Diaries of the Family Dracul - The Covenant with the Vampire Part 10

He stirred at last, and groaned; his hands moved weakly over my back, trying feebly to push me away. With the desperate instincts of a starving animal, I pressed my face harder against his breast and furiously lapped the spurting blood, fever-hot against his cool skin.

"Zsuzsanna," he groaned. It was a prayer, a plea; I felt his incredible might ebbing. Ebbing, and in my possession. I sensed a power more than human coursing through my veins, and knew that, had I wanted, I could have snapped his spine like a twig.

He trusted me that much. He had held me in his arms with that much strength, and never harmed me.

I pulled back and straightened, hair falling forward, running my tongue over my lips, and caught the blood that dripped from my chin with cupped hands. I licked my palms clean like a cat, and when at last I looked up, satiated, serene, omnipotent, his eyes were ablaze with wild sensuality that verged on madness.

He seized me. Oh, he was weak and I the stronger, but I fell back and let myself be taken so my ecstasy might be complete. I swept my hair back, bared my neck for him; I held perfectly still as those sharp, sharp teeth found their two small marks, and when they pierced me again, I did not cry out, did not struggle, but released a long, low sigh.

He did not drink long this time. He left me on my feet, swaying, drunken with pleasure, and when he withdrew I clasped his hands and knelt before him, begging him to finish what he had begun. I did not want to remain behind here any longer!

But he was firm. He pushed my hands aside; he bade me stay. He is my lord now, and I will do as he bids, but I wept when he faded into the deep shadows, and I ran to the open window calling softly after him.

When the cool night air touched my skin, I was drunk again, drunk with blood and ecstasy and power.My senses are heightened, keener. The starlight is dazzling, blindingly beautiful, and the forest sings with life; I can hear each single insect chirping, hear each solitary animal rustling in the trees, hear the distant, beautiful harmonies of wolves. The taste of his blood still in my mouth seems velvety, deeper, more heady and flavourful than any wine. I can still inhale its scent, borne on the soft breeze: bitter, sharp, metallic, but rich and full and intoxicating. From time to time, I touch a fingertip to one of the dark drops on my pearly breast, and lift it to my lips, to smell, to kiss, to savour.

I am so strong. I could kill Dunya as she sleeps, snap her neck with one swift twist of my hand.

But I will not. Not tonight. I will play the game just a bit longer, because it is what he wants.

I will quietly fill the basin with water from the pitcher, and wash away the blood smeared on my hands and face, and the drops spattered upon my bosom. I will replace the garlic at the window, then slip into my nightgown and into bed.

Though not just yet, not yet. Dawn is still hours away, and the smell and taste of his blood against my skin is so sweet...

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh 15 April.

Arkady knows about Vlad. Somehow, he knows.

I did not press for details-I know too many already for my sanity-but we had a good, long talk this morning.

He was entirely recovered yesterday evening, and slept quite well through the night. Or so I believe, for I slept like one of the dead myself, exhausted from my two-day vigil, but when I woke briefly from a vague, terrifying dream about Vlad, I remember turning over and being rea.s.sured to see Arkady, blissfully asleep and snoring softly beside me. This morning, when I rose and pulled open the curtains to let the cheerful sunshine stream in, Arkady was sitting up awake when I turned round. His expression was so penitent and concerned that I said, "Why, dear! What ever is the matter?"

As I crossed back to the bed to sit on the edge beside him, he said, "I must beg your forgiveness."

I took his hand, but I must confess that I felt a pang of fear at those words, which would freeze the heart of any wife, regardless of how much she may trust her husband. And then I remembered our argument of two days before, and laughed. "Arkady," I replied, "I have already forgotten it. Besides, you were probably already ill then and not to be blamed for losing your temper. You are incapable of doing anything so evil that it would require my forgiveness."

"It isn't that," he said, so darkly that I felt once again a chill of fear. "I want you to forgive me for bringing you and the child to-to this accursed place!"

I stiffened and said nothing, but listened and watched very carefully as he continued, lowering his eyelids and looking away from me as though ashamed, instead focusing his gaze on the bright beams of golden light that filtered through the window, and at Zsuzsanna's still-fastened bedroom shutters beyond.

