Holly Larsen shuddered and her blood ran cold. She realized what the child had meant by his frenzied cry. He had not been pleading for maternal protection, had not been crying out for Mina Harker to help him.
He had not been speaking to Mina Harker at all.
Chapter Nine
As Malcolm Harker finished his narrative, the creature remained silent, attentive but impatient. The white points of her elongated canine teeth glinted slightly in the dull glow of the misdirected flashlight. At last Malcolm fell silent and stood waiting for her to respond.
"A pretty tale," she hissed, "for all the interest it is to me. Now tell your little friend with the crucifix to stand away from the door and let me pass. I must feed."
"I told you," Malcolm said, "that if you need blood you can drink from me. I cannot allow you to leave this place."
"But I cannot stay," she replied. "I have no need of your blood, for it gives me nothing which I do not already have."
"It gave you life," he pointed out.
A horrible laugh burst from her dead mouth and echoed through the tomb. "Life! Life! This is not life, you little fool! If you know as much as you say, then you must know what you have done to me! I was dead, I was truly, blissfully dead! I was free of the pain, free of the needs, free of this life in death, and you, you selfish idiot, you wrenched me from my peace!"
Malcolm would not be swayed. "Nonetheless, you may not leave this place. You may drink from me, but—"
"Are you deaf as well?" the creature screamed. She walked toward him menacingly. "I have no need of you. Your blood is not what I need."
Malcolm reached out and grabbed her by the arm, saying, "Stop! I will not allow you to injure anyone." He released her arm almost immediately, shivering slightly. Her flesh was hard and cold, like the skin of a swamp reptile. "I have questions—"
"I have hunger!" She glanced at Holly and then turned back to Malcolm. "Tell her to stand aside!"
"No!" he said firmly. "If you wish your peace, your repose, I can return it to you. When the sun rises, I can give you back your death."
"You fool!" she spat. "Do you understand nothing? No one cursed as I am willingly submits to the stake! You have returned me to this, you have given me back my hell, and I shall keep it! The need drives me, the hunger drives me, the evil drives me!"
"I need your help—"
"Be damned, you and your needs! I have my own needs!"
He paused thoughtfully. Then he said, "Very well. What can I give you to gain your help? What can I do for you to make you willing to answer my questions?"
She began to hiss her reply, but then her face went suddenly blank. She stood motionless, her red eyes clouding over and fixing on a nothingness in the distance, as if she were hearing something that neither Malcolm nor Holly could heart. A few silent moments passed, and then her gaze focused upon Malcolm, and she smiled at him, an odd, mocking smile. "Mina and Jonathan married, did they? How sweet. Your great-grandparents! And their son is living yet, and he was named after my old friend Quincey Morris. Remarkable!"
"Tell me what you want," Malcolm repeated.
She rasped a laugh. "Very well, little Harker. I want your friend to stand aside and let me pass. I will feed, and then I will return here before dawn and speak with you."
Malcolm shook his head once again. "I cannot allow you to infect anyone else. I need information from you because I want to end this thing, not spread it."
"The choice is yours," she said, laughing. "You can keep me here until dawn if you wish to. You have the power, with your crucifix and your, ah, rather commendable willpower, if that is your choice, I will be at your mercy with the sunrise, and you can return me to true death." She paused and her red eyes narrowed wickedly. "But keep in mind, my dear boy, that I and I alone can cure you. I and I alone can rid you of the plague which you carry in your body. And I shall do nothing to help you if you do not let me pass."
Malcolm stared at her, half of his mind disbelieving what she had just said and the other half needing to believe it desperately. "You know how to cure me?" he whispered.
"Yes," she hissed. "An even trade, a fair exchange. Your freedom for my own. And I am not a fool, Malcolm Harker, so do not delude yourself into thinking that you can entrap me here with the sunrise and then dispatch me at your leisure. I shall make provisions for my rest elsewhere."
He looked at her long and hard before asking, "How do I know that I can trust you?"
She shrugged. "Why should you not?"
