Curse of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  “Alfonzo did nothing to Dracula that I did not also do.”

  “You didn’t punch Miss Parker.”

  Bella went quiet for a moment. “I told him that was stupid.”

  Mordecai laughed and flopped over her to kiss her. When he finished, he was smiling. “You’re adorable.”

  “We are talking about the death and murder of my friends.”

  “You’re still adorable.”

  She shook her head and placed her palms on his chest to push him away. He went up to his knees willingly, and she climbed out of bed. Her clothes were somewhere—oh, yes, there—and his offer of fresh air and more food than what he could carry in on a plate for them was welcome. It was halfway through dressing before she realized he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with both fascination and something close to worship in his eyes. Her cheeks went warm, and she focused on lacing up her dress. “Am I going to have to choose?”

  “Hm? Between what?”

  “You and them.”

  Mordecai stood and approached her. Mid-stride, a long loincloth appeared on him. It was black with blueish purple archaic writing threaded into it—the same that was carved into his horns. She didn’t have much time to think about it before he had pulled her into his arms.

  He held her tenderly. This wasn’t—for once—about pleasure. This was about comfort. He nuzzled her hair, kissed her temple, then rested his head on hers. “Thank you, Bella.”

  “For…what? What did I say?”

  “You implied there was a choice to be made. That you might…even struggle with it, should it come down to your old friends or me. That is a greater gift than I could have ever asked for, my angel.”

  She blinked. He was right. She hadn’t even realized what she had said. She rested her head on his chest and felt his chin atop her hair. He was so warm. He smelled like spices and that comfortable scent of a wood fire. “I don’t want to have to choose.”

  “I know. I know it’s cruel. But…life is terrible. I understand you want to save your friends, but there’s nothing we can do. They chose these paths for themselves. Alfonzo could have spared this city. He could have saved you too, but he picked his hatred instead. Eddie could turn away now and leave the city unharmed, but he will not relent until he frees you.”

  “What…?” She looked up at him, fear clutching at her. Fear and shame. If he found her like this—with an incubus—what would he think? “Does he…does he know?”

  Hurt washed over his beautiful features. “No. He has not been told with what you now spend your time. I’m sure if he was told, he would not believe the words. He would claim that you are too good of a person to fall prey to such a monstrous thing as me.” He let go of her and stepped away. He looked so wounded.

  “I…” Her heart ached. No. It was more than that. It was as though she had been stabbed. It was as though his pain was her own. She was no empath like Maxine, but the look on his face and the way his shoulders slumped twisted in her stomach. “Mordecai.”

  He turned away from her, his head down, and he ran his long, sharp, black nails through his hair, scratching at his scalp. It ruffled his already messy blond hair even further. “If he comes for you, you will go to him.” It was a statement of certainty. The betrayal in his voice stung.

  She didn’t want to hurt him.

  She tried to force herself to picture how it might all play out. Eddie would come for her, burst into the room, and riddle Mordecai with bullets. The incubus would lie dead at her feet. She would take her friend’s hand and let him lead her from the darkness. They would seek out Alfonzo and either save him or be too late.

  But then what?

  She allowed herself to presume the likely impossible feat that they would defeat Dracula and save the city. The light would stand victorious.

  But then what?

  Would she be expected to marry Eddie? To be with him simply because she should? Because that was what was expected? Perhaps have his children and live “happily” ever after? Could he live with what she had done with the incubus?

  Could she live with the memory of him? Of how happy she had been in his arms?

  The image of her with Eddie felt cold. It was empty. It was a lie. It was imprisonment, like the promise of spending her life in a cage. A gilded cage, yes, but one constructed around her all the same. Its bars were all the things she “should” be. That she “should” do. All the expectations placed upon her by the world and those who dwelled within it.

  And she knew that every day and every night she would be haunted by dreams of him. Of Mordecai. Of the creature who had left such an indelible imprint on her. Not only on her body—that was undeniable—but on her heart and her soul.

  “If he comes for me, will you try to stop him?”

  “Not if you wish to go.” Mordecai shut his vivid purple eyes. He hung his head, accepting his fate. “If you wish to leave this place with him, I will ask him to kill me. I cannot live my life knowing the only soul I have ever loved has chosen to love and fuck another.”

  She smiled faintly. She knew how to cheer him up. “How, exactly, am I supposed to be with Eddie now that I know what it’s like to fuck a demon?”

  He whirled, his eyes wide in shock. Not only because she had finally said that ugly word he had been goading her into using, but also because of what she said. “Bella?” He was clearly caught in disbelief.

  She stepped into him and, reaching up, took his horns in her hands and used them to force his head down to hers. She kissed him. Passionately. Roughly. She shut her eyes and let herself take from him for a change. He moaned and wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. When she was done, she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She had no words for him. Not yet. She needed a little more time.

  He seemed to understand and only held her, not pressing for more. Well, he wasn’t pressing for more. Something against her stomach, meanwhile, was. “We should go get food and fresh air now before I throw you over the table,” he grumbled. “Although I’m happy either way. Actually, do you want to pick the table? I could go for the table.”

