Bloodline (13 page)

L
ATER

My mind will allow me to sleep no more and so I have gazed about my rooms. They have a severe, nightmarish aspect to them that chills me to the core.

The ancient stone walls of my chamber arch into vaults far above my head. Shadows collect there, thick like cobwebs. There is a huge stone fireplace, which gapes at me like a giant mouth. Though a fire rages in the grate, I feel no warmth.

My mind tortures me with terrible imaginings of ghouls and ghosts and all the demons that filled the stories of my childhood. I imagine footsteps at my door but upon investigation see only shadows in the unlit hallway.

It must be the shock of losing dear Antanasia that makes me see things through this sinister lens.

Oh, where is my darling Quincey? Why has he left me alone in this strange place? I pray the dawn comes soon!

Journal of
Mary Seward

25TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

We have arrived in the village at the foot of the mountain. At its crown is our imposing destination.

I notice with a sense of foreboding there are far fewer sheep and cows in the lush meadows around the village than we have seen earlier in our journey—yet many more shepherds—who guard them with ferocious-looking crooks topped with crucifixes. Clearly it is not wolves or bears that prey upon God’s creatures here, and the thought makes me want to turn and flee this place.

John noticed my trepidation at the sight of these shepherds and took my hand in his. “Steady,” he coached me. “I am with you.” I gazed up at him, and the set of his strong jaw gave me courage.

We have found rooms at an inn and will spend the night gathering all our wits for the battle to come.

The innkeeper’s eyes widened when John signed the
register. Grasping John’s hand, he gabbled something urgently and disappeared into a back room.

“He has a letter for me,” John told me excitedly. “He says a young lady left it with him a few days ago to give to the next mail coach. It must be from Lily!”

The man returned and pressed the letter into John’s hand, talking once more in a most agitated manner.

“He says his heart bled to think of that poor innocent girl travelling to the castle with that fiend!” John translated for me. The innkeeper’s words had brought aglow of perspiration to John’s brow. He ripped open the letter.

Letter from Miss Lily Shaw to
Lieutenant John Shaw

22ND
N
OVEMBER 1916

Dear John,

I am writing to let you know I am safe and well and that we will arrive at Quincey’s home tomorrow. Our journey has been so smooth it is hard to believe a war rages. Quincey has ensured we have travelled in peace and safety.

Countess Tepes, Quincey’s mother, is eagerly awaiting our arrival and is very pleased about our betrothal. Oh,
John, not having had a mother of my own for so long makes me hope that she will treat me, and indeed love me, as a daughter.

The wedding ceremony is planned for St. Andrew’s Eve—the 29th of November. Quincey and I both so wish that things could have been different and that you could be there with us.

I hope you have not been fretting too much about me. As you see, I could not be in safer hands, my dearest brother.

I pray you are wishing us joy.

All my love,
Lily             

Journal of
Mary Seward

25TH
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

John read the letter first, then passed it to me.

I scanned the words. “St. Andrew’s Eve!” I exclaimed. The fateful wedding date struck further terror into my heart. We had read of this date in a sheaf of Van Helsing’s notes. St. Andrew’s Eve was the time when vampires, and indeed all dark forces, were at their strongest—and it was just five days away!

“We must take Lily from the castle and make our escape before then,” John stated. I knew he was right. If we could not liberate Lily before then, we would not stand a chance.

John began talking in a quick and serious tone with the innkeeper, who answered him earnestly. “The villagers here will assist us however they can,” John translated.

Then the innkeeper shook his head and murmured something to me.

“But he is begging that you do not go,” John added gravely. “He says that he cannot bear to see another innocent lost to the darkness.” John paused, then placed his hands on my shoulders. “Mary, this man may be right. The evil we face is great, and I could not bear to see harm come to you. Perhaps you should reconsider.”

My heart warmed at John’s protective instinct, but I had already made up my mind. “Darling, I cannot allow you to face this threat on your own,” I told him. “I must go with you.” I turned to the innkeeper. “Unless this concerned gentleman would like to volunteer to go in my place?”

I stared the innkeeper straight in the eye. Though John did not translate my challenge, I think the man must have understood, for he lowered his eyes in shame. He signalled for us to wait there before hurrying away. To our great surprise and relief, he returned with a canvas bag filled with dried garlic. He pressed it into my arms while gabbling an explanation to John.

