously phosph.o.r.escent in the moonlight, in a gesture of disbelief.

"Impossible. Someone might pa.s.s by. For me, incrimination presents no difficulty; I can easily find a means of escape. But for you to be seen with the corpse-"

"Light the lamp."

After a moment's pause, he did so, and the results of his appet.i.te stared sightlessly back at us in uncomfortably distinct detail: a grandfatherly man, a Papa Noel, with snowy waving hair, jowly neck, small pale green eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and apple-round cheeks. I continued my examination, grateful that my habitual professional demeanour allowed me some control over the emotions that a.s.sailed me-espedaily at that moment when I wiped away the congealing blood upon the man's throat with my kerchief and saw the indisputable evidence of two small puncture wounds.

The same wound that I had seen on Gerda's neck.

I can no longer deny the reality of all these insane events. But that does not mean I must partic.i.p.ate in them.

Arkady sat in clearly miserable silence until at last I looked up and said, "You are right; I do not think he died from loss of blood. Look at his colour: his lips and gums are still pink, and there is a faint flush still on the cheeks."

His expression grew hopeful. "Then I did not kill him?"

I made a half-hearted attempt to keep judgement from my tone and failed. "I did not say that. See the eyes? How one pupil is much larger than the other? It is indicative of bleeding in the brain: apoplexy. His fear may have triggered an attack."

"I tried to ease his fear. I did not think that-" Arkady began quietly, then looked up in mild alarm as I rose. "Do not go just yet, Abraham. I did not bring you here to confirm what I already knew."

"Then what a.s.sistance did you need?" My emotions were already taxed to their limits; I felt disgust, anger, that he should have committed such an act, then asked me to be party to it. I felt anger, too, and sorrow, for the sake of poor dead Papa Noel. "I am a physician, sir; this man is beyond my help.""In fact, he is not, Doctor Van Helsing. In two nights, perhaps three, if not prevented, he will rise to be one such as I."

I had seen and heard enough in the past week to check my scepticism and replied only, "Then what must be done?"