Diaries Of The Family Dracul - Children Of The Vampire Part 17

As I did so, she opened her eyes. Sea-green eyes, flecked with amber, slanting and feline, unmistakably feminine. They drew me towards them like a siren's sweet song. . . .

I struggled, flailing mentally like a drowning man in that beautiful green sea while she rose, smiling, letting go the single flower in her grasp to reach for me.

But then I recalled what Arminius had taught me. I recoiled both physically and psychically and concentrated on protecting the energy surrounding my heart.

My resolve returned at once. She was halfway to sitting when I pressed the point of the stake between her flat childish b.r.e.a.s.t.s, indenting the white lace diat covered her unbeating little heart. Wielding the stake in my left hand, I raised the mallet overhead in my right and brought it down.

But at the last instant before the hammer found its mark, I quailed at the sight of her sweet sea eyes, at the fiery auburn curls, at the soft porcelain skin. Such an innocent beauty-a mere child. The horror of what I was doing struck me full force, like the blow of the mallet.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. Nauseated, tears stinging my eyes, I sank to my knees just as the metal hammer's head struck the wooden stake, and grasped the coffin's edge with my fingers.Thus was my aim clumsy and the blow softened; the stake pierced her chest, but at an angle some thirty degrees to the right, missing the heart. And the poor child-oh, how she rose, clutching the edge of her little white casket, her cold small hand atop mine for an instant-and then she recoiled with a shriek high and thin and totally inhuman. The pink rose-petal lips parted, revealing small sharp teeth with unnaturally elongated canines, and in her desperate agony she leaned towards me, snarling and snapping like a rabid pup, fangs whistling through the air.

I cried out, too, in despair at her agony, at my failure. I was utterly vulnerable at that moment and knew she would have bitten me-but something held her back. I glanced down at my own chest and was relieved to see there a large golden crucifix.

So she continued to writhe and wail, struggling to climb out of the coffin, to flee from her torment, but my presence at her side entrapped her.

Release her, a voice commanded-firm and calm, yet edged with indignant anger. She has suffered enough! Release her at once!

I glanced up to see Arminius standing at my side, all trace of the grinning idiot gone; he instead shone with the same determined glory, the same magnificent authority I had seen in the Impaler upon his throne. I stared awestruck at his commanding dark eyes, at his aura of physical strength, at his long white hair and beard that blazed like a white-hot flame: the Son of Man in Revelation, with feet of bra.s.s and hair like white wool.

Harden your heart, Abraham. Pity her now, and she is doomed to suffer. Strike again.

Strike!

The sight gave courage. Again I retracted my aura and found the action brought renewed calm, renewed strength. I rose on trembling legs and, eschewing fear, thrust out my hand and righted the stake, ignoring the girl's flailing limbs, her champing teeth now flecked with foam, the once-lovely face now contorted into a h.e.l.lish Medusan rictus. The cross protected; she could only recoil from my touch.

And I struck-this time, a mighty blow that rang echoing throughout the shadowed chamber. The girl gave out a high shrill cry as the stake pierced through cartilage and muscle until it reached the spine.

I swallowed all pity and fear and watched with a fierce determination, ready to strike again if need be. But she released a single shudder, then fell eternally still -and upon her face I watched a transformation subtle yet as stunning as the one Arkady had undergone when he returned to his true mortal state. The unearthly loveliness fled like the snuffing of a lamp and was replaced by a pale, purely human beauty-a beauty that to me was far dearer. For she lay before me a sweet mortal child, her features plain and pinched, her skin the dull waxen grey of a corpse, her lips bloodless and slightly parted, her eyes clouded, sightless.

I closed those unseeing eyes and bent down to give her cool forehead a kiss; hot tears spilled onto the lens of my spectacles and dripped upon her skin, for I could now dare mourn her.

It is not yet finished, Arminius said. The knife.

Reluctant, I unsheathed the blade and held it against the grey-white skin of her throat. But the sight of that innocent face held me back.

Harden your heart, Abraham. It must be done to grant her rest; for the regenerative powers of the vampire are great.

I again retracted my aura, which pity had caused to go out to the child again. Hardened my heart and did the task. Must I write of it here? That terrible final ch.o.r.e, of the brutal effect of that knife against her tender flesh, upon her frail bones, as I struggled to separate head from body?

So it was done, quickly and bloodlessly, and I discovered within my coat a clove of garlic, which I gently put inside that tender litde mouth.

And when I stepped from that chamber into the long, dark corridor again, I found that it led not to a dew-soaked spring morning in a graveyard but to the warm hearthstones in front of the fire.

