“Not knowing what else to do, and believing that it was not safe to be alone, I remained at the asylum. I wanted to call the authorities and report you missing, but Von Helsinger said that the matter was beyond anything that the police could comprehend. He was right, of course. I lost all hope and spent weeks lying in bed, disillusioned and certain that I was suffering from a madness from which I would never return. When Ursulina came for me that night, offering pleasures that would relieve my anguish, I did not resist.”
Like a bolt of lightning, the sure knowledge that the Count had arranged the entire affair struck me. I knew beyond a doubt that it was true, that he bade the lamia to seduce Jonathan yet again, so that I would see him as unfit to be a father to his child. I felt manipulated by him, and I started to feel angry.
Love is not a game played fairly, Mina.
He was listening to every word. I could not hide from him, so I made up my mind to speak plainly to Jonathan regardless. “I hold you blameless for that,” I said. “You were the victim of forces beyond your control. But are you not afraid of me after what you saw me do to Ursulina?”
He almost smiled, not the boyish grin I had so loved in our innocent past but a more mature, knowing smile. “With all that I have seen, I too have changed. I have thought of little else but you and the child in the weeks since I saw you. I do not think that I am worthy of it yet, but I do want to be a father. I will do whatever I must do to strengthen myself for that task. I wish for that, Mina. Despite what you may think, I have never stopped loving you or wanting the life we dreamed that we would one day have together.”
I could not say to him that I had the same feelings. Nothing would equal my attachment to the Count, but the third party growing inside me had to be considered, and some of my affection for Jonathan endured despite all that had transpired.
“I am no longer the docile woman you used to know,” I said. “And I do not ever intend to return to being her.”
“Yes, Mina, I have seen ample evidence of that.” The sardonic tone in his voice was new, but with it came a new level of understanding, a new depth that had not previously been there. “But nor am I the same man. Perhaps we will not have the life we had imagined, but we might have some new and wondrous version of it.” In that moment, he looked hopeful, and I saw a shadow of the man I had once loved.
“You do not have to answer me now, but I must get you away from here. Terrible things are going to happen. After the extraordinary way that the Count took you from the asylum, Von Helsinger became convinced that he was indeed a vampire and that he must be vanquished. I do not know what the Count’s fascination with you is, or yours with him, but I do not want to see you hurt. Von Helsinger has done his research and has discovered the means to destroy him—a bullet of silver through the heart. He is coming here at sundown with Seward and Godalming, who is a collector of weapons and an expert shot. They are going to confront him and kill him.”
“Their efforts will be fruitless,” I said. “He cannot be destroyed.”
“Von Helsinger believes otherwise. They will be here soon. Please come away from this place. Let the others do as they may. For once, let us save ourselves.” He was pleading now.
“Von Helsinger is mad, and Seward is his disciple, but why would Lord Godalming involve himself in such a plot?” I asked.
“It is my fault. They questioned me rigorously about the Count and his business in London. Von Helsinger assured me that I must spare no detail, so I disclosed that the Count had filled fifty crates with his treasures, including a large amount of gold, and transported them to England on the Valkyrie. They believe that the gold is stored here.”
“And Godalming intends to lay his hands on it?” I asked.
“Yes! It is an undocumented fortune. The Count has vast holdings under many different names, but the gold is part of his secret trove. No one knows of it, and no one will know if it is missing.”
The Count’s laughter cackled in my mind as he listened to Jonathan reveal their plans. Greedy fools. I thought of the doomed captain and crew of the Valkyrie, and wondered if the Count would do the same to this group, trying their luck as novice buccaneers.
“Are you going to take your share of the loot?” I asked him. “Is that your true purpose here?”
“I could not convince the others to abandon their plan, so let us leave them to it. The Count can summon the powers of hell to defend himself. I care only about you and the child. There will be violence here. It is no place for a woman, not even one with your astounding abilities.”
Jonathan tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.
You know who you are now, Mina. You cannot go back.
The Count’s voice sounded deafeningly in my head. He was correct: How could I possibly return to ordinary human life after what we had experienced together? Yet how could I tell Jonathan that his child was going to be raised by another—the supernatural being who had laid waste to the life that he and I had hoped to live?
Mina, what do you want?
I could feel the Count pulling at me, drawing me to him, sending out his powerful energy to recapture me. I felt surrounded by it, wrapped in the invisible blanket of his devotion and eternally connected to him as I would never again be to another. If he had been present in the room, I might have fallen directly into his arms and never left him again. In the instant that I had that thought, he felt my vulnerability, and he was standing between Jonathan and me. Jonathan jumped back, almost tripping over a table and stumbling before he regained his balance.
“How nice of you to visit, Harker.”
Jonathan planted both feet firmly on the ground. “I did not come here to see you,” he said.
“I am aware of your purpose, as I have always been aware of your every desire, no matter how subtle,” the Count replied. “I have been explaining to Mina that there are no accidents in the world, that no living being is seduced into an entanglement that he did not invite with his innermost desires. Would you agree with my estimation?”
