by Syrie James
All was silent but for the echo of my scream in the wind.
TWENTY-THREE
I SCREAMED AGAIN IN TERROR AND BEWILDERMENT. NICOLAE had said he was only going to stage his death! Did his ruse not succeed? Was he truly dead? Could it be that this was part of his plan all along—to free me from his “curse”?
Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward let out shouts of victory. Dr. Van Helsing stood cheering on the hill-side just above me. Jonathan and Mr. Morris leapt down from the wagon, whooping with joy. No sooner had their feet touched the ground than, to my horror, a Szgany darted up in fury, shouting as he aimed a deadly blow of his dagger at Jonathan’s back.
I raised my revolver and fired, the thrust of the gun jerking against my hands as the explosion echoed forcefully in my ears. The attacking gipsy cried out, clutching his shoulder and dropping to the ground, his weapon falling from his grasp. Jonathan whipped around, his astonished glance finding me on the hill-side. And then chaos reigned.
The gipsies cantered about in an atmosphere of surprise and confusion, and then started riding away as if for their lives. The injured gipsy and those who were unmounted jumped upon the leiter-wagon and followed in haste, shouting to their departing horsemen in their native tongue as if afraid of being deserted. Even the wolves took part in the communal upheaval, loping off into the woods.
Through the ensuing tumult I watched and waited, filled with dread. Where was Dracula? Was he safe? At last, I heard his voice in my mind:
You are worried. (He spoke with delight.)
Yes! I thought, immensely relieved.
I vanished before their knives could do lasting harm.
Are you hurt?
I am already healed. Go now. Let the men enjoy their victory. Play the vanquishing heroes. I will come for you when it is safe.
When?
Soon.
His voice was gone.
What was I to do when he came? I wondered. Earlier, I had promised myself that when Nicolae was safe, I would see him one last time and say good-bye. But I was becoming a vampire. Everything had changed.
As the professor trudged down the hill-side towards me, I saw that our party below was left entirely alone, with no sounds but the wind blowing through the trees. My gaze fell upon Mr. Morris. To my dismay, I saw him sink to the ground, holding his hand pressed to his side, blood gushing through his fingers.
“Mr. Morris has been injured!” I cried. Dr. Van Helsing and I flew down the hill, joining the others as we gathered around our wounded friend.
“Hold on, Mr. Morris,” I said in anguish, kneeling beside him. “We have two doctors here. They will tend you.”
With a feeble sigh, Mr. Morris took one of my hands in his. “I think my time is up, little lady. But don’t grieve for me. I am only too happy to have been of service.” Mr. Morris’s eyes suddenly widened, and he struggled up to a sitting posture, pointing to my forehead. “Look! It was worth it, to die for this! Look!”
As all the men turned to look at me, my hand flew to my forehead. To my consternation, my skin was smooth and untarnished. My scar was gone! Nicolae must have removed it somehow, I thought, to reinforce the illusion of his demise.
With great effort, Mr. Morris whispered with a smile: “God be thanked that all has not been in vain. The curse has passed away.”
In unison, the men all sank to their knees as they spoke a deep and earnest “Amen.”
Mr. Morris’s hand fell from mine. He took one last breath, and his eyes glazed over. “He is dead,” Dr. Seward pronounced sadly.
Tears spilled from my eyes. Oh! I thought, this was my fault. My fault! I had silently collaborated with Dracula to stage his “death.” I had deluded myself into believing that no one would be hurt. These men had bravely tried to save me from the vampire’s curse—a curse from which, unbeknownst to them, I still continued to suffer—and now this gallant gentleman was dead. How could I ever forgive myself?
I saw moisture in the eyes of all the others, and I wept bitterly as we knelt by Mr. Morris’s body in grief and respect. At length, my gaze met Jonathan’s. We both stood and fell into each other’s arms.
“Thank God you are safe,” Jonathan said, his voice breaking with emotion as he held me tightly.
“I missed you,” I said with deep sincerity, returning his embrace.
