Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  The woman didn’t flinch.

  Didn’t move.

  Made no sound.

  Doctor Seward writhed. His arms trembling as he used every ounce of strength to stretch the thick leather. Could almost feel them start to give.

  The thudding beat of the woman’s heart softened.

  Smoothed and slowed. A rhythm drifting from chorus to verse in a song of life and death.

  A song he shared with the woman he loved. A song which floated into the ether and, with one last wretched spasm, ended.

  Ended when Lucy let out a satisfied gasp and unclamped her jaws from the ruined throat.

  Blood running off her chin and down her dress. Soaking into pale white cloth. Spreading across her breasts as she reared like a snake. Eyes blazing with lust and the fire of dread passion.

  The terror which had remained buried inside him gave a twitch and he flinched from her as she swept from the slumped corpse to launch herself on top of him. Straddled his hips and hovered over his mouth with hers.

  Blood drooling. Splashing onto his nose.

  Cheek.

  Then lips.

  And his tongue darted out on its own. He swore to himself he didn’t ask it to.

  It was reflex.

  And it tasted.

  Tasted blood.

  It fizzed in his mouth. A zing of iron and rapture as it soaked into his tongue and slid down his throat.

  Disgust surged.

  He was drinking blood.

  Warm blood.

  He gagged. But couldn’t stop himself when she planted her mouth on his. Her lips moving as she forced her tongue between his teeth and the blood of the woman mingled with the saliva of a kiss which drowned him in unholy desire.

  He could feel his mind splitting. Tearing itself in two.

  A part of him wanting to shriek and rail against her.

  Another part wishing his arms were free so he could wrap them round her neck. Pull her down and drain every last drop of the woman’s blood from her mouth.

  The kiss impaled his soul.

  It swarmed his mind with every feverish dream he’d ever had of conquering her heart. Of holding her in his arms. Throwing her onto his bed. Splaying her legs.

  And driving his seed deep into her womb.

  Frenzied on hunger, he pushed at her mouth. Opened his jaws and made to snap his teeth. The only connection he had with her. The only way he could claim what was surely his.

  And his teeth snapped on air as she pushed away.

  Her red lips curled into a smile.

  A smile which showed not an ounce of innocence as her voice, honey and venom, curled through his ears to feed on his mind; “Do you still love me, John? Even now you are one of us? Even as you know Van Helsing will murder you for what you are? Even as you feel the invisible chains which tied you to humanity begin to buckle and break? Do you love me?”

  “Yes!”

  “And would you stay with me? Forever at my side?”

  “You know I would.”

  “You don’t hate me at all? Not even a small part of you? Don’t you feel any resentment that I have damned your soul?”

  “I would sacrifice the world for you, Lucy. You know that. I swear to you. You are everything to me. You always were.”

  “Then, nothing has changed for you?”

  “Nothing.” He felt his chest swell. The strength of the vampire inside him flowed deeply into his bones. He felt he could fight the world. “From the first moment I ever saw you, I knew we had to be together. I knew I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”

  “That’s good, John,” she said. Moved off him, leaving an aching sense of loss. “I’m glad this wasn’t a waste of time.”

  “Please don’t go, Lucy. Stay with me. Let me go. I am yours, my darling. Yours until the end of time. Let me show you. Show you how much I love you.”

  “There’s no need.” She bent down and picked up a leather bag.

  His bag.

  And from it, drew a wooden stake and his mallet.

  “Lucy?”

  “You still love me. Nothing changed in your heart. You know now that to become a vampire is a gaining of power in exchange for a change of diet. It is not the possession of your body by a demon. Your thoughts are still your own. As are mine. You know it now. In your soul, you now know everything I ever told you was true. Including this.” She placed the stake over his heart and he began to scream as she lifted the mallet to bring it crunching down. “I never loved you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Renfield sat on the edge of the dock.

  Bare feet dangling loftily just above the murky water. A happy look on his face as he pressed a cricket into his mouth and bit its head off. Spat the head out and sucked its innards with a pleasured shiver.

  Looked left.

  Right.

  And began to sing.

