The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

“They are also quite bare, not at all like mine, as you see.”

  From Harker’s journal I already knew about the sharp nails and the thin hair on his palms, so there was little need to gape in wonder.

  “And when you speak, your teeth appear to be perfectly normal. The same may not be said for my own.” He let them show in an almost wry smile. Not a pleasant sight.

  “Have you a purpose to this?”

  “To confirm to myself and prove to you that we are similar, but not too very alike.”

  “We are most certainly not alike!” I couldn’t control my rising voice.

  “I am so glad that we are in agreement,” he said with a calm sarcasm that took all the wind out of me. “Such differences should reassure, rather than alarm you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know the truth of that well enough for yourself.”

  Indeed, but the agonizing terror inside made me consciously obtuse. To finally face the truth, to actually speak about what I’d hidden for so long. . . .

  “As I told you,” he said with a glimmer of sympathy I would have never otherwise ascribed to that hard, cruel face, “what we are is not as bad as you have been led to believe.”

  A short laugh burst from me, a laugh that might have turned to a sob had I not forcibly swallowed it back.

  “You are Nosferatu, Mr. Morris, nothing more. I am Nosferatu, but much more, hence the visible differences.” He opened his palms again, as though that explained everything. “I know how I became as I am, but I want to know your story. Who took your blood and gave it back? Who initiated the change in you? And when?”

  I was speechless for many long moments as he waited expectantly for an answer. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Those of your kind are rare. I would know more about you. You are the first I have ever met both before and after dying. Our encounters in London and in Seward’s house were brief, but I sensed changes in you no one else could discern—not even yourself. For that I decided to spare you and consequently your friends. For that I planned a way to rid myself of their nuisance without killing them.”

  “You spared us?”

  “Look not so surprised, Mr. Morris. At any time of my choosing I could have destroyed the lot of you. Knowing what you do about me, could you doubt my ability?”

  Van Helsing had been thorough in his lectures to us about the near-boundless powers of the Un-Dead, and of Dracula’s genius in particular. I’d held serious reservations about just how even the six of us together—three being experienced hunters—could defeat such a formidable creature. Van Helsing had assured us again and again that God was on our side, which is always a help. My faith on that never shook for a moment, for it struck me we’d need an Old Testament kind of miracle to succeed.

  “Why forbear then?” I asked.

  “Your deaths were unnecessary. I could likely disassociate myself from the demise of five respectable people in the heart of England and be safe enough, but Harker is quite the diarist. So are the others, I discovered. Despite my efforts on the one occasion in that asylum study I knew I could never be certain of destroying all evidence linking them to me. And then there was Van Helsing. His knowledge of the Nosferatu is thorough, if short on wisdom, and he is highly respected within his academic circles. His sudden and mysterious passing along with the others would not go unnoticed. I also considered your reaction. If I killed all your friends you’d not be of a mind to freely speak with me, quite the contrary. It was far better to have my hunters believe in my own destruction than for me to deal with the inconvenient consequences of theirs.”

  “But I saw you die. We all did.”

  “You saw me vanish into dust,” he corrected, “that was eventually whirled away by the wind into the darkness. A very excellent escape for me, was it not? It was a risk—things might not have gone so well had you used wood instead of metal weapons, but I am content with the results. Now you see why I had to stop you from waking your friends: to do so would have eventually meant their deaths and yours as well. You’d not let my actions pass, and I would defend myself from you. Larger parties have disappeared before in these mountains. Accidents are easily managed, and here I would not shirk the risk—but I chose to avoid such an extreme action lest you . . . take offense.”

  “You set all this to going just for a talk with me?”

  “Had I a choice and an opportunity, I’d have found some way to speak with you in England and then quietly departed. No such opportunity presented itself, so I left, thinking to return some years hence. What I did not expect was for any of you to follow me to the very threshold of my own castle. You and your friends were possessed with such a grim determination to kill me that it needed to be dealt with first before I could indulge my curiosity. You may believe or not, as you will.”

  And I did believe him. He was the unopposed master of the night with the strength of ten, able to change shape or turn into mist at will, able to beguile anyone to do his bidding. Whatever gave us the idea we could fight anything like that? Van Helsing had been so confident, though, and had a way of instilling confidence in others. But seeing things from this direction put a whole new understanding in me. We’d been like children shaking our fists at a cyclone.

  “You did all that, spared them, and yet caused my death?”

  Now he had a turn at looking surprised, and a remarkable expression it was to be sure. “On the honor of all my sires, I swear that your being killed was not part of my plan of escape. I told the Szgany to resist but a little and then depart—to make it look well. Is that the phrase?”

  I hung my head, staring at my snow-crusted boots. “Close enough.”

  “As with the others, your death was unnecessary, and not what I desired at all. Should you die, how would I then be able to speak with you?”

  “Because I’d be a vampire.” There. I managed to get the word out without choking on it.

  He was silent long enough to make me look up. He shook his head. “Your ignorance again. You don’t know?”

  “Know what?” I couldn’t keep the irritation from my voice.

