Mrs. Dracula: Vampire Anthology

by Logan Keys

  Perhaps on the road out of town he’d bring up the subject of marriage again. Something about that sparkle in her eye he’d seen made him feel she might be ready for it.

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  BLOOD ON A TEXAS MOON

  Diana Layne

  —1—

  Stephen Parker, our partner and friend, walking into the dimly lit front parlor carrying a nearly unconscious girl in his arms was not something I expected to see. I paused from my cross stitch and said, “Bringing dinner home?”

  My humor brought no smile.

  Stephen’s haggard, pale face, although frozen perpetually in youth, revealed his anguish. “Lily, she was dying.”

  I might have been pointing out the obvious, but I said it anyway, albeit as gently as I could since the thought obviously distressed him. “She looks dead already.”

  “I turned her,” Stephen bluntly admitted. “I might have been too late.”

  “You turned …” My eyebrows raised. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The levity left the room. We didn’t willy-nilly turn a person to a vampire. It was generally a decision requiring much forethought, not a spur-of-the-moment impulse.

  Stephen defended his action with a stubborn thrust to his chin that made him look more like a little boy than the Comanche warrior he once had been. Of course, that had been decades ago, and Stephen, more like our son than a partner, had since then learned to live in polite society as well as my husband Andrei and I. We’d returned to New Orleans, as a matter of fact, to brush up on our genteel manners given we’d lived decades with the Comanche. When you lived forever, there was always ample opportunity to learn.

  “She didn’t want to die,” Stephen said quietly. “I know what that’s like.”

  I understood Stephen’s reasoning. Once I and my husband had to make the same decision with Stephen. Turn him. Or let him die.

  Some might claim death was better, but in the end, there is the fear to grapple with. What is death like? What is on the other side? Is there even another side? Or when a human dies—was that absolutely the end?

  True, life as a vampire was not the same as living as a human. Some even called us the undead. But to me, any life here was better than what might face us on the other side. The devil you know as the saying goes. So I honestly couldn’t blame Stephen. Especially if he loved the girl.

  But his good heart might have brought trouble to our door.

  As if my thoughts were prophetic, and truly, sometimes they were, just then, someone banged on the front door.

  “Where is my sister, you pale-faced freak?”

  Definitely trouble. But trouble was not an unfamiliar thing, it’s why we moved so often; eventually people became suspicious about us. Their suspicions had caused us to quickly leave more than one town. “Her brother followed you?”

  “He’d gone to get the priest for the last rites. He must have seen me leave with her.”

  It was a cloudy, moonless night. It would have been difficult to follow someone as stealthy as Stephen. Likely the girl’s brother simply knew where we lived. Perhaps the little chit talked about her beau. Or maybe the brother was overprotective and investigated every suitor.

  “I know what you are. Give me my sister.”

  Definitely her brother had investigated us.

  “What should we do?” Stephen asked. “She’s too weak to travel.”

  “I don’t think you thought this through,” I said, my brain quickly searching for the best option open to us.

  “There was no time.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he’d be happy to have her turned.” In this world, there were people who would rather see a loved one dead, the promise of heaven glowing temptingly in their view, than as a vampire.

  My husband Andrei came from the back, clearly drawn by the pounding on the door. We rarely had visitors. As in never. “Lily? What is that noise?”

  “Trouble.” I quickly brought him up to date.

  The pounding turned more intense.

  “We must leave,” Andrei said with no hesitation.

  Quick exits were not unknown to us, we certainly had practice, but Stephen predictably objected. “She’s not strong enough.”

  I pulled aside the heavy, maroon damask curtain and looked out the window. “There’s only her brother and the priest, but his shouting is beginning to attract attention.”

  “We could fight,” Stephen suggested.

  “You might be a warrior, Red Hawk,” which was Stephen’s Comanche name, “but we are not,” Andrei told Stephen.