"That isn't an answer," he responded, shaking his head.
"No," she said softly, "I suppose it isn't. Perhaps I feel an inclination to help you because you are Dracula's bastard descendant, even as I am his morganatic wife. Or perhaps it should suffice to say that I am bound by the limitations of my own being. I cannot enter a building unless invited to, for example. If my exit from this place is made possible by your willing acquiescence, then I am bound by the terms of the agreement to which I willingly adhere."
He shook his head again. "I've read a good deal about you creatures, and I've never heard of anything like that."
"Live and learn, little Harker," she replied, mockery in her voice.
Malcolm continued to stare at her. Then, without taking his eyes from her, he cocked his head in Holly's direction and said, "Stand away from the door."
Holly was certain that she had not heard him correctly. "Wh … what?"
"Let her out, Holly," Malcolm said firmly. "Stand away from the door and let her out."
Holly Larsen's mouth dropped open with astonishment and disgust. "Malcolm! You can't! You can't! She's going to go out there and attack someone, kill someone! You can't go along with this! It's … it's inhuman!"
"Inhuman!" Lucy chuckled. "You are the only human being in this room, or had you not noticed that?"
"That's not true!" Holly said angrily, her anger momentarily transcending her amazement and terror. "Malcolm is sick, he's ill, he's—"
"He is Dracula's bastard," Lucy said evenly. "From what he has told me, the Count's blood is strong in him, stronger than it is in his grandfather, stronger perhaps than it was in his father. If he does not give heed to my words and do what I tell him to do, when he dies, he will become as I am." She smiled bitterly. "And after that, of course, he will probably come looking for you."
Holly went white. "This is impossible!" she whispered, her body beginning to tremble violently and her eyes darting madly around the dark room. "I must have lost my mind!
"Stand aside!" Lucy hissed.
"Holly," Malcolm said soothingly, "please. Please let her out. It's my only hope."
Holly gazed at him numbly as Lucy crouched and moved toward her with slow, deliberate steps. Holly's blank eyes shifted to the creature that seemed to be creeping toward her, and then in a burst of resolve Holly held the crucifix out in front of her and said, "No!"
Lucy Westenra's red eyes glowered at her, and then in an instant too brief for either Malcolm or Holly to prepare themselves for it, Lucy dropped to her hands and knees. Before her hands hit the floor, she was changed into a growling, salivating wolf. The wolf snarled and feinted a charge at the terrified woman. Holly screamed and instinctively jumped away, thus removing herself and her crucifix from the doorway of the crypt. The wolf ambled slowly and warily over to the door and rose up on its hind legs, changing once more into Lucy in conjunction with the movement. She smiled at the two people and said, in a voice dripping with mockery and amusement, "Thank you, my dear. Wait here for me, Malcolm. I shall return before dawn." She slipped out the doorway, seeming to drift like mist between the still-closed iron grates, and was gone.
Holly and Malcolm stood in silence and stared at the door for what seemed a long while, and then Holly turned to him and said, "Do you realize what you've done?"
"Yes," he sighed. "I realize what I've done. I've taken a risk in the interests of self-preservation."
"She's going to go out and infect someone, Malcolm! An innocent
person!"
"And what am I guilty of?" he shouted at her. "What great sin did I commit to be stuck with this thing!"
"That's not the point—"
"It is the point, it is the point! I know what she's going to do, but if my theory is right, she's going to drink from someone, not make them drink from her. I mean, why should she? Why should she want to create more vampires?"
Holly buttoned her coat. "I'm getting out of here," she said, her trembling voice nonetheless somehow firm and determined. "I'm not going to stand around here, waiting for her to come back. I'm going back to the hotel and I'm going to call the police."
Malcolm began laughing, and his laughter was unkind and humorless.
"What's so goddamned funny!"
"You're leaving," Malcolm said, laughing. "You're going to walk out of here, walk out into a cemetery in the middle of the night, knowing that there's a vampire out there somewhere!"
"I'm not afraid of her!" Holly said defensively.
