by Dacre Stoker
“I found my old trunk,” Mina stammered. She looked down at her own voluptuous form. The dress exposed a lot of flesh. “I left much behind here.”
Given the uncomfortable moment of silence, the meaning behind Mina’s words did not go unnoticed by Dracula. At last he said, “This home, like me, belongs to you.”
His voice was just as she remembered, melodic and hypnotic. Mina realized how much she’d missed its soothing sound. No! She could not think of herself. She had to think of Quincey. Her son’s escape was all that mattered, something Dracula might not understand.
In her mind’s eye, she had an image of Quincey riding a horse. His clothes were bloodstained. . . . Had he been shot? Mina felt the flames of rage consume her. She snapped back, turning to Dracula, like a lioness prepared to defend her cub. “How could you send Quincey into danger? He could have been killed by Van Helsing.”
“Van Helsing tried to secure his place in history by naming me a villain through Stoker’s pen,” Dracula replied unapologetically. He took a step toward her, trying to close the gap between them, but refusing to accept any sort of advance, Mina turned away from him. The dark prince sighed. “I never sought revenge on your husband and the others for trying to kill me. Their misguided cause was indeed chivalrous, as they were only trying to protect you. But Van Helsing crossed the line.”
His voice softened as he came up behind her. Mina looked back over her shoulder and saw how Dracula’s eyes turned to the dark horizon as the beacon of light from the lighthouse flashed across the window. “Quincey has made Van Helsing pay for his transgressions,” he said.
Mina felt her blood turn cold. She heard the meaning behind his words. And the way he said the name of her son—she could sense his purpose. Dracula had other plans for Quincey. “You would take from me my only son?”
“In order to survive what is coming, Quincey must embrace the truth. He must embrace what he is.”
Mina’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Quincey’s destiny is not for us to decide.”
Quincey’s horse raced along Robin Hood’s Bay. Waves crashed hard against the rocks. The cold April wind had grown stronger. Thunder trumpeted and lightning whipped around him. The heavens were signaling a call to battle.
Quincey’s horse bucked and reeled, stumbled and then collapsed on the muddy shores, sending him through the air and onto the ground. Pushing himself from the mud, he stumbled to the horse, fearing the steed had broken a limb. He knelt down beside the animal and saw that it was drenched with foaming sweat and heaving for air. His mount was near death with exhaustion.
Again, lightning punched across the night. In the distance, Quincey could see the ruins of the abbey on the cliff overlooking the sea. He was drawing closer.
The horse tried to stand, but collapsed again, its legs unable to support its own weight. Quincey did not have time for the animal to recover. He stroked the horse’s mane. He was prepared to die for his cause, but he could not ask for this horse to sacrifice itself as well.
Without a moment to spare, he continued on foot down the slippery, rocky path to his destiny.
CHAPTER LVIII.
“The time of using children as pawns of war has long passed. Leave my son alone,” Mina challenged. She was on thin ice, and she knew it. It was dangerous to bring up the suffering Dracula had endured as a child. Centuries ago, the Turkish sultan had taken Vlad Dracula and his younger brother, Radu, as political prisoners. The years away from his family had scarred Dracula in ways one could never measure. Dracula had been kept prisoner until his father had been killed in battle. He had then inherited the throne of Wallachia and become a warrior for God. He had spent the rest of his mortal life seeking revenge. In his un-dead existence, he continued to carry the same banner, believing that he was still a warrior for God, and those like Bathory were his greatest foes.
But Mina could not allow Quincey to become a casualty in Dracula’s never-ending war. “Quincey deserves a normal life. It is best that I take my son away from here. Away from England. Away from Bathory.”
Dracula’s face bore an expressionless stare. Of course he knew her deepest thoughts: He had known this moment was coming. Without breaking eye contact with her, Dracula caressed the scar tissue on his neck. The marks bore little resemblance to the gaping wound he’d suffered the night before from Bathory’s fangs. He’d healed quickly. “Bathory drank my blood, too,” he said. “We are all now connected. Wherever we run, Bathory will find us, and Quincey. It is time to make our stand.”