Rather than shrink with fear or shame, as I thought he might, Jonathan considered what the Count said, as if he had been presented with an interesting new scientific theory. “I do agree, and that is why I have come. I have had ample opportunity to contemplate my deepest wishes, and they are to be a father to my child and a husband to my wife.”
“I have never stood in your way,” the Count said. “And I will not do so now. Mina is free to do as she chooses.”
The men turned to me for a decision, but I was roiling in the wild torrent of their colliding desires. I tried to shield myself from both of them so that I could hear my own thoughts and feel my own emotions, but their opposing energies were tearing me apart. I could not look at either of them, but in my mind’s eye, I envisioned my possible lives. As much as I belonged to the Count and did not want to leave, the little being that had invaded my body, temporarily taking possession of me, had to be considered.
Was this every mother’s dilemma—to be caught between her own desires and the welfare of her child? I had just rediscovered my true nature and was beginning to explore my gifts. Would I now have to forsake all that for a life of convention?
Make your choice, Mina. I will not interfere.
“Mina, what do you want?” Jonathan asked.
Suddenly, I knew. “I want my child to be safe. I want him to be healthy and happy and to have the loving family that I did not have when I was a child. That is what I want. That is what I must care about. Not your wills and desires or mine. Just the child.” Somewhere in my soul, I was still the woman who would take her own life in despair over not being able to save her son. That was as much an essential part of my nature as my gifts. Perhaps that was woman’s true gift—to be able to obliterate her own desires and choose for a child. Jonathan was right; I could not raise our mortal son in the Count’s world.
As soon as I resigned myself to that reality, relief overtook me, and I knew that the sacrifice I was making would not be in vain.
The Count did not even look surprised, but quickly met my decision with a decision of his own.
And so it is again.
He retracted his energy from me, drawing it back into himself. His withdrawal opened up a void in my being and I thought I would crumple from the loss of him. I had not realized how much we had become a part of each other until he took himself away from me. I felt as if my own heart were being ripped from my chest. Jonathan had no conscious idea of what was transpiring, but he must have perceived my sudden weakness because he put his arm around my waist as if to catch me.
I could not move. Jonathan took my hand and started to lead me toward the door. But at that moment, Morris Quince came barreling through the foyer, bringing in the scent of cigarette smoke and an even more distinct sense of urgency and danger.
“They are here,” he said to Jonathan. He visibly recoiled as his eyes took in the Count, who was suddenly emitting an air of menace.
“Let them come,” he said, as if the idea intrigued him.
We heard footsteps coming toward the front door, and we saw it slowly open. Godalming entered first, a pistol in his hand, followed by John Seward and Von Helsinger, whose face bore long scars from the swipe of the wolf dog’s treacherous nails.
“Morris?” Both Seward and Godalming looked astonished to see Quince, but only Seward spoke. “Morris, what the hell are you doing here?”
Von Helsinger’s attention was on Jonathan. “Harker, you have betrayed us to the monster!” he said. He turned to Seward. “I told you not to trust him. He was bitten. His loyalty is with the creatures!”
Seward looked at me. “We should have expected it. They are a family of betrayers.”
I cannot say that the appearance of the two doctors did not frighten me. The fear that they could capture me and once again inflict their cruelty in the name of science and medicine came rushing in. I had to remind myself that now I had power against them. “Whoever touches me will pay the price,” I said. The two men looked fearfully at the Count, unaware that it was I who would happily kill either one of them if provoked.
No one seemed to know what to do until Morris Quince looked at Godalming and at the pistol and without hesitation leapt on him, knocking him backward into the other men and onto the marble floor. Oblivious to anyone else or to the gun that Godalming still held, Quince started punching him in the face.
The two doctors were unprepared for the appearance of this new enemy, and they both shrank back. Seward yelled at Quince to stop. “You have no idea what you are interfering with, Morris. Get out of here!” He tried to grab Quince from behind, but the larger man did not budge. Godalming struck Morris in the temple with the gun, but Morris did not seem to feel it. He continued to straddle Godalming, delivering his blows until the gun, still in Arthur’s hand, was pointed at Seward. The doctor saw that the barrel was directed at his face and he cowered.
Von Helsinger was pressed against the door, his big black grasshopper eyes darting between the fight and the Count. Jonathan moved to enter the fray, I suppose, to help break it up. But the Count held him back. “This is not your affair, Harker.”
“It is my affair. I’m taking Mina out of here,” Jonathan said, reaching for my arm, but the Count stopped him, seemingly by just putting a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet,” the Count said. I saw Jonathan’s arm and shoulder flinch under the Count’s touch and knew that he must be using his intense energy to detain him.
One must know when to interfere in the course of human events.
Though he had removed his essence from me, I still heard his bitter words inside my mind, and I knew that they were directed at me with the intent to let me know that I had wounded him yet again.
But I was afraid to take my attention off the fight. Quince was seething and out of control. “This is for Lucy,” he said, delivering one blow after the next. Clearly the stronger man, his fury magnified his power. Seward kept circling the two men on the ground, trying to find an opportunity to grab Quince, but his arms were swinging too wildly for anyone to get close.