"Of course you are," he said, suddenly angry. "You'd be an idiot if you weren't. Hell, she can't do anything to me, can't give me any injury that I wasn't born with, and I'm still afraid of her." Malcolm took Holly by the hand, and she recoiled slightly from his touch. "Think, Holly, think. That creature was once a beautiful, kind, loving girl, just like you are. And what she is now is what you could end up as if you walk out of this crypt." He dropped her hand and walked back over toward Lucy's empty coffin. "You're not going anywhere."
Holly was silent for a moment. "Okay, then, I'll stay here until dawn, but then I'm going to the police."
He nodded approvingly. "Okay. Just make sure I have the address of the asylum before I leave England. That's where they'll stick you, of course."
Holly started to weep. "Malcolm, this is horrible! What are we going to do? We can't just leave her free to spread this! She'll create vampires, and then they'll create vampires, and so on and so forth until there will be thousands of them, millions of them."
"No." He shook his head. "I don't think so."
"You don't think so!" Holly exclaimed. "You don't think so! How can you take it upon yourself to take a chance like that?"
"Think about it, Holly," Malcolm said. "Dracula lived for centuries in the Carpathians, and he must have killed hundreds of thousands of people. And yet when Van Helsing killed the vampires in his castle, there were only three of them, only three."
"Wh … what do you … ? I don't understand."
"And when he came to England, again there were only three people he infected, only Lucy, my great-grandmother, and the madman, Renfield. Maybe it's only three at a time. For all we know, maybe only Dracula can do it! Maybe Lucy can't create new vampires! Maybe the blood has to come directly from Dracula himself!"
"So everything's okay, then?" she asked bitterly. "So all she's going to do is run around at night killing innocent people, but it's okay because when they die they stay dead?"
He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, I don't know. If she can help me, I'll worry about everything else later. I'm not worrying about moral implications right now."
"Well, maybe you should be! How can you—"
"Holly, be quiet," he said wearily. "I don't want to talk anymore. What's done is done. Let's just wait for her to come back." He sat down upon the cold stone floor, and Holly, after a moment's hesitation, sat down beside him. He placed his arm around her shoulder and they sat there in silence as the hours passed slowly.
It was nearly dawn when she returned. The telltale glow of the rising sun was just barely skirting the edges of the horizon when they heard the cold voice say from outside the crypt, "Malcolm Harker! Come here."
He rose to his feet and walked to the doorway. "Why don't you come in? It's almost dawn, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, laughing, "but I have time enough before I must sleep, and I'll not allow myself to be trapped in there. You come out to me, you and your friend with you."
Malcolm held his hand out to Holly and she took it as she stood up. She held the crucifix tightly as they stepped out into the dew-laden mist of early morning.
Lucy Westenra looked different. Her face was rosy and healthy, her eyes wide and clear, and her voice liquid and pleasing, though the underlying inhuman coldness had not departed. Malcolm moved the flashlight beam up and down the creature, noting how the flesh, which had such a short time ago been pale and cadaverous, was now pink and robust.
Holly noticed the difference also. "What's happened to her?" she whispered.
"She has fed," Malcolm replied evenly as he walked forward.
"Stop there, little Harker," Lucy said firmly, and then smiled. "Tell me, do women in this age really wear such clothing as this?" She gestured downward at the faded dungarees, the dirty tennis shoes, the bulky, oversized sweatshirt. "Is this regarded as attractive?"
He ignored her question. "Where did you get the clothes?"
"They came with my meal," she said, laughing.
"My God," Holly said. "She's killed someone. You killed someone, didn't you!"
Lucy shrugged. "I haven't eaten since I don't know when! I suppose I made something of a glutton of myself," she chuckled.
"Jesus, Malcolm, Jesus!" Holly said, and turned away from the creature. She placed her hands over her eyes and wept.
"Will you answer my questions?" Malcolm asked, choosing to ignore what he knew had just happened.
"I shall," Lucy said, "out of the, ah, goodness of my heart, and because … well, Mina was my friend."