“Like Van Helsing, the villagers know of the protective nature of garlic,” John confirmed. “They grow it and store it here to protect their families.”

I gestured my thanks to the man. “Ask him where we may find holy wafers,” I urged John.

He did so.

“We can obtain some from the village priest before we leave tomorrow morning,” John told me.

And so we are almost prepared for battle: we have Van Helsing’s tools, our garlic—and holy wafers tomorrow, God willing.

Now all we need is to secure transport for our journey to the castle.

L
ATER

No one will take us to Castle Dracula—not for any amount of money. But thankfully, John has been able to purchase two horses on which we shall ride ourselves. He will go and collect them while I visit the priest tomorrow morning.

I will be glad to see him. I will ask for a special blessing, for John and I will both need it.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

24TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

Having lain awake for most of last night, tortured by my grief and my fearful imaginings, I was calmed a little by the arrival of daylight, which brightened the room considerably.

Pushing my blanket away, I rose from the bed and went over to look out of the large casement windows. I squinted. I had been so long without the sunlight that the brightness of it caused me some discomfort.

The window on the northern wall looked down onto the castle’s cobbled courtyard, which seemed deserted. I moved over to explore the view from the western window—and drew back in shock. There was nothing below the window but a sheer drop onto the great rocky precipice that lay below me.

I went and sat back on the bed, feeling quite lightheaded.

Realising I was exhausted, I decided to try and sleep. I pulled a nightgown from one of the two bags that had travelled with me, changed into it, and got back into bed, glad of the heavy covers, for surprisingly, the sunlight brought precious little warmth to the room.

I awoke as the sun was dipping back behind the mountains. Night and its shadows were returning. I rose, shivering, to light the lamps.

The fire was dying in the hearth. I took a log from the pile beside it and leaned into the yawning fireplace to place it on the flames. As the dry wood caught and flared, I saw scuttling shadows around the fireplace. Great spiders crawled from the crackling flame, their long arched legs hurrying away from the heat.

I backed away, a shuddering panic gripped my body, and I hugged myself to stop from shaking, repulsed by the sight.

Footsteps sounded outside my door again, louder and more purposeful now. My heart, already hammering, tightened further and a flash of terror gripped me as the door creaked open.

With what wild eyes must I have greeted Quincey—for it was he who entered. I rushed to him, wrapping myself round him, desperate to feel his strength and reassurance, tears of relief coursing down my cheeks. “You have been gone so long,” I choked. “I didn’t know where you’d gone—when you’d come back to me.”

“I have not been gone so long,” he told me, stroking my hair. “I have had business to attend to all day, and you needed to rest, I think.”

“I heard someone outside my door,” I sobbed.

“You are in my care,” murmured Quincey. “And while you remain so, nothing here will dare harm you. I shall give you the key to your door if it will make you feel more secure.”

Trepidation chilled my veins at his words. Why did he not hasten to persuade me there was nothing in this gloomy place to fear?

“What is it, Lily?” Quincey asked, sensing my distress.

“It is just—Quincey, I know this is your home, but it is so dark here,” I told him. “There are shadows everywhere. It seems as if they will swallow me up.”

Quincey smiled. “You have been out of Romania too long, dear one. Everything here seems wild and dramatic compared to the civilization and formality of England.”

“I suppose you are right—and I am sorry for my skittishness. I want to love your home—and everything else that you hold dear,” I told him. “I want to see what you see.”

Quincey stiffened slightly and retreated a pace. “Do not worry. You will come to appreciate this place as I do … soon enough.”

He gave me the strangest look then, and I felt conscious
of the dishevelled mess I must be. “Oh, Quincey. Here I talk about my silly fears when I myself must look a fright.” I ran my hands through my hair, trying to smooth it.

Quincey’s face brightened. “You look like a princess. Which reminds me—my mother is eager to meet you. She is on her way here.”

“B-but I am not even dressed!” I stuttered, flustered at this sudden news. I had expected a little notice to prepare for this important event.

Quincey shook his head. “It’s no matter. Mother knows of your loss. She will be glad that you have rested through the day.”

“Still, I wished to impress her …” I responded.