“All this time without word of you, it nearly drove me to distraction.” He pulled back and kissed me, then studied my face intently. “Have you been well? Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” I whispered.
He studied me and the professor. “What happened to you? Why are you both covered in blood?”
I darted a look at Dr. Van Helsing, who answered: “I slew the vampire women at the castle. It was a bloody business. And Madam Mina—” He seemed at a loss.
“I shot a rabbit last night and cooked it for supper,” I interjected. “I had never butchered an animal before. I was not very good at it.”
“Well, I saw that shot you took,” Jonathan said, proud and grateful. “You were good at that. I believe you saved my life.”
“As Mr. Morris said: I was happy to have been of service.” Another sob escaped me, and Jonathan pressed me closely to him.
The wind picked up suddenly, rushing past us in a frigid blast laced through with flurries of snow. “We had best get back to camp at once, while there is still light enough to see the way,” said Dr. Van Helsing, “and lay a fire before we all freeze.”
The men placed Mr. Morris’s body over the back of Dr. Seward’s horse. The professor then took Mr. Morris’s horse, I rode with Jonathan, and we all sadly and silently made our way up the hill-side. At the camp, the ground was hard and frozen; and as we had no implements for digging in any case, the men respectfully laid Mr. Morris’s body in a shallow snow-bank beneath the trees. All agreed that we would take him back with us to a churchyard in the nearest town where he could have a proper burial.
Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, having roughed it together many times in the past, went to work fashioning excellent tents with the tarpaulins and rope we had brought, and long sticks we gathered. Jonathan and I built a good-sized camp-fire with the supply of wood we still had in the carriage, and we all soon gathered round it.
Snow covered the ground and nestled on the branches of the evergreens like icing on a cake. I shivered, pulling my filthy cloak more tightly about me as we stared into the fire. Jonathan sat beside me on a log, resting his hand on my knee as if to reassure himself that I was really there. The mood was grim and solemn, like a wake—which indeed it was. The satisfaction the men felt in their perceived victory over their enemy was greatly diminished by the terrible fact that one of our party had lost his life in the battle—and I, more than most, felt the weight of this burden.
DR. SEWARD AND LORD GODALMING TOLD ANECDOTES ABOUT the many places they had travelled with Mr. Morris, and the adventures they had shared. Everyone spoke from the heart about the good and kind gentleman whom we had all admired.
In time, a silence fell. In the distance came the occasional howling of the wolves. With a little gasp, I noticed two gleaming blue eyes staring out at us from the undergrowth beneath a near-by tree. A wolf! Or was it Nicolae? Jonathan, following my gaze, quickly grabbed for his rifle—but I reached out and stopped him.
“No!” I cried, heart pounding. “Do not shoot it. It poses no threat. Just wait, it will go away.”
Indeed, no sooner had I spoken than the wolf turned and disappeared into the woods. Jonathan relaxed his grip on his weapon but shook his head. “I should have shot it. It may come back while we are sleeping.”
“I am starving,” said Lord Godalming. “Do you have any food in that carriage of yours?”
I cooked up a supper of sorts for the party, but as I bent over the bubbling pot, the smell of the food made me feel ill—a reaction I was determined to hide. To reinforce the illusion that Dracula was dead, I must give the appearance that all my vampire symptoms had gone away. I served up a
plate for each of the men, who dug in hungrily.
“Is that all you are eating, Mina?” Jonathan asked, when he saw the tiny portion I had taken for myself.
“I am not very hungry,” I said truthfully. “I am just tired and very sad.”
Jonathan studied me quietly for a moment, with such a perceptive look that I worried he might suspect the true reason behind my lack of appetite; but he said nothing and turned back to his meal.
As they ate, the men fell into a long conversation, congratulating themselves for a job well done.
“It will take centuries before another Un-Dead can hope to gain the kind of knowledge and power that Count Dracula possess,” said Dr. Van Helsing.
“We have made the world a safer place,” agreed Dr. Seward with satisfaction.
Jonathan, who had been staring quietly into the fire, said: “I wonder. Have we?”