  “Though you carried the blood of change within you not all who have such rise from death.”

  “Draw that out a little more slowly,” I said, giving him a narrow stare.

  He understood my meaning if not the slang itself. “Those of your kind do not always transform after dying. They remain dead. To make the change is a rare thing. That is why I did not want you killed. What happened with the Szgany was . . . an unhappy accident.”

  “Is that what you call it? My life cut off? Me turned into a devil on earth . . .”

  He assumed a look a vast patience and crossed his arms, apparently prepared to wait through a long tirade from me. I shut things down fast, scowling at him.

  “You are not a devil, Mr. Morris,” he murmured. “You will eventually come to learn that—if not from me, then from your own experiences and actions.”

  Which I did not care to consider just then. I was still mad as hell for what had happened to me, but there wasn’t much I could do with my anger except push it aside for the moment. If I’d judged things right, then we still had a mighty big piece of talking to get through. I needed his knowledge.

  “Now, as for your change . . .” Dracula prompted when he saw I’d mastered myself.

  I gave a mental shrug, deciding no harm could come from telling him. “It was a few years back, in South America,” I said. “Arthur Holmwood—Lord Godalming now—and I were at an embassy ball. I met her there. I’ve traveled a fair part of this world and seen a thing or two, but hands down she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever clapped eyes on. She and I—”

  “Her name?”

  “Nora Jones. By her accent she was English, I think, though she had dark hair and eyes and that wonderful olive skin. . . .”

  Which I’d been on fire to touch the moment I saw her. I hadn’t been the only man trying to claim her attention at that gathering, but I was the one she pi
cked as an escort for a walk in the embassy garden. I reveled in my good fortune and hoped to give her a favorable impression of myself in the short time we had, but it was she who took the lead in things. She’d made up her mind about me fast enough, though I wouldn’t call her fast, just almighty charming and irresistible. That night, holding to a promise and plan made in the garden, she found her way to my room, and we fulfilled one another’s expectations—exceeded them, I should say.

  I’d been exhausted the next morning, of course, not from blood loss so much as the excess champagne and sheer physical activity. Her passionate biting into my throat had startled me only a little. It was different, but didn’t trouble me much. Young as I was, I’d known more than one woman in my travels and came to know that each had her own path to pleasure, and it was my privilege to assist her there. It was always to my own advantage to be ready to learn something new, and Nora was a enchanting teacher. My body’s explosive reaction to her lesson was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  I rested throughout the day, and the next night we resumed exploring mutual pleasures with one another. It was then, caught up in the lust of the moment, that she feverishly opened a vein in her own throat and invited me to drink in turn. Brain clouded and body trembling for release, I gladly did so, taking us to a climax that left us both unconscious. I woke a little before dawn in time to see her throw on a dressing gown and leave, then dropped back into my sweet oblivion.

  The word vampire was not unfamiliar, but its context for me then had to do with a species of blood-drinking bat that plagued the livestock of the land. In our drowsy love talk during later encounters, the subject came up, but Nora told me not to worry about it, and, lost in the warmth of her dark eyes, I forgot any and all misgivings . . . until that day years later in the Westenra dining room when I volunteered my blood to save poor dear Lucy.

  I had no mind for Nora then—she was long behind me, an exquisite and happy memory—and put myself forward without another thought. It was afterward, when I began to hear more from Jack and Van Helsing about Lucy’s alarming condition that the doubts crept in. The fact that her illness was so unique with her constant blood loss happening each night that gave me my first qualm. I feared Lucy had fallen victim to someone like Nora, but a ravisher rather than a lover. From that point everything Van Helsing told us confirmed my growing fears. It was only after Lucy’s death and the hideous proof of her return that I realized what horror was in store for me when I died.

  Dracula took that moment to interject. “If by that you mean being staked through the heart by your well-meaning friends, then you have every right to be horrified.”

  “If it will free me to go to God, then so be it.”

  “I doubt that He would welcome such an enthusiastic suicide,” he said dryly. “Do not look so amazed. You are still one of His children—yet another difference you may rejoice in.”

  “How is that possible? I am. . .Nosferatu, one of the Un-Dead.”

  “Exactly. Un-Dead and nothing more. Do you not see?” I didn’t, and he raised his hands in exasperation. “Your so-sweet Nora Jones has much to answer for. She should have told you all this and saved me the trouble and you your anguish. You do understand that she was, and probably still is, Nosferatu?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you must know by now that she was not as I am. Her offspring, which includes you, will be like her. I have already had much proof that my offspring, no matter how lovingly taken, will never be so tame. Mine to hers are as the wolf to the hunting hound. Now do you see?”

  “We’re two different kinds of vampire,” I whispered. “How is that possible?”

  He gave an expressive shrug. “I know not, only that it is—for here you are and here I am, both hunters in the wide world. We have similar freedoms and strengths, but there are differences. Perhaps those will come to assure you that this life—or this Un-Death, if you will—is not so terrible as you’ve been told.”

  “Such as?”