  My husband, the peacemaker. It was not entirely true that we could not fight. We had, after all, lived with Stephen’s Comanche band for years. We had to kill to eat. But Andrei rightly thought in this instance that retreat was a better option. If we could simply run away, less people would be harmed. And while we were stronger than an ordinary human, we were not invincible. Any fight meant the chance we could get hurt. Or possibly killed ourselves. After all, we were not truly undead.

  Stephen walked to the divan and laid down the girl. Sadly, while she looked familiar, I could not remember her name. Stephen generally kept his romances a quiet affair.

  He pulled out his Bowie knife that he wore on a belt underneath his frock coat. “I’ll go out back and sneak around and kill them.”

  “Will she agree with you killing her brother?” I asked. “Maybe we can talk to him,” I suggested. But then that was no longer an option as her brother and the priest turned abruptly to leave.

  “I don’t think he’s given up,” I said, a bad feeling in my bones.

  “I agree,” Andrei said. “Leaving is still the best option.”

  I dashed around gathering the essentials. This was something I had done many times over the decades, and I am not proud to say I’d become very efficient at the task. But when one was a vampire, packing quickly became routine.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think this through,” Stephen said. “I thought if I left her and she woke up with her eyes red, that with a priest there, her life would be in danger.”

  A person being turned did have strange side-effects, like red eyes. A cold body. Pain, even. Some people reacted badly to the venom in our bite. It was understandable for Stephen to be worried. But his solution had really been no solution. I didn’t know how we would manage to get out of town with the girl.

  “I’ll hitch up the carriage,” Andrei said. “That will be slower than riding out on horses, but it’s for certain the girl will not be able to ride astride.

  “Take saddles, anyway,” I suggested. “It’s likely we’ll head to Texas, perhaps try to find Stephen’s people to lie low for a while. A carriage won’t make it far over that terrain.”

  “Good idea, my love.” Andrei brushed my lips with a brief kiss before he swept from the room.

  Stephen helped me with our bags. Clothes. Weapons. Money. None of the lovely knick-knacks I’d bought while we lived here. Nor my attempts at learning the genteel art of cross-stitching. Also, not any of my books I’d purchased at the delightful corner bookstore. When traveling quickly things like these only weighed a person down.

  We were packed by the time my husband came back inside.

  “Bad news,” Andrei said, grabbing our bags. “The girl’s brother is heading this way again, this time with a crowd including police officers.”

  My shoulders slumped. Not good news at all.

  “Grab the girl, Stephen,” I said. The look in his eyes suggested I not say otherwise.

  When he lifted her, she moaned and her eyes fluttered open, an ominous and unmistakable red glow to them. The venom was working.

  “Hurry,” I said, pushing him ahead of me. Andrei had already gone outside to load our bags into the ca
rriage.

  Too late.

  We’d crossed from the parlor just into the dining room when the front door crashed open.

  I glanced over my shoulder and gasped. The men came in with their guns drawn, clearly in a shoot first, ask questions later manner. Their thoughts bombarded me. The brother had murder on his mind. The priest, salvation. The police were clearly prepared to thwart a kidnapping. Stephen stopped to look at the people pouring into our house and I bumped into him.

  “Halt,” one of the policemen called out.

  “Hurry,” I pushed on Stephen’s back while weighing the risk of running. It was hard, but not impossible to kill a vampire with a bullet, I was hoping our refusal to stop and perhaps a hesitation in shooting a woman would allow us to escape.

  The police did hesitate, I could tell they were uncertain about whether to shoot or not. But not the brother. “Stop them, he’s got my sister.” I glanced around in time to see him pull the trigger on his revolver.

  The bullet ripped through my shoulder.

  I stumbled.

  Stephen turned. “Lily!”

  The bullet, perhaps lodged against a bone, did not exit. It burned like crazy. I’d been shot once before and didn’t remember this incredible burning sensation.