This was Arminius' cottage, at night. A quick glance at my hands confirmed that I was indeed myself, free of all strange unearthly glows and glimmers, completely mortal and dressed once more in the wool homespun undershirt.

Beside me Arminius sat cross-legged, his white-furred companion's chin resting on his knee.

They seemed entirely normal-except for a faint aura of sparkling gold limning them both.

While my body seemed returned to its usual state, I can only say that my mind felt quite like the room itself-which appeared to contract and expand, seeming one minute peculiarly small, the next, vast as a great cathedral. I sat in front of the fire myself, my thoughts racing as I tried to make sense of these impossible new experiences.

Arminius looked up from stroking the animal's head, his dark eyes filled not with humour or amus.e.m.e.nt but with sad compa.s.sion. "You are a determined man, Abraham. With training, you shall achieve even more strength of will. In time, you will no longer require my help."

"These . . . events," I said slowly. "Are they real?"

"You are no vampire, my friend. But you must know the vampire's mind if you are to defeat him." "Then I did not kill the woman?" "You cannot kill what never existed." I nodded with relief. "And the little girl?" "She was quite real. You have provided her with the truest help any man can: Now her soul is freed to ascend to the next level. Your father, Vlad, and Zsu- zsanna have all enlisted human a.s.sistance in order to avoid creating others like themselves; but mortal aid of the sort you have just provided was not always available. So the vampire plague is now sprinkled throughout the continent."

The revelation filled me with alarm. "What can be done?"

And before the question issued entirely from my lips, I was no longer seated in front of the warm rea.s.suring glow of Arminius' hearth but was standing in an alleyway between two tall brick buildings. A nearby streetlamp cast a sliver of light over my boot-tops, revealing cobblestones lightly dusted with snow.

The night was clear, bright with stars and moon, so bone-chilling it stung my nose, my cheeks, and turned my warm breath to mist. The rapidity of the sudden shift of scene made me slightly dizzy (as did the noxious smell of rotting garbage, festering somewhere nearby); I leaned against the nearest cold wall and tried to orient myself.

This was a large city; for though the position of the moon and the deep blackness of the sky indicated a late hour, the wide avenue beyond the alley was not silent but singing with the click of horses' hooves and the creak of carriage wheels. The alley, however, was long and narrow and dark, somewhat sheltered from public view.

I thought myself alone. But as surprise pa.s.sed and my senses and attention slowly returned, I detected to my left, at the alley's walled-off end, a feminine voice, drunken and raucous and giggling. I turned-careful first to retract my aura as Arminius so often warned me to do-and spied, standing in a feeble pane of light, the source of the noise.

A woman, white-skinned and voluptuously plump, with a round, plain face and ornate hair an unnatural shade of hennaed red-almost as red as her bright crimson gown, cinched impossibly tight at the waist, and so low-cut her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s seemed on the verge of spilling out. She stood against the brick wall, unmindful of the cold, her red cape pulled open and held back teasingly by red-gloved hands upon her hips to better reveal her wares.

"Come on, then," she said in German with full scarlet-painted lips, fluttering eyelids thickly lined with kohl. And she tossed her head, clumsily seductive, at her companion, who stood hidden by shadow.

Apparently, her words were not enough, for the dark figure did not move; not until she grinned and revealed her secret-grabbing the folds at the front of her skirt and slowly parting them to reveal a petticoat beneath . . . then parting those folds as well to reveal black stockings and white thighs, and the golden-brown triangle at the top of her legs.

"Come on," she urged, with inebriated vehemence that verged on angry impatience. "Come on. . . ."

Her suitor stepped forward into the ribbon of light. I could see only his back but knew he was white-haired, rotund, well dressed. He moved swiftly to unfasten his trousers and with an abrupt, savage motion, impaled her-at which she let go a startled, then pleased cry- and pressed her fast to the wall. She spread her pale legs wide, the red skirt spilling down on either side of her, a b.l.o.o.d.y cascade, and wrapped them as best she could about his thick middle.

My cheeks warmed with embarra.s.sment and t.i.tilla-tion; I could not understand why Arminius should have deposited me in this time and place simply to witness such an illicit encounter. But again, I forced myself to attend to my own mental protection, imagining again that I was surrounded by my own blue and violet glow, taking care that it was thickest around my heart.

At once the sense of l.u.s.t eased, and my eyes perceived-not saw, I must be careful to note, for it was a sense beyond that of mere sight, but perceived-a darkly glittering glow about the harlot's customer. A veil of indigo, much as I had perceived myself when I had taken on the vampire's form, and the realisation made me study the man more closely.