  “You will learn without doubt that your soul is still your own . . . and His,” he added, with a quirk of his heavy brows toward the sky. “You will find the truth of it when next you walk into a church, which is something you are still very much able to do.”

  Well, time alone would tell on that one, if Dracula allowed me the freedom to test it.

  “With some small changes you are free to live as before, but as you choose, for good or ill, as all things will be judged in the end. For me, it is not so simple.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can do that which you cannot. The wolf, the bat, the curling mist are natural forms to me, but not for you. I prefer the shadows, but may walk in the sun if necessary; you would die from it and must sleep in darkness while it rules the sky. You can influence people and to some extent certain animals to your will, which makes the hunting easier, but can no more command the weather now than you could as a human, but that is of no matter. I’ve read in your heart and by your manner that you are a man who would refuse to pay the price for such powers. Long ago I paid and still do. My body bears the signs of that payment, marking me as different from other men. And as for my soul . . . I think you would be more comfortable to remain ignorant of such fearful things.”

  From the look that crossed his face I silently agreed with him. “And what of Lucy? Am I supposed to approve of what you did to her?”

  “The matter of your approval is of no import to me. I did nothing with her that was not a part of my nature, a part of any man’s nature. She was beautiful and willing—no, do not gainsay me for you were not there and never knew her true heart. I loved her in the only way left to me.”

  “Until she died.”

  “We all die, but I will allow that her time had not yet come.”

  “You kept taking her blood. I watched her weaken horribly with each passing day. You were killing her!”

  “Her body was merely adjusting to what we shared. Another few nights and she would have gradually regained her strength with no harm done.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  He made a curt waving gesture, indication that my believing him on this was also of no import. “If you wish to fix a blame for her death, then you need look no farther than her attending physicians. Had they left her alone she would still be walking in the sun. ’Twas their ignorance that finished her, not my love. Doctors, bah!” His ruddy lips curled with contempt.

  “And what about my own tainted blood going into her—?”

  “I do not know. The seeds of becoming Un-Dead were within you, but you were not Un-Dead then. It may have helped or made no difference to her health or worsened things. That is beyond my knowledge. I have heard of such transfusion operations, though, and they fail more often than succeed. Some patients are not able to tolerate anything put into their veins and die from it. No one knows why as yet. In my own heart I believe that is what really happened to her.”

  And were that to be true, then by trying to help her Jack Seward and Van Helsing had . . .

  “The poor, sweet child never had a chance,” Dracula said heavily.

  A painful thing it was to hear him refer to her in that manner, for I had loved her myself as truly as a man could. I could not imagine a dark creature such as he being able to love anyone. It angered and sickened me to think of her giving herself to the likes of him, of his even touching her. He must have hypnotized or forced her, though it may have been as it had with me and Nora, with her surrendering from honest innocence, unaware of the consequences. Were that the case, then I certainly had not known Lucy’s true heart. With difficulty, I pushed all my emotions to one side for later reflection. Right now I needed still more information.

  “So my blood might not have changed her?”

  “It is barely possible, of course. I rather think it more likely that to create your own offspring you must first take blood from your lover, then return it, just as Nora did with you.”

  “As you’ve done to Mrs. Harker.�
�

  His face went hard.

  “What is to happen to her?” I demanded.

  “Nothing. The miracle she prayed for” —he touched the mark on his forehead, for it nearly mirrored the one she’d carried— “came to pass. Seward and Van Helsing will not bother her now. That alone should suffice to guarantee her a long and fruitful life.”

  “But what you did to her—”

  “As with Lucy, that which has passed between Mrs. Harker and myself is none of your business, Mr. Morris,” he rumbled, his brows lowering.

  “But that poor woman—”

  “Is quite capable of making her own decisions. If you live long enough, you may come to see that women are far more formidable than you think. Like the rest of you gentlemen, I found myself quite enchanted by Madam Harker’s grace, charm, heart, and mind. Unlike you, I decided to act upon my desires. I’ve lived long enough to have certain . . . perspectives on a few things, and so took the chance, knowing I’d regret passing it by. However, I came to see that which was once acceptable—or at least ignorable—behavior in my youth, was not so for an English lady in these times. All was sealed when the lot of you burst in on us, and I knew then it must end.”

  For a seducing adulterer he sounded quite smooth.

  “I have since tendered my admittedly inadequate apologies to her, mind-to-mind, and severed all links between us. I would have also apologized to her husband, but given the circumstances it struck me as being inappropriate. Besides, he thinks he has killed me. That should be sufficient recompense for his wounded honor.”

  “What about the blood exchange you made with her?”

  “That cannot be reversed.”

  “Then when she dies, she’ll become like you.”

  “And to you that is yet a bad thing. Worry not. When her time comes she will have a . . . decision before her.”

  “Decision?”

  “It—it is not an easy thing to make into words. My own memory of it is clear, but to describe in a way that you may understand is difficult. Let it suffice that she will have the choice to live as I live or to go to God. At death, each similarly touched soul has a moment of decision. I have told her as much, so did I tell Lucy, whose choice was to tarry on the earth.”