“You are not powerful enough to face Bathory. She nearly killed you.”
His granite stare cracked into a frown. For a moment, Mina was certain she saw a look of pain in his eyes. Then he turned away from her, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. No words came out. Dracula closed his eyes as if steeling himself and at last spoke softly. “Twenty-five years ago, I was nearly destroyed. First by Harker and then by Bathory. My wounds have not yet healed.” He turned back to her and tore open his shirt.
Mina gasped at the horror she beheld. “Oh, God!”
Dracula’s chest was emaciated; Mina could count his ribs. The scarred flesh was stretched tightly over his bones, and she could see the scars from where Morris and Jonathan had stabbed him. She could see the wounds from the attack she had seen through Bathory’s eyes on his body, too, and remembered Bathory’s boot driving the kukri knife deep into his chest. She was unable to turn away from the grisly spectacle, or to stop the tears of pity from streaming down her face. For the first time, Dracula had exposed his own fear and weakness to her. Mina understood how difficult it must be for him to share such vulnerability: It was an act of pure love. Now there could be no secrets between them. Mina’s love for Dracula had always been passionate, but with this revelation, Dracula moved into her heart, into the space where Jonathan had once resided. Mina reached out to her dark prince, her hands trembling as they stretched to caress his disfigured chest. “This is why you needed Seward’s help,” Mina said, understanding at last. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. She gingerly stroked the marred skin over Dracula’s heart, the place where Morris’s knife had once pierced, and the place from which she had once drunk his blood. Dracula gently placed his cold hand over Mina’s, and their fingers intertwined.
“I did everything I could to protect you and Quincey from Bathory,” he whispered. He raised her chin to allow her to look deep into his dark eyes, as if begging her to see the soul within. “But now there is no escape. She will kill us all unless you come back to me, Mina.”
He was presenting Mina with a choice . . . but Mina could not forsake her faith. It was all she had left. She had to fight her urges.
“I may look like the young girl you remember,” she countered without breaking eye contact, “but I have grown wiser these many years. No matter how sweet your words, or gentle your touch, you are a monster. A murderer.”
Dracula’s back straightened and his face became proud. “I am a knight in the Holy Order of the Dragon. Stoker and Van Helsing left me no choice but to—”
“These are not the Dark Ages. You cannot simply kill a man because he slandered you in a story,” Mina interrupted.
“In life, I was God’s hand,” Dracula said, defiant. “I fought to protect all of Christendom. Brutality and death was all I ever knew. I yearned for a second life, a new chance. When the opportunity came, I pursued it, regardless of the consequences. Yes, I rose from my own death, but I do not kill for sport. The blood I need to survive is taken only from animals, murderers, rapists, and thieves. I am still doling out God’s justice.”
His eyes opened wide. Mina remembered that hypnotic stare. She felt his blood coursing through her brain and, with it, a flood of images. He was allowing her to see through his eyes, to see the deeds he had done in God’s name, the monsters dispatched, the innocents saved. . . .
Their mental connection complete, he continued, “I was made in God’s image, but I am of a higher order. Does not t
he wolf feed on sheep? As all great hunters, I am alone. There is no sound sadder than the cry of the wolf, alone in the night, reviled by man, hunted to the point of near-extinction.”
His lips came close to her ear so that she could feel his icy breath. She longed to feel a kiss from his lips. At the selfsame time, she wanted to tear herself away and run.
“Please understand, Mina, without you I am lost,” Dracula whispered. “My sole crime is that I am unschooled in the ways of this modern age. Can any man who loves you as much as I do be truly evil?”
Mina turned away, unable to face him. “Once, long ago, I would gladly have left Jonathan and gone away with you. Now my son is all that matters to me. Our time has passed.” She knew there was no conviction in her words, which meant Dracula knew it as well. Lying was futile.
He spun her back to face him. “Stop this!” he commanded. “You’re deceiving yourself. I know you still love me. Give in to your passions. Come to me. Be with me. Enlighten me. Only together can we save the world from Bathory.”
“You are asking me to accept your dark gift. To become as you are.”