"I have seen horrible things. No"-he raised a hand when I leaned forward, on the verge of speaking-"you must not ask! I cannot speak of them. I can only say this: that I promise you, I will see to it that they stop at once, and never happen again. I will make sure no harm ever comes to you, or to the baby."

"Oh, Arkady!" I cried. "For your sake as much as mine, we need to leave here! You must tell Vlad we cannot stay!" I did not speak to him of what I had seen; I was sure he had witnessed something similar, and I saw no reason to add concern for my sake to his already overburdened mind. Only one thing was important: that I could now convince him to take us both far, far from this place.

He withdrew his hand from my grasp. "But it would break his heart if I deserted him and Zsuzsanna."

"It does not matter! Tell him-tell him that the doctors have ordered a holiday, for the sake of your health. Tell him we are only going away for a short time. We could go to Vienna."

He contemplated this, and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes..." He met my gaze, and I smiled at the acquiescence in his posture, his eyes. "Yes. I shall meet with him today and tell him. I am sure he would permit me whatever necessary to regain my health. No, I am sure he would insist on it."

"Oh, Arkady," I said, with pure relief, and reached for him. He saw the tears in my eyes and caught me in an embrace so tight I gasped, but I wanted for him never to let go. Weeping, I told him I had been so worried, so worried for him all these days; I told him that he had almost died, and that I could not bear to see him bowed down another day with grief and concern. He wept too, and promised me that we would get away. He will speak to Vlad this evening, and everything will be arranged.

My heart is so light now; I have been packing my trunk and singing lullabies to myself, to the child, and studying my German phrase-book. Everything seems more cheerful at the manor: even Zsuzsanna is markedly improved, and has her colour back. Dunya and I are so encouraged that we have moved a little mattress for her into Zsuzsanna's bedroom; her presence, and the garlic at the window, should be sufficient to keep any evil at bay.

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh 15 April.

It is very late, and Mary is already asleep. I have lit a fire in the western sitting-room, and as I write this, I am watching the flames. Twice I have risen and tried to throw V."s dictated letter upon them; twice have I found myself unable to do so, seized by the now-familiar pain in my skull, followed by the feeling that, by secretly and dishonestly incinerating that doc.u.ment, I will have in essence cast my familial obligation onto the flames.

I am an honest man. I despise deception, yet I see no alternative, if I am to keep V. happy while seeing justice done. Nor do I know exactly what to say to Mary; she seemed so happy, so relieved at the prospect of going to Vienna. I confess, I felt the same. But now that door is closed, unless I openly defy Uncle's wishes. Unless I break with the family forever.

As much as I love Uncle, as much as I feel obligated to him, I can scarcely bear now to walk inside the castle walls. My overwrought imagination no longer perceives a vast stone ancestral home, but an ancient, grinning monster lying in wait to devour me: each time I enter, the great door's sharpened metal studs become razor-sharp fangs, the threshold a gaping maw, the dark, airless corridors a long gullet.

When I pa.s.sed through those hungry jaws this evening at sundown, with Father's pistol in my waistcoat as protection, all I could think of was Jeffries. Where had he met his final fate?

In the guest chambers? In the servants' quarters? Or had he been spirited outside, to be flayed alive in the dark recesses of the ominous forest?

I entered scanning the walls, the floors, the furniture, for blood. Climbing the stone stairs, I imagined Jeffries' head, tumbling down that long expanse to meet me.

You're an Impaler, aren't you? One of the wolf-men?

I slowly ascended the stairs and made my way to Father's office, fighting a resurgence of the delirium that had possessed me in the skull-strewn forest. I did no work; I could not.

Nor did I allow myself to think, for that seemed a dangerous pastime. I merely sat in Father's chair and fought the cold dread that threatened to settle over me, fought to keep my wits; and when I had some uncertain degree of control, I rose and made my way to Uncle's drawing-room.

I knocked, and when V. called out, I entered.

Everything looked as before. Uncle sat in his chair in front of a blazing hearth, which made the room warm and cheery. The slivovitz was still untouched on the end-table, in the cut crystal decanter whose every facet trembled with firelight. Only V. and I had changed: he had lost twenty years off his age; I had gained them.

Impossible, impossible; I am indeed going mad.

"Arkady!" he said heartily, turning towards me with a smile; it faded abruptly and was replaced by an expression of concern. The dark grey at his temples was spreading, so that the hair on the sides was almost salt-and-pepper, and his complexion, though still quite fair because of his aversion to bright sun, glowed with robust good health. "But you are so pale!