I could not see his face, but of a sudden I recognised his form, his portly bearing, his white hair, though I had never before seen him standing-only lying dead on the floor of a moving train. This was the man Arkady had killed and begged me to mutilate in the same fashion I had the twelve-year-old girl. But I, in my self-righteous anger, had refused; and here, now, was the result.

He was thrusting vigorously, swiftly, unrestrainedly, pounding the woman against the wall with such force that her guttural cries, in the same rhythm as his movement, grew shrill with as much pain as pleasure. . . .

Oh oh oh oh oh . . .

I looked about me and saw that I had no weapons this time-no stake, no knife, no hammer-nothing but my medical bag and the large crucifix over my heart. The latter I clasped in my right hand and, lifting it up so that my enemy might see, began walking towards him.

Up to that moment, I think he did not sense my presence. But at the instant I lifted the cross and held it aloft, he swivelled his neck about with preternatural ease and glanced over his shoulder to see me approach.

This galvanised him. While I was still many steps away, with a quick violent motion, he seized the woman's neck in his teeth. There was no time to hypnotise, to entice, to lull into dreamy cooperation. He was determined to feed, and this he did rapidly and efficiently, tearing brutally through the skin.

She screamed in startled agony, writhing, flailing as the blood sprayed forth, spattering her white face and bosom, disappearing against the red of her lips, her bodice, her hair. He thrust his hips once more, so powerfully that I heard the m.u.f.fled crack of bones breaking.

She wailed again-a long, piercing sound that faded to a moan as she hung, legs dangling, helpless, while he drank quickly, greedily, throat working, white hair dappled with her dark blood.

And then I was upon him, cross lifted high. "Leave her! Leave!"

He turned his blood-smeared face towards mine, the long white mustache dripping crimson, and growled like a wolf warning another to stay away from his catch. But I felt no fear-only self-recrimination that I had not moved quickly enough to spare the woman his bite. I thrust the cross into the midst of the b.l.o.o.d.y fray, between him and his victim.

He gave a feral yelp of rage and surrender and pulled away. I stepped in closer, closer, forcing him farther back until at last the poor woman was freed.

She slid down the wall to land sitting upon the snowy cobblestones with an unceremonious thump, black-stockinged legs spread in a V atop scarlet skirts. Her head lolled forward, causing hennaed ringlets to spill down and mingle with the ribbon of blood that trickled down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s; I might have thought her dead save for the soft moan that escaped her lips.

At last I stood between the vampire and his prey. For the s.p.a.ce of three heartbeats, no more, he stood his ground an arm's length from me, growling and champing his blood- stained teeth in rage-a demonic version now of a jowly Papa Noel, with death and h.e.l.lfire in his blue eyes. This was the first time I had ever witnessed the transformation from mortal to vampire (rather than the reverse), and to see what had most certainly been a kindly grandfather transformed into such a mindless, murderous beast was chilling.

Still I did not fear him, but knew he was no more than a defeated predator posturing vainly to keep his fresh kill from an interloper. I concentrated on maintaining my imaginary protective shield as I held fast the cross. My confidence in that weapon after my "experience with the red-haired child had only increased. I could feel the power coursing down the length of my arm-and was fascinated to find that it did not issue from the relic itself, but rather from me; and that realisation only increased my determination.

"Go!" I said to the snarling creature before me. "You cannot have her. In the name of G.o.d, go!"

And with a boldness that surprised me, I lunged towards him with the cross. This at last convinced him all was lost; he spun about and dashed down the alleyway with a speed and agility unlikely for one of his girth.

I turned my attentions at once to his victim and knelt beside her, taking a wad of bandages from my bag to stanch the flow from her lacerated neck. She was still alive, though pale with shock and barely conscious; happily, the vampire had not damaged her esophagus or trachea or severed the carotid artery, only badly torn the skin at the base of her neck. But I had heard the crunch of bone and feared damage to the spine.

So I pressed the cotton firmly against her wound and taped it in place, covered her legs with skirts and cloak to protect her from the cold, then gendy probed her back for damage and repeatedly asked her questions to which, amazingly, she was able to whisper replies. To my relief, the only injury appeared to be cracked ribs.I gathered her up and staggered out into the street; from there, a hailed carriage took us both to hospital.

I swore to myself during that fateful ride, as I held in my arms the scarlet woman-no longer a harlot in my eyes, but a pale shivering innocent who laboured pitifully to draw each shallow breath-that if she died, her blood would not rest upon the head of her attacker, but on mine.