  “She comes, she comes in spite of fate. Fame and glory on her wait. Her absence we no more deplore. She’s safely landed on our shore. Nor winds, nor waves, could her appal when she heard her country’s call; Return, return to thy country where every hand is stretched to welcome thee!” He lifted his hat and waved at the slow-moving ferry sliding into port.

  Chug of its steam engine muted beneath gulls and bustling activity behind him.

  Beyond the ship’s bright hull, the early morning sky was urgently calling the sun to rise and push through the remnants of misty fog. Fog being quickly replaced by coal soot and smoke as nearby factories churned and choked the air.

  Men riddled the docks, pressing against each other as ship after ship was deftly unloaded. Smell of sweat, fish, tar, and more fish.

  A few children skipped through the crowds, skipping out again with purses and grins.

  But none would touch his purse.

  None would dare reach for his pocket.

  Renfield, they knew. The urchins all knew him now.

  Renfield of Whitechapel.

  Sir Renfield.

  The ferry took its time and he waited patiently but tense to one side as the gangplank was dropped and ropes tossed to lash the ship to its berth.

  “Hoo hoo,” he called to one of the stern-faced sailors. “Welcome to London! Welcome to the arse-itch of the world! Breathe the fine air dusted with the intoxicating perfume of industry! Welcome. Welcome, I say.”

  “Here,” the sailor growled, thick with French. “Push off, beggar.”

  “What?” Outrage darkened his cheeks. “Why, I am no beggar! I am Renfield. Sir Renfield of Whitechapel!”

  “Sir, is it?”

  “Sir, it is! And I demand to speak to your Captain. You carry things precious to Sir Renfield. Yes, you do.”

  The sailor gave him a sceptical look. “Really?”

  “I must say,” Renfield said, lifting the small basket in his hand so he could point his finger in scorn. “You are very troublesome. Snort and salt. Lacking the graces, you are! I have a cab over yonder. Do you see? We must leave. Must leave immediately.”

  “What’s holding you up, Julien?”

  The big sailor ducked his head, rubbing at his neck. “Sorry, Captain. Got a gutter rat. Says we’ve got his belongings. Doesn’t seem to be all that right in the head.”

  The captain gave Renfield a suspicious look. Took in the rumpled clothes and smeared face. “I don’t think we’ve got anything of yours.”

  “My name is Renfield,” Renfield began.

  “Says he’s a Lord,” the sailor put in. “If you believe that.”

  “I’d believe anything when it comes to London,” the captain said. Nodded to Renfield. “Alright, mate. Tell us. What’s your cargo, then?”

  “Not cargo,” he said. Looked to the sky where a subtle glow was edging the horizon. “Nothing so trite. Nothing so base. Passengers. And we must hurry. Must hurry. Everything is prepared.”

  “We’ve got enough passengers. Move out over there and they’ll be out shortly.”

  “No no, that won’t do. There’s no time
for waiting. We wait for the Lady.”

  “The Lady?” The captain blinked slowly, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “The Lady. Of course. Alright, then, Julien. Send word down, will you? Let them know Sir Renfield’s here.”

  “Aye.”

  When he was gone, the captain eyed Renfield with unease. “I haven’t enjoyed this journey. Or your friends. They pushed me hard to get here before first light. Too hard. The whole thing has made my head hurt.”

  The little man slowly reached into the basket. Pulled out a bright red strawberry and squeezed between thumb and forefinger.

  Let red juice dribble down off his wrist.

  Seemed to be thinking what to say but kept an uncomfortably long silence until Dimiti came carefully onto the deck. His narrow gaze finding Renfield.

  “I didn’t know anyone would be waiting for us,” he said. Suspicion and a hand in his coat.

  “Waiting? Oh, yes! Renfield has been waiting all night! Never moved, hoo hoo. Sitting and sitting. Picking up crickets. See them hop hop hop. Now, you too must hop,” he said. Glanced at the sky. “Hop fast! My Mistress awaits, but the dawn never will.”

  “The ship was too slow,” Dimiti said coolly.

  “The cab is not,” Renfield said. Waved an angry hand to where it stood close by. “Rush rush. No more waiting. No time!”

  Thomas nodded, then looked over his shoulder. “Alright, Freddy.”