Quincey smiled down at me. “Fine clothes are only a distraction in one as beautiful and pure as you. Mother will love you as you are, just as I do.”

I could not help but smile, touched by his sweet words. I hugged him to me and pressed my lips to his.

A soft knock on the door broke our embrace.

Quincey crossed the room. He opened the door and led in a striking-looking woman. “Mother—this is my fiancée, Lily Shaw,” he announced.

I was immediately taken by the youthful appearance of Quincey’s mother—and her incredible beauty!

The countess’s hair showed no sign of grey, but hung in rich glossy curls around her slender neck. Her eyes shone a
surprising shade of blue and her full, beautifully shaped lips seemed to invite all to taste them.

She had a charisma that was nearly palpable. Yet so regal was her air, I felt the urge to curtsy before her.

“Countess,” I whispered shyly. “It is a great honour to meet you.”

The countess gave me a gracious nod. Her sapphire eyes glittered as she looked me over. I felt nervous at her close scrutiny but remained still, glancing under my lashes at Quincey to see if he was pleased with the impression I was making.

At length, his mother turned to him and, in smooth velvety tones, said just one word: “Magnificent.”

I smiled, greatly relieved to have won her approval. “You are most kind, Countess Tepes,” I said.

“I am nothing of the sort,” she responded sportingly. She held out an elegant hand. “You must call me Mina.”

I met her hand with one of my own, trying not to let it tremble.

She trailed the tips of her fingers slowly over my palm. Their coldness made me shiver. Finally she loosened her grasp and turned to Quincey. “Such warmth,” she observed.

He nodded, responding with a tight smile.

“Have you eaten since you arrived, my dear?” Mina asked me.

I shook my head. “I noticed the food. You have been most kind in sending it, but I have not been hungry,” I answered truthfully.

Mina clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Of course. Quincey told me what a frightful journey you had coming here. But you must eat now. We can’t have you growing weak from lack of nourishment.”

Touched at her concern, I nodded.

She strode elegantly over to the doorway, then turned back to look at me again. “I am sorry that the count does not feel able to greet you as well. He has made himself something of a recluse these past years…. “She glanced at Quincey. “He shall, of course, make an exception for his son’s wedding, and you shall meet him then.”

“Of course. I look forward to it,” I told her.

Mina smiled broadly. Her teeth were as straight and glinting as her son’s. “In the meantime, I will have supper brought to you both here. Dear Lily, I hope you will enjoy our company. Do make yourself at home.” She left us then, the door creaking shut behind her.

“Do you suppose she really liked me?” I asked Quincey when dinner was through. I gulped from the silver goblet of port he had handed me.

I had drunk three glasses thus far, glad for its power to deaden my heartache over Antanasia—and my sense of foreboding in this strange, disconcerting place.

“How could she not like you?” Quincey answered. “You possess all the beauty, innocence, and purity of heart she
would desire in my bride.” A frown played upon his lips. He took a sip from his own glass.

“Quincey, my love, what is it that
you
desire?” I asked. I grinned at him, feeling fluid and relaxed. My eyes drooped a bit as I set my glass down on the table.

Quincey chuckled. “I think, my dear, that you are tired. I will leave you to rest.” He began to stand.

“No, no.” I stopped him before he could rise. I reached across the table and stroked his cheek. Then I slid over to his chair and placed myself in his lap.

He smiled again, shaking his head. “Dear, sweet Lily.” He kissed me a tender good night on the forehead.

The touch of his lips was enough to leave me breathless. I gasped at the feel of them.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gently moved his mouth along my brow, then down across my cheek, to meet my own lips.

For the first time since that rain-swept night, I felt our passion flicker, but he snuffed the flame before it could kindle and grow.

“Please. Stay,” I whispered to him. “I am lonely here.”

“I cannot,” he told me, summoning his resolve. “It is not time yet to fulfil our destiny.”

He moved me toward my bed, then took his leave.

I write sleepily now at the candle-wax-and-ink-spattered desk by my window. I will leave a lamp lit tonight for, though
I would not offend Quincey or his mother by saying so, my room has a dismal air.

Though Quincey would not stay, I take solace in his words. He is my destiny, and in just five days’ time our destiny will be realised!