  “I got her,” the brother crowed. “It’s a silver bullet, she won’t make it.”

  Silver. That explained the burning. And the sudden weakness. I sank to my knees.

  Stephen yelled out to my husband, “Andrei, help! Lily’s been hit.”

  With me on the ground, it gave the brother a clear shot to Stephen. The brother didn’t hesitate.

  It was Stephen’s turn to stumble. But fortunately, the bullet had gone clear through and hadn’t lodged into his body so he wasn’t experiencing the incredible burn.

  “Mr. Fontenot, you must stop shooting,” one of the policemen told the girl’s brother.

  “They’re blood suckers. We have to kill them while we have the chance.”

  That clearly spelled out the intent I’d read in his thoughts. Would the policemen stop him? The thoughts I was able to read were all a jumble; clearly they had never encountered such a situation. At times I wished I wasn’t cursed with the ability to read minds.

  Stephen lay Mr. Fontenot’s sister gently on the floor and turned with a roar obviously intending to eliminate the threat to us. Andrei came in behind him to help.

  The two vampires made an awesomely scary sight but Mr. Fontenot, along with the police, seemed up to the task. And then there was the priest, whom to my alarm, had a wooden stake. Heading right toward me and the girl.

  “Get up, girl,” I said through teeth clenched in pain. “We have to go.” I patted her cheeks, trying to get her to open her eyes again. No luck. I’d just have to carry her myself.

  Behind us, there were sounds of gunshots and fists hitting flesh as men stumbled into furniture, crashing and breaking anything glass, including, to my horror, the lit kerosene lamp, which burst into flames.

  Vampires were not immune to fire.

  I pushed to my feet, adrenaline helping me ignore the pain, and reached for the girl. But the priest had made it to us. He stabbed at me with the cross. I sidestepped and dodged the blow.

  At that moment, the girl chose to come awake. She sat up. The priest shifted his attention to her and looked in horror at her red, glowing eyes.

  His target changed. He raised his arms to drive the stake into the girl. I grabbed him, but fear, anger, and zealousness made him strong while my strength was ebbing from the silver bullet lodged in my body. He shoved me back.

  I stumbled and fell, my head hitting the heavy wooden, sideboard. Stars burst behind my eyelids as I sank to the ground.

  I turned over, blinking, trying to clear my eyes, trying to get up. I must get up. Why must I get up, my sluggish brain demanded? The smell of smoke hit me. The fire.

  Out of my peripheral vision, the priest raised his arms, the stake steady in his hands.

  The girl.

  “No!” I yelled. “Stephen, Andrei, help!”

  I crawled toward her as fast as I could, intending to grab the priest by his legs and knock him to the ground.

  Too late. I reached out to him just as he drove the stake through her heart.

  With an effort, the priest pulled the stake out her chest and blood, bright red and thick, poured out of the gaping wound. Horror spread through my body when the priest turned toward me.

  I pushed to my feet, gathering every bit of my ebbing strength to fight off his attack.

  Andrei, my love, alert to the sound of my voice, even over the din of the fight and roaring noise of the increasing fire, picked up a policeman, threw him into the others, knocking them down like trees toppling and sprinted over to me. With his superhuman strength, he picked up the priest and tossed him into the parlor. The priest landed in the midst of the flames and screamed as his robes caught fire.

  Andrei yelled at Stephen. “We must leave.”

  Stephen stopped beside the girl, anguish pouring from his body.

  “It’s too late, there’s no help for her,” Andrei said. “Hurry, let’s go.”

  I tried to follow and stumbled. A growing weakness made me dizzy. I could feel the heat from the quickly spreading fire. For a human, the smoke would have been deadly, but as vampires, we didn’t need to breathe. Still, I was too weak to walk. I sank to my knees, determined to crawl to safety.

  But Andrei noticed and came back for me, easily lifting me into his arms and carrying me to safety.