“If you flee with Quincey to America, we divide our forces. Tonight, we are together and we own the high ground. Even if I should fall in battle tonight, I will leave Bathory severely weakened. Though newly minted, you will be a vampire born of my ancient blood. You will be able to protect Quincey. Your powers will be a match for a wounded Bathory.”
Mina clutched the cross hanging from her neck. “I cannot.”
Dracula removed his hands from her, his expression hardening. “Then the Devil has won.”
He turned abruptly and left the room, leaving Mina more alone than she had ever been.
At the window, she looked into the moonless night. Where was her son? She needed to make a decision, and it would be easier if she knew he was safe. There was a loud crack of thunder. Mina had never been frightened of storms, not even when she was a child. Now she was terrified, as if the thunder was a warning for her alone.
A moment later, Mina detected a presence. She knew exactly what that meant. Bathory was drawing near.
Bathory smiled as she watched two whaling ships struggling to dock in Whitby Harbor while the heavens opened up. Floods of rain fell upon the earth. The roaring winds announced her arrival. The townsfolk dashed for cover, securing their houses against the storm. She could hear the familiar shrieks of horror as her carriage drove by the small stone houses. Somehow, even the lowest of the low could sense when the power of evil was approaching. Through the carriage window, Bathory made eye contact with a wrinkled, toothless old woman and reveled in the look of fear in the old hag’s eyes. Bathory loved to feed off the fear of humans: It warmed her blood, made her heart race. Invigorating. Intoxicating.
The carriage’s horses suddenly came to a halt. Bathory leaned out to see that the wooden bridge over the Esk River had collapsed and her horses could not cross the raging river. The effort needed to fly to the abbey from here would sap some of her strength, and she needed all the power she had for the battle to come. Bathory reached out with her mind to her mares, and they stamped and tossed their manes with understanding. Bathory would double back and take a longer route to the stone steps at the base of the cliff. The night was still young.
Bathory’s solitary eye glared at her objective—the towering abbey high upon the rocky cliffs. In a window of the west wing, Bathory could see the silhouette of a woman bathed in a warm, flickering light. She licked her fangs in anticipation; she would taste the bitch’s flesh and bathe in her blood by morning.
CHAPTER LIX.
Mina knew what had to be done. Outside, she could hear the storm brutalizing the walls. Carfax stood strong against the torrent; so would she.
She descended a short stone stairway to where the old monks’ living quarters had once been. A series of doors along a narrow hallway ended with a large oak door, leading to what had once been the abbot’s private quarters. As she walked along the hallway, passing each door in turn, her choices narrowed until only one door remained.
Dracula had claimed many times that a vampire was not evil by nature. He did not believe that by becoming un-dead, a soul was automatically damned. Good or evil resided in the choices one made. Mina had seen that a newly formed vampire’s unquenchable thirst for blood could corrupt. She knew that Lucy had lured young children into her clutches, but Lucy never had the choice; unprepared, she had become a monster. Mina prayed Lucy’s sad fate would not become her own.
She could feel Bathory closing in. She knew there was only one choice. She would have to sacrifice her soul to save her son.
Resolved, Mina placed the lantern she was carrying on the floor and swung the large oak door open. Dracula stood before the great hearth, in which a fire was roaring. He turned to her. With the fire and the flickering light of dozens of candles, the room was alive and vibrant. Dracula gazed at Mina with yearning and hope. She crossed the threshold.
“Quincey’s destiny must be his own. You cannot choose his path for him,” Mina said, her voice stern. There would be no bargaining on this point.
Dracula nodded. “If that is the price, so be it.”
He moved slowly toward her, and her heart raced at the idea that soon his hands would be on her body. With great trepidation, she reached for the small gold cross on her neck and pulled. The necklace’s thin gold chain broke and the cross fell to the floor. The hunger in Dracula’s eyes grew.
His hands on her shoulders were cold, and added to the shiver running through her body. His kiss was gentle on her lips. He swept her into his arms, never taking his eyes away from hers. “Together,” Dracula whispered, his lips caressing her ear, “we shall see nations rise and fall. Together, we shall witness eternity.”
