Lord of the Vampires (14 page)

I think she frightened him, for he remained silent a moment before answering slowly, Harker shall be yours after a time, when I am done with him. Until thenhe nodded at the brown bundle on the floor; a shrill animal cry, similar to that of a cat, emerged from within, but the smell was definitely that of warm human bloodlet that suffice.

And he lifted the swooning Englishman into his arms and departed as quickly as he had come. Immediately relieved, Dunya scrambled over to the bag and loosened the drawstring; wet burlap fell away in folds to reveal a filthy, naked male child of perhaps a year, its smudged cheeks wet with tears. It gazed up at Dunya and immediately calmed, though its little torso spasmed comically with hiccups.

Elisabeth sniffed the air, her porcelain features contorted with disgust, and raised a lace handkerchief to her mouth. It smells.

Ah, no. I wagged a finger at her. Remember Alexander Pope:
You
smell. It stinks.

I think it peed in the bag, Dunya said, and grinned at it, relieved to find that she had not only escaped punishment, but would have her dinner after all. (The sense of smell, apparently, is first to fade when hunger overwhelms.) The child returned the smile sweetly, and reached for her with chubby fingers. A baby, she said, and scooped it up at once, whirling round and round and tickling its fat stomach until it crowed atonally with delight. She snapped her fingers beside its ear, then added, I think its deaf.

Another prize from our oh-so-generous Vlad: a dirty, piss-soaked deaf boy whose own parents had probably offered it up gladly. And he is all yours, I told Dunya.

She neither questioned my abstinence nor protested the gift, but immediately pressed her lips to its neck in a hungry kiss; the child giggled, writhing as if tickled. But its laughter turned at once to a terrified scream as Dunya opened wide her mouth and struck. The cry soon faded; the boy grew glassy-eyed and still as the muscles in Dunyas jaw worked, and soon he was limp in her arms. She cradled him then, lifting high the elbow beneath his head so that she could drink comfortably without bending too far downthe mother suckling the child.

The tableau seemed both strangely tender and erotic; I found myself yearning to join her in that gently passionate embrace. A glance at Elisabeth confirmed that she felt the same, for she stared at the two with the same intent lust she had directed at Dunya and Harker.

Was I again jealous? Yes, as I am now, watching Dunya as she sleeps enfolded in Elisabeths arms in the great bed. But that verdant emotion did not stay with me for long. For this time, Elisabeth felt my gaze upon her, and favoured me with a faint, seductive smile. Oddly, that small gesture caused all jealousy to lift, and filled me instead with fire. So I did not resist when Elisabeth took my hand and, laying it upon her breast and her own hand atop mine, drew me with her to Dunyas side.

What possessed me then I cannot say, nor can I remember clearly what transpired afterwards. I only know that we indulged ourselves in an orgy of blood and sexual excess, and that I violated each woman just as each one violated me. Only one image remains with me clearly that of Elisabeth naked and kneeling upon the stone, crying out
More, morel
as Dunya and I each held one of the dying childs heels and shook him so that the dregs of his blood spattered down upon Elisabeths breast and face. This she frenziedly rubbed into her skin, as if somehow she might absorb some good from it.

When it was over, Dunya was too sated to move, and all three of us were sticky with the remnants of the childs blood. Elisabeth carried her and I trailed behind as we three made our way to Elisabeths chamber. There we piled into the big bed, where I slept until the dawn.

How strange this all is, and how confused I have become. I am jealous of Dunya and angry at Elisabethand yet I am not. I know but one thing for certain: that I shall convince her to wait no longer, but to take me to London at once.

Chapter 6

Szuzsanna Draculs Diary

May.

When I went alone to Harkers chambers this morningElisabeth had gone off again, without explanationI found, to my delight, that my hypnotic suggestion to him had worked, after a fashion. He was still writing in shorthand in his diary, but he had taken to transcribing the whole thing into English on some parchment he had apparently brought with him in order to post letters. He had begun with the most recent entry, the sixteenth, and I was amused to see
his
perspective of what had happened the night of 15 May.