  The fat man ducked back into the cabin and emerged a few moments later with two veiled women who glided like silent ghosts.

  Renfield watched closely, eyes widening and mouth easing open in awe.

  As the first stepped smoothly onto the docks, he bowed.

  “My Queen,” he breathed. “Dread Queen, we’ve been waiting. Waiting forever. Now you are here, the void shivers. Please accept the carriage of Renfield. A simple carriage. No windows. No cracks. No holes. All shut tight. Snug and comfortable. It is all prepared.”

  “Queen?” Vasilja laughed. “Oh, Senka. I do think we should have come to London ages ago. From Countess to Queen in one night! How utterly delightful.”

  Senka stared at Renfield through her veil. “I saw your face,” she said. “In a dream.”

  “Must’ve been a bad dream,” Freddy said nervously.

  “Hush, Freddy.” Vasilja glided past, heading toward the carriage. Brushed a hand against the enamelled wood. “I do like what you’ve done with this. Renfield, is it?”

  “Sir Renfield,” Renfield said, grinning as he leapt around her to fling open the door. Kicked the stairs down and stood aside. Bowed again. “The Gentleman of Gloam.”

  “Gentleman of Gloam?” Vasilja climbed into the cab with a soft laugh. Brushing her hand across the velvet cushions inside.

  “Strawberries,” Senka said, not moving. “I used to like strawberries.”

  He held out the basket. “They are yours for the taking, Dread Queen.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t eat them. Not anymore.”

  “Renfield understands,” he said. Patted Dimiti in the belly. Pointed to the top of the cab. “Up! Up with Renfield. Quickly. Quickly now.”

  Senka took his arm. “Wait. First, I want to know. Where are you taking us?”

  “You must be hungry, Dread Queen. Blood and fire. Empty vases. To the Angel-maker we must go! Be sated, first. Then rest. Rest in safety. All is arranged.”

  “Angel-maker?”

  “Please, Dread Queen,” he said. Winced at the sky. “You must get inside. Dawn races.”

  “Do listen to the poor man, Senka,” Vasilja called. “I’m sure it will be fine. He does seem to know what he’s talking about. When you can understand him, I mean.”

  “It will be fine. It must be fine,” Renfield promised. “Very fine. More than that, even. Nothing must go wrong! My Mistress has waited so long. So very long, hoo hoo!”

  “What about Dracula? Is he here?”

  “Here?” Renfield blinked. “The Count?”

  Vasilja sighed. “Get inside, Senka. Really, this isn’t the time. Hailwic would have had us inside ages ago.”

  Renfield got the carriage moving and stood high on top, shouting at everyone to get out of his way. He set the horses clattering down the street, constantly glancing to the rose-blushed clouds.

  Dimiti, next to him, watched the man with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

  Feeling the other man’s attention, Renfield flashed a grin.

  Sang loudly; “Both night and day poor Gubb did pray to lose her he might have the luck. So Nick in a shake said her he’d take and the bargain they quickly struck! Then to the wife he made his bow. Says he, old girl I’ll have you now! He popped her quickly into his sack and to Hell he carried her on his back!” Then cackled long and deep, cracking the whip above the crowd blocking his way. “Move! Move, peasants! Sir Renfield is coming through! Out of the way, fools!”

  Dimiti grabbed the side of the carriage and grit his teeth. “You’re mad.”

  “Mad?” Renfield turned on him, wild lights seeming to shine from inside his eyes. “My friend, we’ve all lost our minds. But only those with true courage will admit it.”

  He kept laughing even as he pulled the horses to a sudden stop in front of the orphanage where Amelia waited out front. She carried a mop and bucket and shook her head as the carriage wheels skidded hard across cobblestones.

  “Look out,” she snapped.

  “Hush your whining, Angel-maker,” he snapped back, jumping down and wrenching on the carriage doors. Jerked them open and waved to the door. “Please, Dread Queen. Enter. Enter the home of my Mistress, Lucy Westenra. Not a minute too soon. Not a minute. The light shivers and quakes and we weep beneath its spite. But here, you are safe.”