He carried Mina to the bed and laid her down. Touching her in ways that Jonathan never had, his hands and lips explored her body. He made her feel like a woman. For all of his strength, Dracula was gentle. He slipped her dress from her body and gazed upon her nakedness with a mixture of avarice and awe. He lived in a world of darkness, yet he did not extinguish the candles as Jonathan used to before he made love. Dracula desired the sight of every part of her. Mina’s heartbeat quickened as he kissed her neck. It was not fear that she felt, but complete surrender. She wanted him. By the way he caressed her, the way he entered her, she knew that her pleasure was more important than his own. She felt him inside her and with each movement was brought closer to pure joy than she had ever known.
Dracula whispered into her ear, his breath upon her lobe, “We shall take the world by the throat and drink from it what we desire.”
All her life, Mina had fought against repression. Accepting Dracula’s eternal kiss would break those chains. No longer would she be bound by rules or laws, other than those she made for herself.
His hand slid between her legs; she could not hold back any longer. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. Suddenly, in the heat of passion, all became clear. All of her conflicts, her dualities, fell away in an instant. It was as if the clouds had parted to reveal a clear sky. She loved Dracula, loved him in the way she never could love Jonathan. Together, she and Dracula made a whole being.
“God forgive me, I want you still,” she said.
Dracula opened his mouth, revealing his fangs, but Mina raised her hand to stay his bite. There was no anger in him as he paused. He wanted the choice to be hers.
“There’s something I have to tell you. I kept a secret, all these many years.”
He shook his head slowly. “I have always known.”
Mina smiled, free at last from the weight of her guilt. She turned her neck, exposing her vein to her lover.
Dracula bit down hard. Her body convulsed as he drank, swooning from an erotic cocktail of pleasure and pain. She no longer cared, as her blood drained out, if her soul did as well.
Dracula drank the hot blood and clutched his chest, convulsing. Something was happening to him. He was in pain. He
reared back, breathing heavily. Then he cried out and tore away his ripped shirt. His scarred, emaciated chest rippled as if he were being reborn before her eyes. He looked at Mina with wonderment. “My pure blood, the blood that you drank from me so long ago, is healing me.”
Mina was his savior. The blood she had once called cursed would save Quincey and defeat Bathory.
“The blood is the life. The blood is our life.”
Mina gasped. She took hold of his head and pulled his fangs deeper into her neck, inviting him to finish. The time had come for her to die in his arms and be reborn. In ecstasy, Mina closed her eyes forever to her human life.
Quincey approached a fisherman who was tying up his small wooden boat. “Carfax Abbey! Which way?”
“Carfax Abbey? Now, lad, you mean Whitby Abbey.”
“No, Carfax Abbey. Do you know it?” Quincey roared impatiently.
The fisherman nodded. “Aye. But you stay far from there!”
“Whitby Abbey, Carfax Abbey, damn you! Which way?”
The fisherman crossed himself, with fear in his eyes. Quincey realized that he must be a sight, soaked by the rain and covered in mud, blood, and God knew what else. “Forgive me; it’s a matter of life and death! I must get to Carfax Abbey!”
The old fisherman shook his head and pointed to a path leading to the forest. “God be with you, lad!”
Quincey ran for the path. The wind was so strong, it seemed to be pushing him back. The rain fell in stinging darts. Quincey wondered if Dracula was responsible for the storm, using the weather to try to slow him down. He could no longer sense his mother’s thoughts. This in itself terrified him.
He trudged along the path through Stainsacre woods. The rain made each step more difficult than the last, the mud slipping beneath his feet. At last he found himself in front of the abandoned shell of what had once been Dr. Seward’s asylum. A mass of moss, ivy, and weeds had wrapped themselves around the stone remains of the buildings, as if nature were trying to erase the torment that had once existed there. According to Stoker’s novel, this was the field that Renfield would have raced across to find sanctuary in Carfax Abbey. The wealth of Quincey’s family had been acquired as a result of Mr. Renfield’s anguish. While his parents had cursed Dracula, the truth was that they had directly benefited from his crimes. Quincey wondered if the suffering he and his family endured was God’s justice.