Clearly, he was quite fixated upon Elisabeth, for he spoke of nothing but the fair girl and her wavy masses of golden hair. She had taken the place of Dunya in his shoddy memory, and he spent an inordinate amount of time describing her and overstating the counts show of anger. Quite insulting, really, and where did he get this business about you never love? All fantasy.

But the worst insult came in the previous days entry the entry he must have been writing when Dunya and I caught him in our sitting-room. I was so infuriated that I committed it to memory: Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter

Ill-spelt?
Ill-spelt
? Sir, I have avoided insulting
your
pitiful attempts at poetic prose, nor have I chided you in
my
diary for your faulty spelling. I resent the implication that the Tsepesh (or Dracul, or Roumanian, for that matter) women were ill-educated, or that they wasted their time blushing over silly love-letters. My mother was a renowned poetess, sir, and I alone possess more literary skills than you and all your future heirs together dare ever hope to have. I have never misspelt a word in all my life.

Ill-spelt, indeed!

As for the misspoken Mr. Harker, I gave him a small nip, and took just enough blood to stave off hunger; this time, I skipped any sexual encounter, for I had little of that sort of appetite after the long, strange night with Elisabeth, Dunya, and the deaf child.

When I had drunk (much less than my fill), I left Harker and wandered out into the hallway. I was filled with restlessness, as I had wanted badly to tell Elisabeth that I could no longer wait to go to London. Yet I could find her nowhere in the castlesave for the one place I feared to look, Vlads chambers.

And if she refused again to leave this prison, I had resolved to attempt what heretofore I had never dared even to think: kill Vlad with the stake. Yes, he had told me that vampires could not directly kill each other, but he had managed to kill my brother by hurling a stake at him.

Why should I not do the same to him? For with Elisabeth here, I had come to realise that I
was
strong enough to face even the Impaler. If I am destroyed, you are destroyed, he has always told me, but I know now in my heart that is a lie.

Yet before I could enter his inner sanctum, I needed to render myself invisible, soundlessfor even hard at rest, Vlad was capable of sensing danger, and retaliating. Thus I carefully performed the necessary mental machinations and chant, and when I felt confident that he could never detect me, I set off.

Up the stairs I went, moving so swift and light that my feet literally never touched the stone. Soon I arrived at the great oak-and-iron door to find it closed and bolted from the inside; from within came no sound. Rather than dramatically break the bolt and fling the door openwhich I could manage easily now, but which would also alert Vlad to my increased strengthI instead opted for stealth, and narrowed my body in order to slip through the crack into the vast chamber, which was modelled upon the Prince of Wallachias private throne room.

There to the west stood the Theatre of Death, where black manacles graced a bloodstained wall, and the wicked chains of the strappado (from whence a victim might struggle, suspended in midair) hung from the ceiling. Beneath them both lay a large wooden tub, of oaken exterior but an interior the colour of red mahogany, a legacy left by its former contents. And beyond them both stood a large butchers table, its surface worn and scored by the bite of countless blades. This in turn was flanked by a rack of knives of different sizes and shapes, and a stand of sharpened wooden stakessome broad as a strong mans arm and taller than I, others shorter and thinner, destined for more delicate uses. In the halcyon days before Van Helsings birth, all these were used to dispose of dead guests in a manner which prevented them from becoming competition.

These devices had long lain unused; but I had no doubt they represented the fate intended for our Englishman, no matter what false claims of generosity Vlad had uttered.

I approached them, tempted to arm myself at once and enter the small door to my left wherein my uncle slept (this I sensed beyond doubt), in hopes of achieving the brazen deed before my resolve fled entirely. But a slight, barely perceptible movement at the chambers opposite wall caught my notice.

Elisabeth, I was convinced, though when I stared intently in the direction of the movement I saw and heard nothingnothing save the Impalers throne, and the wooden platform on which it rested, and the three stairs inlaid in gold with the motto JUSTUS ET Pius. Yet I knew she was thereas invisible and undetectable as I; but even the strongest magic is not so powerful as love.

