by P. N. Elrod
"Would that were the truth. I may have to borrow one of your coats to cover this mess." My clothes were in a sad state from all the bloodstains, holes, and cuts. My body was in considerably better shape. Once vanished, I'd taken myself straight to the stables in the back, there to restore that which I'd lost and more besides.
Physical healing was near-instantaneous. My spirits were somewhat slower.
I tried to repress a shudder, the latest in a series that overtook me at irregular times.
"Quincey? You don't look well."
"I'll allow that I've got the shakes worse than a drunk on Sunday morning. This has been a sight too exciting, even for me."
"Sit down then, for heaven's sake, and let me examine you." He led me to a chair.
"It'll pass. Just nerved up. I've been like this before after a shooting fight. Happens when I think too much. It's a hellish thing to face a man like that, to push him into killing. Then to stand there cold and let him do it . . ."
"Yet you managed. You'd convinced me—and I had some idea of what you were about."
"You did?"
"Because of your warning not to back him into a corner. To say that and then carry it out yourself—in a most literal sense. Why?"
I shrugged. "It occurred to me that the only way I could win was to let him think he'd won. I knew he had that shooter of mine on him, felt it when we were fighting. All he wanted was a chance to use it. I gave it to him."
He shook his head. "You're quite mad."
"No better place for it. But I got the job done. He won't be looking for me, will he?"
"I don't think so, though your vanishing surprised him. He thought a vampire as young as you could not do that. I stepped in with one last insistence about you being a different breed. For the first time he seemed to accept it."
"Let's hope so. I don't want to go through that again. Jack, I'm sorry to have busted things up so badly between you."
"No, I won't hear your apology, for you did nothing. If there is a fault, then it is the professor's own stubborn nature that must be blamed. If you had truly been a threat, then might we forgive him . . . but as things are . . ." He lifted his hand in a gesture of futility. "I can't forgive him, drugging me, tying us up like . . . like . . . and poor Art and his sister . . ."
Before Jack could wind down to plain speech, something hurtled through the door.
"Quincey!"
Bertrice flung herself bodily on me.
It's an ill wind . . .
Art was with her, and he did not seem overly surprised by the intensity of his sister's greeting. She must have mentioned something to him. Jack raised both eyebrows, though.
Talk was fast and furious for the next little while as we confirmed to one another our continued good health, and I again apologized for what I'd put them through. Like Jack, they wouldn't hear it.
"Some army of the Un-Dead," said Art. "Van Helsing created it himself, by driving us together against him."
"And I am most grateful that the three of you figured out I was going to try something." I eased into a chair. Recovered or not I felt shaky on my feet.
"Not I," said Bertrice. "I thought he'd—that you were—why didn't you tell me you were part Cheshire cat?"
"No time. And I am sorry, truly."
She'd taken hold of my hand and didn't seem to be in any hurry to let go. Not a bad set of circumstances. "Arthur told me out in the hall. I don't know who to be the more angry at, you or the professor. I only thought you were going to hypnotize him, and wondered why you just didn't get on to it."
"I had to scare the man up so he'd react the way I wanted. But more importantly, I had to make sure none of you was behind me in his line of fire. Blessed or not, bullets would go right through my body. Couldn't risk any of you catching one."
"How did you know it wouldn't kill you?
Dracula was my source for such odd knowledge, but I couldn't say aught of him. "Just a little accident I had in my travels. But don't think I wasn't worried." The shuddering took me again. I tried to suppress it for Bertrice's sake. She missed none of it and fell onto my lap, embracing me hard, as though to ward off my inner cold.
"God, I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.
"Never."
"Well," said Jack brightly. "I'm a bit peckish. Anyone else?"
"Me," said Art, after Jack thoughtfully nudged him.
They'd read the signs aright and departed for the kitchen.
"I like that Dr. Seward," Bertrice murmured.
"He's a corker, he is. Real perceptive. Sometimes."
Art would give her away, and Jack would be my best man, and it would have to be in the evening, if that was permitted. The English seemed to favor morning marriage services; I didn't know if that was custom or law.
"You're really all right?" she asked.
"Yes. Much better. Our bad patch is over and done, I have my friends back, and I've got the prettiest gal in the world sitting on my knee. What man could want more?"
"The rest of that world, perhaps?"
"Let it take care of itself."
"At least until tomorrow. Then must I get back to my troupe or `Lady Godalming' will dismiss me."
"Can't have that. I'd be pleased to see your next show again as soon as may be." Then afterwards I could properly present her with a ring. A nice one with diamonds in it to match the brightness of her eyes.
"Actually," she said, sounding reflective, "I would very much like to introduce you to the rest of the players. There's been talk that we really do need some males in the cast so as to achieve quicker acceptance in the—"
That brought me around quick. "Whoa, there, what are you on about?"
"Quincey, you're a positive natural for the stage. I've never beheld a death scene played better. You simply must come and read for us."
I had plans for her, but hadn't even remotely dreamed she'd form plans for me.
Oh, Lord have mercy . . .
