by Syrie James
“I had been following you since early morning from your lodging-house. I waited for an opportunity. And then, a little puff of wind—” He shrugged. “Not all my powers completely vanish with the daylight, despite what your ‘learned’ professor may tell you.” With catlike grace, he skirted around the bed until he stood directly in front of me, and said softly:
“Mina: for centuries, I have been alone. I have nearly perished from loneliness, and yet I could not die. I have longed to meet a woman I could truly love: a kindred spirit who shared my dreams, my interests, my passions. When I saw your photograph and read your letters, I had an uncanny premonition that you were destined for me; and once we met, I knew it with a certainty.”
His eyes and voice blazed with such passion that all the fear and rancor that had built up within me began to fade away, evaporating like the very mist which had brought him here. He went on:
“From the moment I set eyes on you on that first day at Whitby, I have wanted you—needed you—loved you. But I did not just want you for your blood: I wanted all of you: your mind, your heart, your body, your soul. I wanted you to want me; to become mine of your own free will. The time we shared in Whitby was the sweetest of my existence. When you left so abruptly, I nearly went mad. I thought I would never see you again. I left for London that same day, but it proved meaningless to me. I could think of nothing but you. Were you well and safe? Had you returned from Buda-Pesth? At last, when I could stand it no longer, I went down to Exeter to try and find you. I saw you—and your husband—on your balcony.”
“That was you?” I said breathlessly, recalling the bat we had seen fly away.
“Yes. You looked so happy, so serene. I could not bear to disturb you. Leaving you that night, in the arms of another man—a man I had come to despise, a man who had once tried to kill me—was the hardest thing I have ever done. But I was determined to leave you be, to let you live the life you had chosen for yourself.”
He placed his cool hand against my cheek, a touch which sent a shock like pure electricity running through me. My heart twisted, even as I felt my body tingle with sudden desire.
“Yesterday, by what seemed to be the most astonishing twist of fate, I thought I saw you standing on the road outside my very gates! I had to know if it was really you. I dashed after you. I leapt upon the train. Finding you again, it was like…a miracle.”
His eyes as they gazed into mine were so filled with affection that my mind reeled, and my pulse drummed in my ears. No. No, I told myself. You are a married woman. This is wrong. But I could not listen. At that moment, I yearned for nothing more in all the world but for him to pull me into his arms and to kiss me.
“I love you, Mina. I love you. If you do not want me, if you must break my heart, please say so now: tell me to go, and I will leave you for ever and not return. But I must hear it from your own lips. What shall it be? Do you want me? Do you love me? Will you let me love you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I love you! I want you!”
With an impassioned moan, he pulled me to him. His lips found mine. I gave myself up to the joy of his embrace, returning his kiss with a fervour equal to his own. My eyes closed. My arms wrapped around his neck. My hands tangled in his hair. I felt the pressure of his hands roving up and down my back, pressing me more tightly against him. After the first few minutes of heated, heartfelt contact, the nature of his kiss changed to something slower, deeper, and softer.
Oh! What a kiss! It was a kiss unlike anything that I had ever before experienced. As his tongue went on a gentle quest, exploring the delicate interior of my mouth, a myriad of new sensations were awakened within me. I began to tremble. A tingling began in the tips of my breasts that seemed to move and settle in the very centre of my womanhood. I was carried away, on fire. The kiss seemed to go on for ever; I wanted it to go on for ever; yet all too soon, it was over. Bereft, I opened my eyes—and I gasped, my heart pounding in sudden terror. For I saw that his eyes were now no longer blue, but blazing like hot red flames, and his canine teeth had grown longer and sharper.