And with loving eyes I looked as I slowly crossed the Impalers great chamber, nearing inch by inch until I discovered the boundaries of her spell. One instant, I stood several arms lengths from the platform, and saw nothing save what I have above described. But one step morea single hesitant stepand the air began to shimmer and roil like clouds caught up in a fierce storm; then, like a veil, it lifted to reveal my Elisabeth.

In front of the great throne, she had erected a polished onyx double cube as an altar. Around this she had inscribed a circle, on whose boundaries I had encroached, thus opening this secret ritual to my eyes.

Dressed in the simple black robe of a priestess, golden hair streaming freely down her back, Elisabeth raised her arms in a V before the altar, on which rested the same implements I have seen on Vlads: pantacle, dagger, cup, and candle.

And a dead, bloody boy child lying beside locks of indigo hair.

Locks of
my
hair, I realised with an abrupt thrill of horror. Locks of my hairand Dunyas, for I recognised my jet colour, kissed with blue, and Dunyas, kissed with red. What manner of evil did she intend to work against us? And what had we to do with the dead child?

This I could not determine, for as she faced west faced meshe intoned words in a bizarre language that sounded like no earthly tongue I knew; but regardless of the language, I can recognise my own name, and that of my serving-girl. And those I heard.

Had I not been frightened of her powers and her anger, I would have broken the circle and stepped forward to demand explanation at once, instead I lingered on the perimeter and watched, hoping that I could ascertain the purpose of this ritual and knowing that I could not. But somethingperhaps someonecompelled me to remain.

And then I saw Him.

Elisabeth had completed her chanting and now waited, hands crossed upon her chest like a penitent, head bowed. Unbeknownst to her, standing behind her back, towering over her like a titan stood

How shall I describe Him? He was entirely dark, like a huge shadow cast by a lamp, yet He seemed quite solid. I could not see His face or features, yet He
had
both, for I saw Him smile at me. Neither had He eyes, but I gazed into them just the same.

He knew me. He smiled at me, and knew me. And I I knew at that moment that I had always known Him, and felt no fear, no fear at all, for looking into His eyes I saw acceptance and compassion, and indeed love.

Such love that I was swept away into it, pulled as if by the tide into the infinite blackness, the infinite light, in His eyes. For He and I were Nothing and All Things, existence and annihilation, thought and mindlessness, all together, and all things and no thing the same. This was an ecstasy far beyond any physical satisfaction and desire, and as I reflect upon it now, I can honestly say that if Death is such a state, I would gladly kill myself now.

Then all awareness passed away, and I fell into an unconscious state and woke a short time later to find Elisabeth and the altar andcould it have been the Dark Lord? No! An archangel, at the very least, capable of only the whitest magic, for when I have heard of the Dark Lord or heard Vlad in session with Him, it brings only fear. But this creature this dark, good creature

I can only speculate. I fled to my room and have written this all down, lest time cause my memory of that powerful encounter to fade. As for now, I have not seen Elisabeth yet, and am fearful; if she detected me after my swooning, then she will no doubt be furious again.

But
I
must know what she is about. If she means to betray me, then my death is assured anyway, and I might as well face it swiftly rather than linger in an agony of doubt.

19 MAY.

She is dead, she is dead! How can this be? How can any immortal be murdered, save by the hand of the living?

My hand trembles so, I fear I shall drop the pen, for I realise that
I
am no longer safe myself.

I went to her coffin today, filled with concern because the morning after the deaf boys deaththe sixteenth Dunya, still sated and sleepy, crawled from Elisabeths bed to her little casket in the servants quarters and closed the lid with a weary
thump
.

It is not uncommon for a vampire who has had her fill after a long deprivation to sleep a day, a night, and another day, then rise refreshed and invigourated; I have done it myself many times. So when Dunya did not rise at all on the night of the sixteenth, I was unconcerned. And when she did not emerge on the seventeeth, I told myself:
She is enjoying a long, deep rest, and when I see her tomorrow, she will appear younger and stronger than she has for decades
.