  Vasilja went first. Her long white dress trailing behind like a ghostly apparition. “I must say,” she said as she looked at the bloodstains on the steps. “It’s certainly got a very pleasant atmosphere. Senka? What do you think? Oh, do stop scowling.”

  Senka grunted but had nothing to say.

  “Welcome, my Queen,” a shy voice greeted from the top of the stairs as they entered. Speaking fast. “My name is Lucy. Lucy Westenra. I hope your journey wasn’t too difficult? The Channel can be rough this time of year…”

  Alone, Lucy hovered with her hands clasped tight in front of her belly.

  Fingers bunched into knots.

  Anxious fear barely hidden as her voice trailed off under Senka’s quiet stare.

  “Well,” Vasilja said after a moment of silence. Looked from one to the other. “It looks like I shall be the first to speak as my sister seems to have forgotten her manners. I’m afraid we don’t know who you are, Miss Westenra. You seem to know more about us than we do about you. Which is a bit unsettling, I must admit. However, I’m sure you’ll tell us all about it, won’t you? Oh, and I should say, it was very kind of you to send the funny little man with the horses.”

  Lucy descended, swallowing hard. “I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to tell you Van Helsing was dead. I wanted it very much. And I had him right here, but I couldn’t kill him with the police pouring into my yard at any moment. There would have been too many questions. So I tried to get them to kill him, but he got away.”

  “Then we’ll just have to find him again,” Vasilja said loftily. “Him and his little band of pests.”

  “They killed Jonathan, though!” Lucy clapped her hands. “See? That’s his blood on the door! And John Seward is upstairs, too. Well. His ashes are. I’m thinking of keeping them in a jar.”

  “Jonathan?” Vasilja squealed in delight. “Oh, you killed Jonathan? That’s wonderful news. Isn’t it wonderful, Senka?”

  “I didn’t do it personally,” Lucy said, smug grin testing the mood. “The police did it for me. He was attacking me. They blamed him for everything. They think he was the Ripper.”

  “I wanted to bite him,” Senka said with a waspish hiss. “I was looking forward to biting him.”

  Lucy dropped to her knees as t
hough hit in the back of her legs. “I’m sorry, my Queen. Please forgive me. I thought it would please you.”

  “He was mine.” Senka’s fingers curled into claws and bright green flame burst from the back of her hands to envelope her hands with felfire. “I wanted to bite him!”

  “Senka!” Vasilja’s voice whipped. “Stop it. Stop it right this minute. You’re frightening dear Lucy. And after everything she’s done for us? How dare you treat your sister like that?”

  Senka blinked. “Sister?”

  “Of course, silly. Look at her. She’s one of us, aren’t you, darling? Dracula Turned you, didn’t he?”

  Lucy’s voice was a hushed whisper. “Yes, Lady.”

  “You see?” Vasilja put her hands on her hips. “And I won’t have you talking to your sister like that. To start with, it’s very rude. I never spoke to you that way, did I? Well. Not at first. Besides, what would Hailwic say? I do think she’d be appalled.”

  Jaw set hard, Senka strode across the bloodstains towards Dracula’s newest Bride.

  Looked down, jealousy scuttling the edges of her gaze.

  Then reached to take Lucy by her shoulders.

  Pulled her to her feet.

  Stared deep into the other woman’s eyes. “I didn’t want another sister,” she said. “I didn’t. Vasilja told me he came to London to look for another Bride, but I didn’t want to believe her. Every time I thought of meeting you, I swore I would hate you. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I liked it when it was just four of us.”

  “I think he’s abandoned us now,” Vasilja pointed out. “That sort of means there’s still only four. Well, three. Hailwic’s still in her box. That’s if you care that much about numbers.”

  “I don’t.”

  Lucy’s horror stretched across her face like a living thing. Tears would have been crawling from her eyes but there were no tears left in her vampire’s soul. Instead, a dry croak crawled up her throat; “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Senka frowned. “I said I didn’t want a sister. It doesn’t mean you aren’t my sister.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Senka sighed. Tugged a long ribbon from her hair. Folded it with care and handed it to Lucy, wrapping her hand over hers. “This is my favourite ribbon,” she said. “Vasilja gave it to me the night we met. I’m giving it to you because you’re my sister.”