I was too stunned to think or move. I knew he desired my blood. And yet I did not want to hinder him. With a flick of his fingers, he untied the ribbon at my collar and pulled open my nightdress at my neck, exposing my collar-bone and upper chest. His mouth instantly found the supersensitive skin at the side of my throat, and at his first, butterfly touch, I quivered and moaned in ecstasy. Suddenly, I felt two sharp pricks against my flesh, and I gasped again. The pain was trivial, quickly replaced by a feeling of languid pleasure such as I had never before imagined. It was as if I could feel my blood seeping out of me, and at the same time, something new, magical, and effervescent seemed to be mingling with my own life essence. Soon, it felt as if the tingling, liquid glow that had been throbbing in my very centre was pulsating throughout all the veins in my body, as if every one of my senses was alive and heightened to a fever-pitch—and with it came a sense of impending danger. Deep down inside of me, I knew that this was bad for me—very bad—that if he took too much blood it would kill me—that I must put a stop to it before it was too late. But I had no will to stop it. I heard a strange vibration, like singing through deep water. My head fell back; I heard myself sigh with intense pleasure; my knees began to buckle beneath me. If nirvana existed, I thought, in the remote corner of my mind which could still think, this must be it. I never wanted it to end.
Abruptly, his mouth left my throat. “Enough,” he said softly.
I moaned in disappointment. He held me tightly. I felt dizzy and light-headed; had he let me go, I believe I would have fainted. Suddenly, I was very, very cold; but his touch was strangely warm.
All at once, he whispered: “They are here.”
I had no idea what he meant; I could hear nothing except the thundering beat of my own heart in my ears.
“I will be back to-morrow night,” he whispered, pressing his lips to mine one last time. Then he took a step back and vanished into a cloud of mist, which, through dazed eyes, I watched trail out around the edges of the window.
I SANK TO THE FLOOR, DRAINED AND SPENT, MY HEART STILL pounding, but too weak to move. I felt as if every cell in my body had dissolved into a hot, liquid, molten pool. I became hazily aware of the voices of the men below, returning from their search party. My arms felt like leaden weights. With difficulty, I raised my hand to touch my throat, and felt the fresh teeth-marks embedded there.
Sudden guilt overcame me in a rush. Oh! What had I done? How could I have allowed Mr. Wagner—no, no, Count Dracula—to kiss me, and to drink my blood? It was bad enough that I had thought of him, dreamt of him, longed for him, when I thought he was Mr. Wagner, a flesh and blood man—but to give myself to one who was Un-Dead—a vampire, a Thing I had come to hate—it was unthinkable!
And yet…and yet…
In my arms, Dracula had felt as real and alive as any human man. In his embrace, I had undergone the most wondrous physical sensations I had ever experienced. And in spite of who or what he was…in spite of every terrible thing I knew about him…I loved him.
Was it possible to be both violently attracted to and repelled by a man at the same time? Is this what Jonathan had felt, I wondered, for those awful vampire women at Dracula’s castle? And what about my mother? Is this attraction what she had felt, when she gave herself so willingly to the young master of the Sterling household?
I heard footsteps on the stairs. I forced myself to rise. Dizzily, I slipped into bed, retying the collar of my nightdress and pulling up the bed-clothes just as I heard the door to my chamber unlock and open. I feigned sleep, willing my pulse and breathing to slow to a soft and natural state as I listened to Jonathan quietly undress and slip into bed, terrified lest he should gain the slightest inkling of what had just occurred.
Oh! What on earth was I to do?
Dr. Van Helsing and Jonathan had both insisted that Count Dracula was an evil being, without conscience, intent on doing harm to every human he met. Was
that so? How was I to reconcile the monster they described with the man I had come to know and love at Whitby, and the man who had just expressed his love to me so ardently and passionately?
I longed to share with the others all that Dracula had told me in his defence. But how could I? To do so, I would have to admit to everything, all the way back to the times we had shared at Whitby. I would be obliged to reveal that we had spoken to-night in this very bedchamber. Jonathan would surely discover that I had been bitten. No doubt, the group would immediately leap to the conclusion that I had been poisoned, both mentally and physically, into collaborating with the enemy—as perhaps I had been. If I pretended that I had been unwillingly attacked, I feared it would only whip them into a frenzy of deeper hatred. And most certainly, I could never tell Jonathan or any of the others about my true feelings for Dracula—never! Never! To do so I would be labeled as a debased, wanton woman. My husband would never touch me again. No, I thought, as I pulled up the collar of my nightdress to cover the fresh wounds at my throat; this must remain my secret, for ever.
