by Syrie James
At that moment, I saw a trail of white mist emerging from the trees and moving towards me. My heart lurched. I felt a little thrill mingled with a wave of apprehension. It was happening! I was about to leave my life behind, to die and begin a new life as an Un-Dead, immortal being. The white mist swirled upwards, contracting into a man’s shape; and suddenly Nicolae was standing beside me.
“Come home with me, my love,” he said, holding out a hand to me.
TWENTY-FOUR
IN A WHIRL OF SOUND AND WIND AND MIDNIGHT AIR, NICOLAE took me to his castle.
As he set me down on my feet in his great library, he kissed me passionately. “At last: you are here.”
“I can never go back.”
The room was lit by a myriad of antique lamps which threw long, quivering shadows on the dark stone walls and floor. Nicolae nodded, then said softly: “I know this is happening many decades sooner than you would have wished, my darling, but I cannot pretend to feel regret.”
“I cannot just disappear, with no explanation or good-bye—but I have thought about how to manage it.”
He read my thoughts. “The dead peasant woman in the forest?”
I nodded, breaking from his embrace. “She was about my size and colouring. Her face was completely gone. If we dress the body in my clothes and move it to a different spot, close to our encampment, the men will think I was killed by wolves during the night.” As I spoke the words, I shivered, trying to imagine what it would be like for Jonathan to discover my mangled body. Would he blame himself? I thought, devastated. Would he spend his entire lifetime grieving? How could I subject him to such suffering? But what other alternative did I have?
“You must put the past behind you now, and move forward.”
“That is easier said than done.”
“You only say that because you have no conception of the kind of life you have before you.” Nicolae took me into his arms again and looked down at me lovingly. “I will make you my wife, and we will share everything together, into eternity.”
“How can you make me your wife? I am already married.”
“You are married in this life. When you die, you will be reborn into a new life, as a new being—and you will be my bride. We will know a kind of happiness that until now we have both only dreamt of; for no two people were ever more suited to one another than you and I.”
I nodded, falling under his spell. “I cannot quite grasp that this is all real.”
“It is very real, my darling. And it was meant to be. If ever you doubted it before, you may doubt no longer. I have been thinking over what that old gipsy woman said—about you being connected by blood to their clan. It proves a theory I have held since the first time I beheld your picture and your letters, and was desperate to find you. Do you remember I told you that my wife had a twin sister?”
“Celestina.”
“Celestina’s daughter was stolen by gipsies and never seen again.”
I caught my breath. “Do you mean—do you think that I was descended from—”
“I do. So you see: you and I were destined to be together, my love. You are my reward for centuries of loneliness.” He kissed me again, then grabbed my hand, adding with enthusiasm: “Come. I have much to show you.”
He led me up a wide, circular stone staircase and then down a long passage. The way was lit by lamps with open flames which hung on brackets on the walls. He unlocked a heavy oaken door. Inside was a comfortably furnished bedroom and sitting-room, much like the guest-room which Jonathan had described in his journal. Several lamps were already lit within. Now I gave a little gasp; for lying upon the bed was the beautiful emerald green silk gown which Dracula had presented me in his parlour at Carfax. Beside it were a pair of matching silk slippers.
“I brought them with me in the hopes that you might wear them one day. I see that they will prove useful immediately.”
I understood his meaning: that my own clothes and shoes would be required to outfit the body in the woods. “I will put them on.”
He courteously left the room with a bow. I was glad to be rid of my filthy, blood-splattered dress and boots, but deeply saddened to be obliged to part with my beloved white cloak, even though it was equally dirty. The emerald evening gown and slippers were a perfect fit. There was no looking-glass, of course; but from the admiring reaction I received from Dracula when I opened the door to admit him, I felt as if I were Cinderella, transformed and ready to attend the ball.
“You are stunning.” Eyes shining, he took my hand and twirled me as he had done on the dance floor, then drew me to him. From his pocket, he withdrew a small jewellery box, which he offered me. “I had something else made for you. I hope you like it.”
I opened the box to discover a beautiful gold brooch in the shape of a bird, its tail and plumage encrusted with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls. “Oh!” I cried, recognising the mythical creature it depicted. “It is a phoenix.”
“It is said that the phoenix lives a thousand years, is consumed by fire, and then rises from the ashes, reborn anew, to live again.”
“Immortal,” I whispered.
He pinned the brooch to the bodice of my gown. “And mine, for ever.” He gazed at me intently with his fascinating eyes, then kissed me fiercely.
Before I could thank him, he grabbed my hand again; and with undisguised excitement, he led me on a tour of his castle, showing me what lay behind all those locked doors. One of his favourite rooms was his well-outfitted art studio, where he both painted and sculpted. Dozens of canvases were stacked up against the walls. There were portraits of his sisters and romantic studies of lovers dressed in clothing from a bygone era, as well as expertly rendered landscapes of European scenes: majestic, snow-capped mountains, fields and valleys covered with flowers, verdant forests, and sparkling lakes and rivers, each painting adorned with small figures either picnicking, wandering alone, or journeying in a group.