Please, sit."

He gestured at the chair beside him. I sat, trying to hide my nervousness at this latest spurt of backwards aging. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising me carefully, then poured a gla.s.s of slivovitz, smiling once again and saying: "Your lovely wife sent a messenger to tell us you were ill. I trust you are feeling better? Here, drink. It will put roses in your cheeks."

I took the proffered gla.s.s and drank. There was no disguising the fact that my hands shook, for the slivovitz splashed from the goblet in my unsteady grasp and perfumed the air. I set it down with a clatter, in my clumsy agitation nearly upending the gla.s.s.

V. watched it all with a small smile and the same intent scrutiny. "Better?"

"Yes," I wheezed, expelling more fragrant slivovitz fumes, fighting the urge to cough at the burning sensation in my throat. "Yes, I'm quite better. The doctor said it was brain fever, but I am well now."

"He is sure? You are altogether cured?"

I averted my eyes and stared into the fire. The room seemed suddenly stuffy, overly warm.

"Yes. Mostly. However, he and Mary are still quite concerned. He says I need a holiday, and Mary has suggested that we spend some time in Vienna. With your permission, of course..."

"No," V. said.

My mouth opened, and I emitted a small gasp. Stunned, unable to fathom what I had just heard, I stared at him. I half-expected him to laugh and say he was simply joking.

He did not. His tone was flat, hard, neutral, his expression closed. "Mary is too close to giving birth; she cannot risk further travel. Besides, the baby should be born here, in his ancestral home, not in some foreign hotel."

"But-"

"She needs you, Arkady. You cannot go without her. And I need you, too. Today, in fact, we must write a letter to a solicitor in London about locating a suitable property for us. Time grows short. I can wait no longer."

"There is more; guests are due to arrive soon in Bistritz. We must write another letter and have Laszlo post it tomorrow. There are many, many details to be taken care of, Arkady, and I think you were right when you earlier said the best cure for your grief is work. So let us work now. But I promise you-you will have your holiday with Mary and the baby. In England. We will all take it together."

"I cannot stay here," I said, my voice quaking as hard as the hand I lifted to my brow. "Dear G.o.d, I cannot stay-! I cannot bear this any longer! I have found-I have found Jeffries'

head, buried in the forest."

And I raised my other trembling hand to my brow and lowered my face, staring down through unsteady fingers at my lap.

A long spell of silence followed, during which time I could not bring myself to raise my head.

Nor did I look up when, finally, V. spoke, but I heard the somberness in his hushed tone: "Are you quite certain?"

"How could I make such a mistake about such a horrible thing, any more than I could make a mistake about Laszlo taking Jeffries' ring?" I snapped.

"I see," he said softly, but I saw he did not see at all, that he did not believe. "It is no wonder, then, that you are distraught. It is enough to drive anyone mad."

"Yes," I whispered, pressing my fingers hard against my forehead, in hopes it would ease their shaking.

"This is terrible, of course." He paused. "How is it, then, that you chanced to... to make this horrible discovery? Did you actually see anyone bury it... ?"

"No." Uncertain how to explain that I had been led into the forest by a ghost lest I further confirm V."s suspicions of my mental instability, I lowered my hands and looked up at him.

And saw, sitting in his chair, with short, thin legs swinging six inches above the floor, hands gripping the armrests in V."s usual manner, my dead brother, Stefan.

In the warm autumnal-orange glow of the fire, the yawning wound at his throat was quite clearly visible, and I could see that the blood which dripped there from onto the white linen of his torn, dirtied shirt was vermilion, fresh, bright. As I stared slack-jawed, stricken dumb, Stefan's impish grin widened in an expression of purely malevolent amus.e.m.e.nt.

I closed my eyes and covered them with my hands, unable to speak.

At the touch of a hand on my sleeve, I started in the chair and glanced up in fear-into Uncle's dark green eyes. For the most fleeting of seconds, as I opened my eyes, I fancied I saw on his lips a hint of the same evil smirk Stefan had worn. I blinked, and realised his features were composed in an expression of utter concern, utter rea.s.surance.