  She laughed. “Later.”

  “Promise?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Promise.”

  15

  Maxine had no way to describe what she was looking at besides “magical architecture.” There was no other way she could fathom how a thatched hut that looked like it might have come from the bayous of the deep south might have found its way into the frog pond in Boston Common.

  A hut with what looked like lightning rods extending from the top. It was not simply a crude structure. In fact, the back half looked like a modern building with all the typical bricks and mortar. It was as though the two had been somehow meshed in ways that made little logical sense.

  What manner of creature lived here?

  It seemed she was meant to find out. Elizabeth stopped at the end of the winding wood plank pathway that stretched from the shore to the stairs of the strange amalgamation of a building that stood at its center. “Go on, then,” the vampiress urged her. “Go speak to some of Dracula’s loyal subjects.”

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  “If you only see the corpses of our victims, you might think us to have no redeeming value, hm? That is what the hunters have hoped. But perhaps if you lingered for a moment with some of those who serve him of their own accord, you might find reason to spare him.”

  Maxine shook her head. The vampiress was only doing this for her own ends. But she saw no harm in going to speak with whomever dwelled within. “I hope they do not mind an uninvited guest.”

  “Oh, they will not mind you at all, I promise.” Elizabeth curtsied to her. “Now if you will excuse me. I do feel a little peckish.” And with that, she exploded into bats and swarmed off into the sky.

  Maxine flinched as she did. That would never not be alarming. Shaking her head, she looked at the strange twisted building. It was like two buildings had tried to overgrow the other,
and neither had won. She could not say she was not more than a little curious. She walked across the planks, testing them with her toe before putting her weight upon them. The pond was not a deep one, but she did not exactly want to wind up spending the rest of the evening soaked to the bone in the unseasonably cold air.

  Climbing the stairs to the porch of the merged structure, she reached out to touch the doorjamb. The wood of the bayou structure transitioned smoothly into the carved, clean lines of stone. She could not identify exactly where one began and the other ended.

  She shrieked as the door flew open.

  “Come in! Come in, come in, sweet one.” It was a man’s voice who greeted her. Deep and gravelly, but warm. “No need to linger. No need to lurk.”

  “I was doing neither of those things. I was just…”

  “Trying to understand that which you can’t hope to reconcile with your eyes alone. Come, sweet thing. Come inside. It’s warm in here.”

  Being warm would be quite a nice change of pace. They hadn’t dared burn a fire in the house where they had taken up residence. They had not wished to risk it. But she could smell the fire burning inside the strange building, and the idea of thawing her chill bones by it was too much of a temptation to pass up.

  She stepped inside, and her jaw immediately dropped open in surprise.

  The room was utter chaos.

  It was filled, top to bottom, with things. Bowls and pots, spoons, dried herbs, dried flesh—she could even make out a few leathery objects that looked like they might have been skinned heads hung up to dry. Animal parts mixed with more human remains as if they were all the same to whomever mounted them. Some of it was tied into bundles that looked like they were prepared with express purpose. She recognized them—maybe not for their exact mixtures, but for their purposes. Magic.

  But mixed with them were vials and glass jars, containing objects pickling in liquid she could not begin to identify. Spools of copper wire mixed with gears and pulleys. Beakers and Bunsen burners were scattered about. For every ounce of black magic that seemed to fill the space, it was matched in equal measure by science.

  There was a figure standing by the fire, having retreated into the room to stab at it with a poker to kick up the flames. He was looking at her.

  But he was facing away from her.

  He was doing both at once.

  Maxine froze, gaping. Not understanding what she was seeing. There was a face on the back of the man’s head. Indeed, there was a body facing her, bent in improper ways like a suit he wore over his back. It was the face of a pale man, with a close-trimmed goatee and glasses. His eyes were closed. Yet the posture of the man was facing the other way, stabbing at the fire.

  “Don’t be frightened, sweet thing.” The other half of the man turned to her, and she drew back reflexively.

  There was another face on the other side. Another whole man. At the edges where the two met was black cording, holding together flesh like one might sew a canvas sail.

  This one’s skin was dark, his smile broad and easy. He was cleanshaven, but his hair hung around his face in thick braids. She recognized his accent now—Creole. She had been to the deep south once or twice in her travels with the Roma. A few escaping slaves had even joined their band. She had always loved their way of speaking.

  But the warmth and friendliness of his smile did not distract from what she saw before her. Elizabeth’s words suddenly made sense. Why she had spoken of one person but used “they” in reference.

  There were two men, stitched together.

  “My God…”

  “No god here, sweet thing. No god worth listenin’ to, at any rate. Mine only jabber, and they’ll take little notice of you. Come, come, don’t be frightened of the old Witch. Come.” He waved her over and gestured to a chair by the fire. There were two. “Tea? Yes? You folks love your tea.” He gestured to the back of his head and grinned lopsidedly. “Would you prefer to speak to him first, hm? Is it the color of my skin that gives you pause?”

  “No, it is the fact that it appears you are two men cobbled together into one body that I am reacting to, sir. Sirs. Nothing else.”