“These are wonderful. Did you paint all these?”
“I did.”
I was touched by what the paintings said about his loneliness, his romantic disposition, his love of nature, and his desire to travel and connect with others. “And the ones in the library?”
“Mostly mine. A few are by Jan Brueghel the elder and Peter Paul Rubens.”
No wonder they had looked familiar! “You own works by Brueghel and Rubens?” I said, astounded.
“I studied with them in Antwerp in the early seventeenth century. We were good friends for a time—that is, until they discovered what I was and asked me rather emphatically to leave.”
I shook my head in awe and wonder. “What a fascinating life you have led.”
“It has had its moments. And yours, my darling, is only just beginning.”
Taking my hand again, he led me down the passage to another chamber. Upon entering, I caught my breath. It was a comfortably furnished music room, hung with elegant tapestries and lit by many lamps and stately candelabra. A blazing, smokeless fire burned in the hearth. There were a harpsichord, a grand piano, and more than half a dozen other fine musical instruments.
I moved instinctively to the grand piano. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
I sat down on the bench and began to play a piece by Mendelssohn that I knew by heart. Dracula picked up a violin and played in harmony with me, a performance that was superb and deeply felt. When we finished, I could not hold back a delighted laugh.
“Do you play all these other instruments as well as you do the violin?”
“Some better than others.”
“How very accomplished you are.”
“With all the time in the world, one can achieve a great many things.”
I fell silent at that, reminded again of my own imminent future. Is this what my life would be like? Days and nights spent with Dracula, filled with beautiful music, reading, conversation, and art—far into eternity? It was a thrilling thought; but as anticipation shivered through me, I could not help but
feel a twinge of fear in my stomach. It all still seemed so fantastical, improbable, and…frightening.
I looked up at him from my seat on the piano bench. “After we…feign my death…what will happen next?”
He shrugged. “You will stay here with me, of course. I will take care of you until you die.”
“Which will happen…when?”
“It is difficult to say. Everyone’s path is different.”
Apprehension rose within me. “Will it hurt when I die?”
“No. You will feel no pain.”
“What will it be like, when I—”
“When you rise?”
I nodded, my heart pounding.
“I cannot really remember, it was so long ago; but others tell me that it is akin to waking up from a very deep sleep.”
“Will I—will I be like your sisters, and like Lucy?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
He hesitated, avoiding my gaze. “At first, perhaps. A young vampire has yearnings and impulses that are difficult to ignore. But in time you will master them, as I have.”
I was flooded with sudden panic. I could not forget the despicable, lustful actions of the vampire women we had slain, or my lascivious nightmare when I had almost preyed upon the professor. And what about the terrible crimes Dracula committed when he was first made? He killed his own wife and child, and all those people!
“My brother made me,” he replied quickly to my unspoken thoughts. “I will make you. You will be different, and you will have me to govern you.”
“What if you do not succeed?”
“I will succeed.”
I could not feel his assurance. “Where will we live?”
“Here, there, anywhere you like.”
“Anywhere except England. We could never go back to England.”
“That would be unwise.”
“I suppose we would have to avoid sunny countries.”
“I generally do.”
“And anywhere we go, we would have to cart along two giant crates of dirt to—to sleep upon—and guard them with our lives.”
“Yes, and now that you will become a vampire in my own native land, it is far easier. We can sleep together on the soil of Transylvania.”
Somehow, the notion did not appeal to me the way it did to him. “Tell me about…nourishment. How will we feed ourselves?”
“There are plenty of people to choose from when we travel. While at home, there are the animals in the woods, and the occasional stranger who passes through.”
I thought of my dream earlier that night, the aching thirst, and the disgust I had felt after I sucked the life from a bird. Could I ever truly bring myself to feed from a live animal? What would it be like to attack a human being and suck his blood? I shuddered at the thought.
“It will become like second nature to you,” Dracula said.
A great heat of confusion came over me. Did I truly want to live for all eternity as a creature who craved and required the blood of others to exist? What if I could not learn to stop before my victim was dead? I remembered, too, the fear that the professor and I had seen in the eyes of the gipsies and other people we had met on our journey into Transylvania: the way they had crossed themselves and protected themselves against me with charms to ward off the evil eye. What would it be like to be shunned and feared by all the world, for the rest of time? What would it be like never to eat food again? Never again to enjoy the warmth of bright sunlight on my face and shoulders? Never to see my own reflection? Could I be happy living in this lonely castle for ever? If we left Transylvania, would we spend an eternity running and hiding?
I loved Dracula; but did I want to become his Un-Dead bride for ever?
From the wary look on Dracula’s face, I knew he was reading my mind.
“Mina,” he said quietly, “these thoughts are only sparked by fear. They will not trouble you after you rise.”
“That is the part which frightens me the most. The idea of becoming a being without any sense of conscience—I could not bear that.”