“Have we what?” said Lord Godalming.
“I wonder if we truly achieved our aim to-day.”
My pulse quickened in alarm at this. Dr. Van Helsing said: “What do you mean, friend John?”
“Do you remember that night in my chamber at the asylum, when we all saw Dracula vanish into a wisp of vapour? You said, Professor, that he could come and go like a mist. In Lucy’s diary, she said he once appeared from dust. Just because we saw Dracula crumble to dust, does that mean he is truly dead?”
This line of enquiry made me very anxious, particularly when Dr. Seward added, with a puzzled look: “Yes. What about that?”
Dr. Van Helsing replied emphatically: “He is dead, my friends. The Count’s body crumble to its native dust because he is more than three hundred years old, just as his brides did when I slay them earlier.”
“But Quincey was supposed to stab the Count with a wooden stake to the heart,” Jonathan persisted. “In the fray of battle he must have lost the stake, for he delivered that blow with his bowie-knife.”
“The stake does not kill, friend John; it only paralyses. To kill the vampire true dead, you must severe the head—and this you did. With our own eyes, we saw you slit Dracula’s throat. We saw the mark which vanish from Madam Mina’s forehead. By her own admission, her telepathic connection to Count Dracula is no more. This is our proof that he is dead.”
“I see.” Jonathan nodded with a weary but grateful sigh.
I sighed in silent relief. A lively discussion then ensued, in which the men shared the details of their separate adventures over the past few days. As they talked on, my mind began to drift. As far as the men knew, our quest was over, and I was “freed.”
But I knew very differently.
I was grateful, oh so grateful, that Dracula’s plan had worked and that he lived. I was equally conscious that as long as he existed, I was destined to die and become a vampire. I suddenly recalled a line from the rhyme Lucy had told me all those months ago at Whitby:
Married in black, you will wish yourself back.
We had thought it meant I would travel far away from home and wish to return to England. This had indeed come true; yet I now saw an additional meaning in the phrase. I truly did wish myself back: a return to my own human, mortal self.
I was taking on more and more vampire-like characteristics every day. Could I return to England, knowing that I was poisoned by Dracula’s blood? How long would it be before the others discovered that my symptoms had not gone away?
And what would they do when they found out?
IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN WE RETIRED TO OUR MAKESHIFT tents. Jonathan had made a bed for us from a pile of fur rugs. I joined him there, wrapping my cloak about me as he drew a warm cover over us. He then took me in his arms.
“It is over, Mina. Over! At last, your soul is free!”
I was glad Jonathan could not see my face in the darkness. “Yes,” I returned quietly.
“I love you so much,” he whispered. “You are everything to me. Let us stop in Paris on the way home and celebrate. We will revisit all the places we enjoyed so much on our honeymoon. Only this time, we will stay at the finest hotel and dine at the best restaurants. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” I said again, my voice breaking.
“When we get home, I want to start our family right away. We will have a houseful of little Harkers to fill our lives with joy. How many children should we have? Five or six?”
Tears stung my eyes. I could barely speak. “Six,” I managed.
“Six it is, then,” he said, kissing me. “Why are you crying, dearest?”
“Because I am happy,” I lied.
“So am I.” His voice began to fade as exhaustion overcame him. “We have a long, wonderful life ahead of us, Mrs. Harker, and we are going to make the most of it. Are you warm enough?”
Incapable of speech by then, I could only nod.
“Sleep well, my dear.” Holding me in his arms, he drifted off to sleep.
I lay awake for a long while, steeped in misery, struggling to hold tears at bay.
At last, I slept.
And dreamt.
I dreamt I was home in Exeter, sitting in our garden on a bright, sunny day. A breeze softly rustled the leafy branches of the near-by trees. Birds chirped. Everything was lovely and serene. I was reading the book Jonathan had bought me. It was Shakespeare’s Sonnet 71:
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell…
Suddenly, the sun which warmed my head and shoulders began to feel as if it were searing my flesh. I was overwhelmed by a terrible, growing thirst. I poured myself a glass of lemonade and took a sip, only to spit it out in disgust.