My eyes followed the barrel of the gun as Quince’s blows sent it pointing all over the room. Arthur’s finger was on the trigger, and I was afraid he would fire it and hit someone. The barrel swung with the force of the punches, making targets of each one of us. I was amazed at how Arthur was able to retain his grip on it.
Morris Quince pulled back his huge fist preparing for the coup de grâce. He swung, punching Arthur hard across the face, connecting with a sickening whack. The gun flew out of Arthur’s hand, sliding across the marble, and landing at Von Helsinger’s feet. The doctor quickly picked it up.
Morris did not look up, but continued to pummel Arthur.
“Morris, you’re going to kill him,” Seward said, standing back but using his doctor voice. “Do not do this. You will regret it.”
I turned to the Count. “Please stop him,” I said. I hated Arthur for what he had done, but I did not want to watch a man die. Please. I begged him with my mind, with my eyes, with all my feeling, because I knew that he was the only one who had the power to stop the brawl. He looked at me impassably, doing nothing.
It is not my affair, nor is it yours. Many faces are at work here. Do not interfere.
The Count turned away and looked at Von Helsinger, who held the gun in his quivering hands. I thought he would use it to whack Quince on the head and save Godalming, but instead, he sidestepped the two fighting men and pointed the gun at the Count. The doctor’s hands were shaking as he slowly pulled back the hammer, unsure what he was doing. It looked as if the effort of drawing it backward was more than he had anticipated, and he had to use both thumbs. The barrel of the gun wavered in the air, pointed at everyone and no one.
“Get out of the way, Harker,” he yelled. “Give me a clear shot at the demon!”
Look at me, Mina. Look at me.
I did not want to take my eyes off Von Helsinger, but I felt the Count demanding that I meet his eyes.
I looked at him, and he gave me an almost indiscernible smile. In that instant, I heard the gun explode. Jonathan put his arms around my waist and pulled me aside. I did not see who or what the bullet hit, but, as the deafening noise echoed off the marble floors, sounding through the foyer, Quince stopped hitting Arthur and jumped to his feet.
Von Helsinger was shaking, his big eyes bulging. A puff of smoke hung over the barrel. The Count’s great sapphire eyes were gleaming, brighter than I had ever seen them.
“It is not over, Mina,” he said to me. “It is never going to be over.”
Eternity is ours.
The bullet had punctured his chest, but it had not exploded with blood. Rather, a white vapor began to pour out of the wound. The expression on his face did not change, and he held me with his eyes. Slowly, his body began to fade, like a painting that has muted over time, only this was happening before our very eyes. The color drained out of him until he turned pearlescent and increasingly more transparent, the way he had looked in the Gummlers’ photograph. Particle by particle, his shimmering essence transformed into the fine white mist that I had seen creep through the asylum window. Then, without a trace, he evaporated into the air, joining with some invisible web of things.
Everyone was quiet, watching the miracle in astonishment. For what seemed like a long time, no one moved or spoke, too awestruck by what we had just witnessed. Despite the agenda the men had come with, both Seward and Von Helsinger were moved to wonder. Von Helsinger muttered something in German, and Seward replied, “Amen.”
We stood as tense as statues, staring at the space that the Count’s body had once occupied. Everyone was afraid to move. Morris was the first to let out a deep breath, which reminded the rest of us to breathe. Von Helsinger dropped his gun hand to his side, his arm still shaking. I could hear everyone begin to take breaths. Just as everyone began to exhale, Arthur grabbed the pistol out of the quivering hand of Dr. Von Helsinger and pointed it at Morris. Without hesitation, he shot him in the heart.
Morris dropped to his knees, a look of shock on his face. Godalming kept his gun pointed at his victim’s chest as the other man fell. Morris held out his arms in surrender, and I thought that Arthur was going to fire again, but he did not. He just continued to point the gun at Morris, and by the time the rest of that man’s body crumpled to the ground, his eyes were closed and his once powerful form, lifeless.
John Seward raced to Morris, ripping open his vest and shirt to get to the wound, oblivious to the blood that gushed out of his chest. He tore the shirt apart, exposing the wound, a garish hole marring the perfection of Morris’s youthful body.
“Dear God,” Seward said, and I felt his helplessness.
“If you can remove the bullet, I will close the wound,” I said.
The men looked at me, wondering what I meant, but Jonathan said, “She is capable of it. I have seen it.”
Seward put his hand to Morris’s neck, but then his back slumped in defeat. “Can she raise the dead too?” he asked.
I knew that it was too late. Morris’s life was over the moment the bullet penetrated the heart. Arthur had shot to kill.
“You will never get away with this,” I said to Arthur, ignoring the gun in his hand. I knew he would not turn it on me.
His face was swollen beyond recognition. His eyes looked like little red pinpricks inside the puffy sockets. He had lost his front teeth to Morris’s punches. Bruises were beginning to form below his eyes. In a few hours, his countenance would be as hideous as his character. I suspected that his cheekbone was broken, and his grimace twisted to one side.
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