And at the break of dawn when I emerged wearily through the hospital doors to step back onto the street, I found myself transported magically once again to the alleyway, the sunlight glittering prismatically on cobblestones and piles of rotting garbage veiled with snow. Upon the wall of russet brick was a small dark brown stain, the level of my chest-a silent witness to last night's vicious attack.

My black bag was unusually heavy in my hand, and I held it knowing that whatever weapon I required, it would provide. I knew, also, what I had been brought here to do. My senses- especially that mysterious sixth one, which permitted perception of the aura and an inexplicable capacity for knowing-were growing keener with each experience, beginning with the staking of the young girl. Even the rescue of the unfortunate prost.i.tute had had some effect on my abilities, so that when I stepped into the alley and gazed up at the unwashed brick buildings on either side, I saw that the one on my left possessed a barely perceptible trace of the malevolent indigo aura I had come to a.s.sociate with the vampire.

Snow squeaking softly beneath my boots, I walked from the alleyway to the main thoroughfare, which, compared with the bustle of the night before, was quiet in the frosty dawn. This was the street of a large city, in a section tainted by sadness, squalour, decay, and the stink from a nearby paper mill.

The building that demanded my attention-an inelegant box of brick, its cracked, yellowed windows covered with an opaque film of dirt-stood in front of a sidewalk covered with refuse and footprints in soot-blackened snow; and there were other human and canine detrita. At the building's entrance, a woman's scarlet glove lay in the charcoal slush.

I knelt to retrieve it with an odd sense of reverence, and swore to its owner that I would avenge her, free her from the evil that awaited her upon death.

And while I crouched brooding with glove in hand upon the stoop, I sensed a stranger's approach-human, yes, but hungry. An upwards glance revealed a mousy young woman standing on the street, shivering with cold and exhaustion, yet pathetically attempting a seductive air. Her clothes were worn, the skirts patched, and instead of a cloak she wore only a wool shawl. This she draped open so that it might expose her flat bony bosom.

"Would you like some company, good Herr?" she asked, her voice and eyes dreamy from laudanum; then she coughed, the desperate, phlegm-filled hacking of a consumptive. Yet even the poppy's brew could not mask her despair; her troubled gaze so reminded me of Gerda's that I could not meet it.

Instead, I paused and tried to imagine her aura. Almost immediately a faint yellow-green glow surrounded her-except for an ominous grey shadow over her lungs.

I was tempted to stop and open my bag, to offer her medical help. But a condition as advanced as hers required far more treatment than I could offer at the moment, and I knew I had little time to accomplish my objective.

Her appearance and notice of me reminded me to attend to my own aura; I withdrew it at once, centring it over my heart, and watched as her insincerely lecherous gaze turned to one of genuine astonishment. She gasped, then turned to look about her, as though searching for me; I knew then that I was quite invisible to her.

I rose quickly and pulled upon the building's front door; the wood was warped, causing it to stick and come open only after considerable effort. (The sight of the door opening made the young lady give a startled yelp; she picked up her skirts and ran away down the street.) I stepped inside, into a tiny foyer that led to a narrow corridor of separate flats and a stairwell, from whence the indigo aura seemed to emanate. I bounded up the stairs, trying to ignore the overpowering smell of urine and vomitus (on which I almost slipped). My destination and the source of the indigo glow lay on the third level, behind a sticky, splintering wooden door with a loose, rusted k.n.o.b.

Taking care to remain soundless and within the boundaries of my aura, I used a small fine scalpel and hammer from my bag to pry open the lock. The k.n.o.b was already so worn that my task was not difficult; soon the door was open, and I walked stealthily into my prey's den, a two-room flat.

At once a sensation of pure evil overtook me, the same sensation I had experienced in Vlad's lair; this was combined with purely natural disgust at the filth surrounding me. The outer room was devoid of furnishing, with rotting wooden floors that had long ago lost their finish and windows too dirty to permit much sunlight to filter through them. Strewn across the floor were empty bottles of liquor and laudanum, and in one corner was a filthy mattress spotted with brown, upon which a rat stood, busily chewing straw. At my entry he took no notice but continued oblivious; this I took as a good omen.

Even so, I focussed on protecting my heart until the sense of revulsion eased, then opened my bag to replace the scalpel and retrieve the other needed weapons: stake and knife. The knife I sheathed at my waist; the stake and mallet I carried in my hands. Leaving the bag on the floor behind me, I headed for the inner sanctum.

Here, as I expected, was a plain pine coffin, surrounded by the glittering indigo aura.