And it must never happen again.
But how on earth, I wondered, was I to accomplish that? The Count had said he would return to-morrow night! A little voice told me that I should simply refuse to see him or talk to him; but was he the kind of being that one could refuse? Moreover, his powers of persuasion were so great, and my feelings for him were so intense, that I was not certain I could withstand any further advances on his part. Still, I would have to try.
My thoughts began to scatter. As I drifted off to sleep, I made a resolution. If Dracula came to me again, I would be strong. I would not allow him to kiss me or touch me in any way. I had so many questions. I would use the opportunity to learn all that I could about him.
To-morrow, I vowed, I would prepare myself for my next audience with the vampire.
I DID NOT WAKE UNTIL WELL PAST NOON, WHEN I OPENED MY EYES to find Jonathan shaking me gently and anxiously as he stood over the bed.
“Mina! Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” I responded groggily, as I struggled to emerge from a deep, lethargic slumber.
“You look pale. I had to call your name three times before you came round.”
The memory of all that had happened the night before came back in a rush. I felt myself blush and buried my face in the pillow to hide a smile I could not prevent. “I am just tired. I did not sleep well.”
“I am sorry I woke you, then,” he said sweetly, as he kissed the back of my head. “Go back to sleep. I have things to do. I will see you this evening.”
I heard the door close, and I drifted off again.
The afternoon sun was low in the sky when I finally got up. The dizziness and weakness had passed. I glanced in the looking-glass. I was a bit pale, but not alarmingly so. I pulled back my long hair, wincing when I saw the small puncture wounds on my throat. They only smarted slightly, but they were ugly. How fortunate I was that Jonathan had not noticed them when he awakened me earlier. For once, I was grateful to the dictates of fashion, since the high collar of my blouse neatly hid the two marks.
I went down-stairs and found the house very quiet. Dr. Seward’s study was empty. I stole inside, where I searched and soon found what I was seeking: a medical book regarding the study of blood. I leafed through it to an article about the history of blood transfusions. The text, which was boldly illustrated with pictures of needles, syringes, tubes, and drawings of patients undergoing some rather frightening-looking procedures, depicted an appalling record. Indeed: far more patients had died over the years from this little-understood technique than had lived.
I was deep in contemplation as to the implications of this knowledge when Dr. Van Helsing startled me by entering the room.
“You read medical books for pleasure, Madam Mina?” he said with a smile.
“Anything that can be of help in our quest is of interest to me.” I quickly replaced the volume on the shelf and turned to him. “Doctor: I have been thinking about Lucy. I know that you gave her four blood transfusions. I suppose you must have a great deal of experience with that kind of operation?”
“Oh yes, I have transfused many patients in the past.”
“Were your other transfusions successful?”
Dr. Van Helsing hesitated. He seemed unsure how to reply; but honest man that he was, he finally said: “I succeeded with one patient, yes.”
“So all the other patients—they died?”
“It is a new and inexact science. I did my best for Miss Lucy,” he said defensively.
“I am certain you did.” Changing the subject, I asked where the others were, and he replied enigmatically:
“Your husband, Mr. Morris, and Lord Godalming have gone out. Dr. Seward is with his patients, I believe.”
“And how did your foray go last night?”
“It went well; but I say no more. We think it best that we not draw you further into this awful work, Madam Mina. These are strange and dangerous times, and it is no place for a woman. Until we have rid the earth of this monster of the nether world, we will keep silent about our doings. You understand, I hope.”
“I understand,” I replied.
Oh! How ironic it was, I thought; if only he knew that while his brave posse had been inside the Count’s house the night before, the very man they were trying to protect me from had made a most personal and intimate visit to my own chamber! I was resolute: none of them could ever know the truth. When I later wrote in my journal, I recorded only a partial, altered version of the previous night’s events, pretending that I had only had a very strange dream.