"Arkady," V. said, in a lulling voice, "it was wrong of me to pursue the matter. Of course you are too distraught to answer questions on this subject at the moment. We need not discuss such things now."

I leaned forward on the edge of my chair, unable to understand his calm in the face of this gruesome revelation, unable to understand anything except that I was on the verge of insanity, and knew that it would take little more to push me over that precipice. "I cannot stay! Don't you understand, Uncle? Someone here at the castle-"

"Laszlo, you mean," he interrupted, in a tone that was gentle and utterly rea.s.suring, utterly unconvinced.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, flushing with anger. "Laszlo, then!-murdered your guest. I can't remain with my wife -and baby-near a monster capable of-"

I broke off as I remembered Laszlo had lived at the castle but two years, and was unable to stifle the thought: So many skulls. So many skulls. Too many for one man to accomplish in two years' time...

The next thought was blotted out by a now familiar, crushing pain in my temples-the same I had felt when Masika had attempted to convey some secret to me, when Mary had confronted me on the stairs about V. and Zsuzsa. I raised my hands and rubbed them, wondering whether this agony was merely the result of nervous exhaustion, or whether it had a more sinister cause.

"Arkady," V. said, in a tone soft and somber, and as sincere as I have ever heard anyone use. "Do you love me?"

His voice contained nothing now but sheer, wistful longing. He seemed to shrink in his chair, to become a pathetically stooped old man. The imperious prince was gone. I saw only my father, worn and bowed by decades of loss and grief. He gazed beseechingly at me with eyes that were naked and beautiful, stripped of all charm and power, full of stark, simple need; the eyes that had wept over my father in his coffin.

I was taken aback and sincerely touched, despite my extreme agitation. I stammered, "Why... why, yes, Uncle. Of course I love you deeply. I hope you have no doubt of that."

"And do you trust me?" He straightened a bit; his voice became stronger, a little more confident, as the prince returned. There was something so hypnotically soothing in his demeanour that I calmed like a dog beneath its beloved master's hand.

I knew he thought me entirely mad-and at the moment, I believed him correct, and yearned for his help.

"Yes, of course."

"Then trust me to see that the matter is resolved," he said, his confidence now entirely returned. "Trust me to see that no harm comes to you or your family. You must believe me, Arkady-I would die myself before I would let harm come to you. I will keep you safe-I swear it upon our family name! You have been through enough with your father's death, and your own illness; and you have a baby coming soon. You are distraught and need rest; you have had two terrible shocks. You do not need any other worries. Please. Let me take this terrible burden from you." He stroked my hand; his own was cold, but I found myself relaxing further at his touch.

"Stay with me, Arkady. For your wife's sake, for the child's, for mine. Let us work now, and you will see it is the best cure for your concerns. Let us talk no more of leaving."

What could I do? What could I say? I worked with him. Together we wrote to a London solicitor with whom I had an acquaintance, inquiring whether he might represent V."s interests in searching for some property in the London area, and possibly some resort areas as well; and I also wrote a letter for him to a newly married couple touring Europe on their honeymoon, which he directed me to give to Laszlo as I left the castle, that he might post it in Bistritz the following day.

It all seemed very reasonable while I was with Uncle, writing the letters; but as I left and headed down the long, spiraling stone staircase which led to the servants' quarters, where Laszlo alone slept, I came suddenly to myself.

What idiocy was this, asking Laszlo to post a letter which would merely bring fresh victims?

Uncle might trust him, but I could not; nor, I realised, could I even bear the idea of setting eyes on his face again.

The thought came to me most clearly, for some reason in Uncle's voice, as though he had whispered it in my ear.

You must go to Bistritz yourself. For the good of us all...

Yes. It became blindingly clear: Grief-stricken I might be; distraught and shaken I might be-but the time had come, for the sake of my family, to collect my wits and do what was best for us all.

And so I slipped the letter into my pocket and, rather than knock on Laszlo's door, continued outside and quickly drove the caleche home.

Once safely back at the manor, I wrote a different letter to the honeymooning bride and groom, informing them of a death at the castle, and apologising for the fact that their visit must be indefinitely postponed.

The other I shall throw on the fire-if I can bring myself to do so. I will post my subst.i.tuted letter and the one addressed to the solicitor when I go to Bistritz tomorrow-to tell the authorities there of the murders.

Chapter 8.

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh 17 April.