  The blessed air from the evening, although warm and muggy as it can only be in New Orleans, revived me somewhat, but I sank with relief on the carriage seat, grateful we’d chosen this method to escape and not the horses. Stephen climbed inside and sat on the seat opposite me while Andrei climbed up into the driver’s seat to take the reins.

  The men who had been trying to kill us had escaped the fire and run around to the back of the house. They were too late to catch us, but we could clearly hear the brother’s threats as we drove off.

  “Don’t think you’ve escaped me,” he said. “I’ll find you and kill you all!”

  Many had promised to kill us over the years.

  As badly as I felt, I wondered if I’d make it this time. The silver bullet lodged against my bone was torture, spreading a fire through my body that was as intense as the burning house we’d just left.

  What was worse, my wound was already healing over, which meant either the bullet would have to stay in my body slowly and painfully poisoning me, or else I would have to be sliced open for someone to dig it out of my body. Neither option sounded appealing, although the pain of having the bullet removed would be infinitely better than dying a slow, painful death.

  Stephen’s wound was healing, as well. He was sitting upright in the seat, his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. Dejection spread through his body, making him look tired and strangely old.

  “Stephen,” I said, softly.

  He lifted his head to look at me. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  I tried for a casual tone to cover up my pain. While physically my body ached, in reality, he looked as if he were the one hurting more. “It’s not like we haven’t had to leave quickly or fight before.”

  “Do you think they’ll follow?” he asked.

  “He seemed to be bent on revenge,” I answered, “but perhaps the anger will subside.” I doubted it though. How angry would he have been to feel like sacrificing his sister to a priest’s wooden stake was the right decision? Was that kind of anger something that just went away without exacting revenge?

  I doubted it. But why discuss it now? For the moment, we needed to focus on getting out of town.

  “My wound is healing,” said Stephen. “How are you? Doing better?”

  “The bullet is lodged in my shoulder. It must be a silver bullet, it is burning like crazy.”

  “What? A silver bullet? That must be why it hurt so much. Clearly, he knows what we
are.” He touched my wound. I flinched and nodded.

  He moved his hand away. “The pain must be incredible.”

  “I’ve felt better,” I admitted.

  “We need a safe place to get it out, let you recover.”

  “It’s important we leave town as fast as possible. I can wait.”

  “Still, I’m telling Andrei.”

  He crawled through the window that separated the passenger seats from the driver’s seat.

  While the two consulted, I lay back and closed my eyes. Concentrating on the bumps in the road took my mind off the pain in my shoulder.

  We traveled all night, heading north, leaving the city of New Orleans behind.

  “We need some sort of shelter,” Andrei said when he pulled the carriage to a stop. “From here we’ll have to go on horseback, the forest is too thick for this carriage to make it.”

  “We can use the carriage as shelter,” Stephen suggested.

  By now I was near unconsciousness and their voices came from far away.

  “There are blankets in the back, we can cover the top to give additional shelter,” my husband said.

  “I have herbs in my bag that will help numb the pain.” Stephen went to dig through his bag. When he found the herbs, he stuck the dried leaves in his mouth to chew them.

  “We’ll have to risk a fire to sterilize the knife,” Andrei said.

  When the fire was going, Stephen climbed into the carriage to place the chewed herbs on my arm. He applied enough pressure to make me wince.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can barely see where the wound is,” he told Andrei.

  The luck … or in this case the curse … of a vampire. Our wounds quickly healed.

  Still, the herbs were working, my arm grew numb. Thank goodness the shaman in the Comanche tribe had shared his knowledge with Stephen on how to cultivate and use herbs, including the knowledge of how to make the medicine pouches that each of us wore to protect us from the burning rays of the sun.

  And although the shaman’s knowledge had not extended to be able to conquer the white man’s disease that had ravaged Stephen’s body, forcing us to turn him, fortunately Stephen had learned enough of the art of herbs and ancient medicine that could help in other instances. Like now.