My attention was drawn to the twittering of birds in the near-by trees. The sound seemed heightened somehow: it was as if I could both hear and feel the bird-song ringing continuously throughout my body, like the hum of an engine or the purr of a cat. I rose, drawn to the sound like a magnet. I stopped and stared up into the branches of the nearest tree, waiting for—I knew not what. At the same time, my jaw began to ache fiercely. As I touched my teeth, wondering at this sudden pain, I discovered to my surprise that my four canines had grown long and sharp, like fangs.
Suddenly, a small bird flitted down from a limb towards me. As if by instinct, my hand shot out and grabbed the tiny creature in the air. In the space of a frenzied instant, I yanked the feathers from the bird’s body and sank my teeth into its denuded flesh, sucking its blood urgently into my mouth, swallowing the delicious nectar as if my life depended on it. Only when the blood supply was finished did I pause and stare at the limp, mangled body of the bird clutched in my hand—whereupon I gasped in horror.
Good God! What vile act had I just committed? I had just killed one of the world’s sweet and innocent creatures—and had drunk its blood! Worse yet, I had enjoyed it. Filled with self-loathing, I hurled the bird away into the trees.
I awoke with a start, overcome by a wave of nausea and disgust. I darted out of the tent and raced into the cover of the woods, where I retched violently. When I had emptied my stomach of its meagre contents, I took a few steps away, dropped to my knees in the snow-encrusted dirt, and burst into tears. I had long believed that dreams could be portents. Had I not dreamt of Dracula, on the night before he first arrived in Whitby? Had I not heard his voice calling to me, telling me that he was coming? Had I not dreamt about the very battle I had witnessed to-day, and seen that one of my brave men was going to die?
I knew what my mind was trying to tell me now: it was offering me a glimpse of my future. The woman in my dream: that is who—or what—I was becoming! “You will be forced to make an important choice,” the old gipsy woman had said. “Listen to what your body tells you. It is changing. Let it be your guide.”
Tears ran down my cheeks as I then recalled the words Jonathan had spoken before he fell asleep: “We have a long, wonderful life ahead of us, Mrs. Harker,
and we are going to make the most of it.”
I had promised Jonathan, once, that I would never leave him. But I could not return to England with Jonathan now. One night, desperate for blood, I might lunge for his throat and kill him. It was doubtful that I would make it as far as England, in any case. The way I was changing, it might be a matter of days before Jonathan and the others recognised the signs. Then Dr. Van Helsing—no doubt enlisting my husband’s help—would surely slay me as they had slain Lucy, before I even reached the grave. Or worse: upon seeing me still infected, they would deduce that Dracula was still alive and renew their efforts to find and kill him—which would put each of the men in harm’s way again.
No, I decided, overwhelmed with bitterness and regret. I could not risk putting them in such danger. Better that I left now, before they could learn the truth of what had happened to me. Did I dare take one last look at my husband? Should I leave a note for him? No. What would I even say?
I continued to weep silently for some minutes: for the family I would never have and the human life with my sweet husband that I would never lead. It was all lost to me—a loss that I deserved: it was God’s punishment for all that I had done. I had betrayed Jonathan, and now I must pay the price.
At length, I dried my eyes and glanced about me, noting thankfully that the rest of our party were still in their tents, asleep. Quietly, I retrieved my water-flask, then rinsed my mouth and cleaned my teeth. When I had finished with these ablutions, I sat down on a log by the embers of the camp-fire.
Enough of this self-pity, I reprimanded myself. I supposed I ought to be relieved that things had turned out this way. I was no longer obliged to choose between my two loves. The choice had been taken from me. There must be countless people who would be thrilled to trade places with me. I was going to be a vampire with uncanny powers! I would be able to shift my shape to nothingness. I would have time to learn all there was to know. Had I not longed to be a princess? Was not Nicolae a prince? I would exist for ever with a man I deeply loved—and I could be with him immediately!