  “Forgive me, forgive me. Never can tell with folks. Come, sit. Please. And no, no sirs are here at this moment. He is a sir,” he pointed again at the back of his head with a jab of his thumb. “Not I, not I.”

  Maxine hesitated, and he gestured broadly again at the chair. Not knowing what else to do, she walked to the chair cautiously and sat in it. It was comfortable, and the fire was indeed warm. She did not know what to say. “Elizabeth—”

  “Is a vicious cunt.”

  She laughed at his bluntness. “I would not have gone that far.”

  “Then you don’t know her well yet.” The strange creature in front of her was now plucking a pot off the fire from the hook on which it dangled. He walked to a kettle on the table and poured the water into it. He began to scoop some leaves out of a jar and into the hot liquid. “You must be Miss Parker.”

  “I fear I do not know what to do with this sudden fame.”

  He snorted. “The cunt dropped you here, why, exactly? The bones did not say.”

  “You are a soothsayer?”

  “I am a witchdoctor.” He cackled in a joke she did not understand. He turned to look at her, and smiled again, lopsided and goofy. “Get it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” She smiled back even if she did not understand.

  “Witch”—he pointed at himself—“Doctor.” He jabbed a thumb at the dormant face on his back. He laughed loudly as a look of understanding must have washed over her. “You are such a sweet thing. Poor girl, caught up in all this mess.” He gestured at the room, but she knew he meant the city. “Master Dracula has not been kind to you.”

  “I think he has tried, for what it’s worth.”

  “Sometimes that’s all a person might ask.” He cracked his neck, and it crunched loudly. She winced at the sound. “Mhn. He wishes to come say hello. He says I am mucking up the tea.”

  He shut his eyes, and she shrank into her chair as he…changed. Every bone in his body seemed to crack and shift as the front of him became the back of him. Going from hunched in one direction, to perfectly straight, to suddenly facing the other way. Eyes behind glasses opened and met her with a faint and polite smile. He tugged on his suitcoat and bowed his head to her. “My lady.”

  “I…forgive me, I do not usually swear in English, but I feel I must in this moment. Holy shit.”

  The gentleman smiled and stroked his hand over his hair, smoothing back the braids and looking all the world like a courtier of some fine gala if it were not for the simple fact that he had another man stitched to his back.

  “It is quite all right. I understand. You are handling our unique condition better than most, I must say.” He turned back to the teapot and sighed. “The Witch means well. He was simply ruining the tea.” Picking up a spoon, he fished out some of the leaves from the hot water. “He does not understand the concept of subtlety. Too many leaves in the water will make it unpalatable. My lady, how do you take it?”

  “I couldn’t possibly bother you to—”

  “Please.” The gentleman looked back at her with a gentle and sad smile. “Entertain a lonely Doctor.” He placed his hand to his chest.

  She stammered for a moment before trying again. “With honey, if you have it. If not, sugar will be more than fine.”

  “We have plenty of honey.” He walked across the mess of a room and opened a pantry. Fishing through jars, he pulled one from a stack of others that looked far less inviting. She hoped it was indeed honey and not some other terrible liquid, but the amber tone gave her hope.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course! Do not be shy.”

  “It is quite personal.”

  “The best questions are.”

  She smiled faintly. “How is it that you’ve come to be this way? I have never seen nor heard of anything quite like…you.”

&nb
sp; “Ah, yes. Well, you will find many of us with terribly unique afflictions serve Master Dracula. We are limited only by his imagination, I believe. And you can’t begin to fathom how troubled a mind he owns.”

  “I am beginning to suspect.”

  “I suppose you are.” The Doctor stood there, looking down at the tea, waiting for it to steep. “How did we get to be the way we are? I fear neither of us were left whole enough by death to exist apart. He took two souls, broken and destitute, shattered and empty, and…we did the rest. The Witch and I are one because we chose to be. We were not forced into this arrangement. Without the other, the one would die. We were joined by a common plight.”

  “Which was?”

  “Persecution. He for his magic and the color of his skin. I for my science. They really are one and the same, you know—magic and science. One is simply the other without all the hypotheses to back it up.” He waved his spoon idly in the air, then placed a strainer over one teacup and began to pour the liquid into it. It steamed in the warm air. He poured the second cup and spooned a glob of the amber substance that she sincerely hoped actually was honey into each glass. Placing a small spoon into each, he walked over to hand her one.

  “He did not kill either of you?”

  “No. We died in close enough proximity to him that he collected us.” He sighed. “His curse extends to far more than him. He spreads into the ground and air around him in wide swaths. Anything within its reach is subject to become part of him. We died—each of us at different times, mind you—and lingered in the ether until we could form together as one.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” She looked down into her glass of tea. She stirred it, and it did smell wonderful. And surprisingly normal.

  “It’s quite all right.” He stirred his tea, the silver spoon tinking against the porcelain. “Think of it this way. Dracula is a tree. And from him grow the branches, and the leaves, and the fruit. But a tree does not support only its own life and its own progeny. It provides life to the birds, the squirrels, the ants, the bees, and more. We are drawn to that tree, and without him, we would die.”