All afternoon, I could think of nothing but the night to come. Would Dracula visit me again, as he had promised? The thought both thrilled and terrified me. When and how would he come? Would I be in any danger? I knew he was a powerful being. I had seen evidence of his temper, and I knew he could kill me on a whim. He had said he loved me, and that he had gone to Whitby expressly to meet me. After all the time we had spent in each other’s company, all the feelings we had shared, and the very passionate manner in which he had kissed me—and drunk from me—I could not help but believe him.
And yet, just because Dracula loved me—and I returned those feelings—it did not mean that he held my best interests at heart, or that he posed no threat to the population at large. He was well aware that I was party to a group of men plotting his destruction. I had no real proof that the Count could be trusted or that he would not harm me.
This time, I intended to be ready for him. His explanation for Lucy’s death now seemed plausible to me, as did everything else he had stated in his own defence—as far as it went. Perhaps it was true that he had come to England only to build a new life for himself, and that he never killed the people and animals whose blood he took. But he still had a great deal to answer for. Although I knew the contents of Jonathan’s journal and our other transcripts nearly by heart, I went over them again, making a mental list of questions to ask him. If I deemed Dracula to be a trickster or a liar, I decided, or if I believed that he might prove a danger to others, I could always pretend to play along; and perhaps I could learn something which might prove useful in stopping him.
I determined, as well, to have some kind of protection with me this time. Stealing back down to Dr. Seward’s study, I found the bag of tools and charms against the vampire which the professor had given him, and I stole a tiny vial of holy water.
AT DINNER, THE CONVERSATION WAS AWKWARD AND STILTED. I was preoccupied by my own thoughts; and the men, determined not to discuss anything about the case in front me, strained to keep to neutral subjects.
I had been wearing mourning for over a week, in memory of Mr. Hawkins, Lucy, and Mrs. Westenra. In those two short weeks in Exeter, after Jonathan and I had returned from Buda-Pesth, I had only had time to have two new dresses made, and to-night I wore one of them: a beaded evening gown of black silk. I had taken special care with my hair, pinning it up into a style I thought mos
t becoming. As I fingered the soft velvet of the black neckband, which hid the puncture marks on my throat, I thought: how sweet of Lucy, to leave me such a precious treasure! At the same time, I wondered if she had, somehow, sensed that I might one day have the same need of it as she had. And yet, if so, then why did she not warn me about him? Did she not recognise her own attacker as Mr. Wagner?
After dinner, Jonathan kissed me good-night and closed himself up with the others in Dr. Seward’s study, with the shades drawn—to “smoke together,” as they said—but I knew they wanted to talk about what had occurred to each during the day, and discuss their future plans. After being in Jonathan’s full confidence for so many years, it was strange suddenly to be kept in the dark; and yet, was I not doing the very same thing to him?
It was not yet nine o’clock. Having slept most of the day, I was not at all tired and had no intention of going to bed yet. I went up to my room and waited. Would Dracula dare to come now, I wondered, while the men were occupied down-stairs? More likely, he would wait until everyone was asleep. I hid the vial of holy water between my breasts, deep inside my corset. I took up a book, then threw it down again, too agitated to read. I drew open the blinds, opened the tall casement windows, and stepped out onto the small, railed balcony beyond. All was silent without. The night sky was inky black, the stars obscured by thick clouds.
I had been standing on the balcony for some minutes, when a ray of moonlight broke through the thick clouds above, shining its bright beams on the grass and trees which studded the wide grounds below. I began to notice some tiny, grey specks floating in the moonlight’s distant rays. They were like infinitesimal grains of sand or dust, and they wheeled and circled in the air, gathering in clusters and then dispersing again, as they moved ever closer to where I stood.
My pulse began to race in fear and anticipation. Was it possible? Could it be he? I backed away into the room. The motes of dust continued to dance in the moonbeams as they approached, whirling faster and faster until they blew in through the open window, finally assembling into a phantom shape a few feet from where I stood. In the blink of an eye, the shape transformed into the man himself! I gasped and clutched at a piece of furniture to steady myself, still finding it difficult to accept the reality of such an unearthly spectacle.