“Are you saying that I have no conscience?”
“No. But you said yourself, it took years—centuries—to gain the kind of self-control that you now possess. You could not control your own sisters! What proof do you have that you can teach and control me?”
“I will make it happen.”
I rose from the bench and stood before him, heaving a tremulous sigh. “Nicolae, I cannot pretend with you. You know every thought and feeling I have. You know how much I love you; and you also know how much I have struggled with this from the very first. I thought that I could embrace the idea of an eternal future with you, but now that it is here and real—” I shook my head. “I cannot do this.”
Dracula let out a surprised, rueful laugh. “You cannot do this?”
“No. I cannot become a vampire.”
“I am afraid you have no alternative, my love. Unless,” he added, with a flash of danger in his eyes, “you intend to try to kill me.”
“I would never wish you any harm, Nicolae.”
“Then your fate is set, Mina. You have no other choice.”
“But I do have a choice.”
“Oh? What is that?”
Calmly, I replied: “I will simply go back to the others and convince them that—although Dracula is truly dead—despite the professor’s theories about freeing souls, the vampire poison still lives on in my veins. And I will instruct the men to slay me.”
“Slay you?” Dracula slammed down his fist on the piano with such violence that the instrument rang out like a mighty death knell, and the polished, black, wooden top crushed and splintered into dozens of flying fragments. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Do you not see? This will free us both.”
“No!” he roared. “I will not allow those butchers to lay a hand on you!”
“It is my decision. My choice. It is what I want.”
He grabbed me now, glaring at me in fury. “Mina: do you have any idea what I have gone through on your behalf? If you die, it will only be at my hand, to be reborn. I have waited four hundred years to find you! I will not give you up now!” As his eyes penetrated mine, I heard the next thought which flashed like lightning in his mind:
That weakling of a husband will never have her, or the child she carries in her womb!
I froze.
I stared at him.
Had I heard his thoughts correctly?
Did he just say…that I carried a child in my womb?
A child…?
All at once, understanding came to me in a great rush. Is that what the old gipsy woman had meant, when she said my body was changing? All the symptoms which I had been experiencing over the past two weeks—the extreme tiredness, the chills and light-headedness, the lack of appetite, the nausea—had I been feeling this way, not because I was changing into a vampire—but because I was with child?
I saw the answer in his eyes, heard the truth in his thoughts, as a look of guilt and intense frustration crossed his face. He let go of my arms and backed away.
But wait, I thought: what about the holy circle I had been unable to breach? What did that mean? With a gasp, I suddenly remembered that I had never even tried to step outside either of the professor’s holy circles until they had been cleared. I had been too afraid.
My hands dropped to my womb in sudden wonder and consternation. “You knew?” I cried, aghast. “You knew, yet you said nothing? You meant to murder me, turn me into a monster, and keep me here as your bride—when I was not infected at all—but was carrying an innocent child inside of me?”
He hesitated, glancing back at me. “Mina: my blood still runs in your veins. You may become a vampire yet—only time will tell—and if so, that child will never live to take its first breath. I was only protecting you.”
“Protecting me from what?” I cried in anguished fury. “From the possibility of becoming a mother? From the joy of liv
ing the life that I have craved ever since I was a motherless child? My God! How could you? You say you love me; but you never did!”
“It is because I love you, Mina, that—”
“No! You love no one but yourself. You think only of what you want! That is not love; it is selfishness. And what you have done is pure evil!”
“Mina—”
Another thought occurred to me: “My God! My God…was any of it true?”
“Was any of what true?”
“Everything you told me: your sad life story, all those explanations and excuses for every charge that was laid against you—for what happened to Lucy—to Jonathan—to the men on the Demeter—was it true? Or did you just make it all up in an attempt to redeem yourself, and to appease me?”
“Now you doubt everything?” he cried with renewed ferocity. “Of course it was true!”
“How can I know? You lied about this. You lied to me about who you were from the first day we met. What else have you lied about? Oh! This whole charade—the chase after that box of yours—across the sea and up the river—it was all just a ruse to bring me here, wasn’t it?”
“No—” he said, but his thoughts said Yes.
“Oh! It doesn’t matter what is true! You are still the monster that everyone said you were! How could I have allowed myself to be so deceived? How could I have ever thought I loved you?”
I turned and bolted towards the open doorway. In a flash of speed, Dracula was suddenly standing just before me. “Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.
“Home. To my husband. Back to England, where I belong.”
“I would like to see you try.”
I darted around him and out the door, then started down the stone passage—whereupon I skidded to a halt. For he was now standing thirty feet ahead of me, at the far end of the corridor, blocking my exit, smiling at me mockingly.
“You forgot to say good-bye,” he sneered.
I spun and fled in terror, only to find him waiting for me in that direction, just twenty feet beyond! I gasped in dismay. Ahead, there was an opening to a circular stairway. I lunged for it and raced up the steps, only to freeze in consternation. He was waiting there above me, arms crossed, and laughing wickedly.