I did not hesitate, as I had the previous time, but moved to it at once and pulled open the lid. There lay Papa Noel, with neatly trimmed hair and mustache of silvery white, and round nose and cheeks faintly flushed widi the blood of prost.i.tutes.

My confidence flickered only an instant as I considered his grieving wife, his grandchildren, and his other victims whom I had not saved. Only a flicker of emotion and sympathy, no more-but at once, he opened his eyes, small and blue above his apple cheeks, and narrowed them at me malevolendy.

He might have risen then, but I came to myself at once and leaned forward so that the cross dangled between us, mere inches from his face. He bared his fangs and hissed in a threatening display, but I knew it was no more than the bravado of a trapped animal. And in that moment of confidence, I actually saw my own bright blue glow surge forth, settling atop the malignant indigo mist like fog on smoke, forcing it down, down, upon my victim.

And with a swift singular movement, I placed the stake upon his breast-against the fine wool gentlemen's vest, adorned with a golden watch fob)-and struck a mighty, ringing blow.

My foe bucked and screamed, but the stake had pierced him solidly. Soon he was foe no more, but a man whose death I mourned as I performed the decapitation that would free him. (I almost wrote desecration; yet while the grisly act of beheading a corpse might seem so to be, in this case it was an act of mercy, and the look of peace upon his once-h.e.l.lish visage was worth any degree of revulsion.) I placed a clove of garlic in his mouth and closed the lid, leaving him to his perpetual rest.And when I retrieved my bag and stepped through the doorway that led into the stinking corridor, I was not the slightest bit surprised to find myself once again standing in front of the hearth, with Arminius and Archangel seated at my side. It was still night, though I could not have judged how much time had pa.s.sed-to me, it seemed a century, no less. But the room now seemed entirely normal; my perspective had returned, and the strange sense of giddy euphoria had gone. For the first time since I had drunk the vile-tasting tea, I felt entirely myself-enough so to know that I had been drugged.

Arminius was gazing into the fire as he stroked his dozing companion's head, speaking to me as though I had not been gone, as though our conversation had never been interrupted. "I think you are ready now, Abraham, to deal with the vampires alone-"

I interrupted at once, my tone indignant, demanding. "What did you do to me? How on earth did I go to all those places, commit all those acts? They were all imaginary, weren't they?"

"Only the first. The other two were quite real," he said sombrely, without any trace of his usual merriment. "I am sorry that such a desperate measure was necessary. True, it was dangerous, risky, but as I said, you are far from psychically sensitive, my friend. There was no time to draw out your abilities by a safer method; that would have taken precious years.

Fortunately, your mind and heart were strong enough to bear it. And now that the channels are open, they cannot be so easily closed."

"Opening my abilities?"

He gave a slow, solemn nod. "To permit you to hunt the vampire. As I say, the method was successful. You are ready now."

I turned towards the shuttered windows, beyond which lay the night. "Then I shall leave for the castle in the morning."

To my surprise, he shook his head. "No, Abraham. When I said 'the vampire,' I was speaking generally. You have the strength now to destroy young vampires of limited ability-but you are far from ready to take on the oldest and strongest of them all."

"Then what must I do?" I demanded. "Drink more of your potent brews? My poor son-"

"I understand your desire. But you will never be strong enough to destroy Vlad as he is now."

His statement stunned me to disappointed silence; before I could open my mouth to protest, to question, he continued. "As I said, the covenant is a two-edged sword. Vlad gains power and extended life for each eldest son he corrupts to evil. But if an eldest son was to commit acts of good, by destroying Vlad's monstrous vampire offspring, Vlad would be weakened. Each soul set free from the vampire's bite on behalf of good rather than evil drains him and strengthens you."

My jaw dropped slightly as I stared at him, aghast. "What are you saying? That this is to be my life now- frequenting graveyards at night, committing gruesome acts?"

His face was kind but implacable, blunt but harbouring no judgement; he held my gaze intently as he replied, "Only if you wish to redeem your father and all your ancestors. Only if you wish to save your unborn children and all future generations from this curse."

Let it end with me. Dear Bram. . . .

Exhaustion and the weight of his words overwhelmed me. My legs trembled, buckled, and I sank to my knees on the hearthstones, my capacity for reason crushed, obliterated by such a heavy burden. I would gladly have succ.u.mbed to unconsciousness there in front of the hissing fire, but Arminius lifted me with a grip surprisingly strong and carried me to my bed.

I slept and dreamt again of Arkady and my ancestors, their arms outstretched as they pleaded for my help. . . .

Chapter 19.