"In your state, you still have human emotions?" Malcolm asked. "You can still feel friendship?"
"I do not feel it, but I remember it." She glanced at the horizon. "Ask your questions, and be quick about them."
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "First question is this: How can I be sure that what you're going to say is reliable? What is your source of knowledge?"
"My source of knowledge!" she exclaimed. "Why, the same source as your own, though you are unable to use it."
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"The blood, my dear, the blood! The blood speaks to me even as it speaks to you, but only dead ears can hear it. The blood tells me everything I need to know. It is instinct and education combined."
He took a moment to assimilate this idea, then he nodded. "Very well. Second question: Is there any truth to the idea that Dracula somehow altered his own body chemistry to create this condition?"
She frowned and shook her head. "I don't understand the question."
"Let me put it this way. What is there about the blood that makes the dead walk? What is the source of the blood's power?"
"Such easy questions, Malcolm!" She smiled. "It is obvious, is it not? The blood has power because of whose blood it is!"
"That's not an answer," he insisted. "You can't tell me that Dracula's blood has power because it is Dracula's blood. That just leads the question around in a circle."
"It is not Dracula's blood," Lucy said. "It is Satan's blood. It is the Devil's blood."
He stared at her for a moment. Then he said, "I need rational explanations, not supernatural nonsense. If I am to—"
Peals of laughter erupted from the creature and she drowned out his words. "After what you have seen and what you have done, after finding out what you are, you say that supernatural reality is nonsense? Oh, poor Mina, poor Jonathan, to have spawned a family line of idiots." Her laughter went on and on, then stopped abruptly. Her mirthful face clouded over with sudden anger. "Now hear me well, Malcolm. I will give you answers and share with you my knowledge, but I will not argue with you. I know what I am and I know why I am what I am. If you want to hear, I will speak. If not, I shall leave you." She glanced again at the horizon.
"Okay, okay," he said hurriedly. "Tell me how Dracula became a vampire."
"It was a pact, as in the old tale of Faust. Continued existence, century after century, a perpetual life in death, living on and feeding on the blood of the living, spreading terror and misery a
nd sorrow and death. All of this pleases the Devil. The Count received the Devil's blood, the Devil filled his dead heart with it, and gave him his Undeath."
Malcolm thought this over. "I think I see. So when the stake is driven through the heart, the blood is released and the vampire is free of the curse. Correct?"
"Absolutely not, my dear Malcolm," she said impatiently. "You must think poetically, my boy, symbolically. Why was the master in his life called Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler?"
He understood immediately. "Of course. He impaled people upon wooden stakes."
"Precisely. And you may have read that we cast no reflection in mirrors. Have you never wondered why?" She waited for an answer, and when none was forthcoming, she went on, "Who is the mirror image, the polar opposite as if were, of the Prince of Darkness?"
The answer became simple as soon as she had given him the clue. "Yes, yes," he said, nodding. "The Prince of Light. Jesus Christ."
"Who was impaled upon a piece of wood," Lucy finished for him. "For these reasons, the wooden stake frees the vampire from the pact with the Devil." She paused. "For the Count it was a pact. For all others, it is a curse."
"And yet you do not wish to be free from it."
She shrugged. "The dog grows to love the leash. The slave grows to love the lash."
"And what of the rest of the legend?"
Her eyebrows rose.
"The facts, then," he said quickly. "What about garlic?"
"It burns. The smell burns into our brains and makes us mad with agony."
"And the crucifix? The consecrated communion wafer, the consecrated wine?"
"Water quenches fire, little Harker. The sun dispels the moon, the light overcomes the darkness, life denies death."
"Opposites," he observed.
"Eternal enemies," she corrected him. "Before the infinite, everything finite falls. And even the Devil himself is finite." She glanced again impatiently at the horizon. "Hurry with your questions. It is not more than thirty minutes before the sun breeches the darkness."
"Okay," he said. "Next question: Are there other vampires, other than you?"
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