Bloodline (14 page)

Journal of
Mary Seward

26TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I have just come from the church.

I went early—the sun had barely risen above the mountain. It was a small, inconspicuous building, its stone walls weathered and darkened by age. Its parapets were ornamented by grotesque gargoyles; the sight of those hideous faces made me hurry through the weathered door into the sanctuary of the chapel.

Beneath the plain ceiling, rows of pews crowded the nave, their wood worn smooth—as if well used over the centuries. The air was perfumed with incense and dust motes moved silently through the stillness.

A priest knelt at the altar, bowed in prayer. There was an air of weariness in the stoop of his back. Hearing the creak of the door, he stood and came to greet me. His tired, wrinkled
face reminded me of Father, and my heart twisted as I thought of him, all alone back in England.

I did not know how I would explain what I sought, for I knew no Romanian. But it seems the priest was expecting me. Word of our arrival had spread through the village during the night. He took my hand and drew me toward the altar.

He gestured me to kneel. I felt such peace there, the morning light filtering through stained glass windows and checkering the stone pillars around me. The priest turned and took a pewter chalice from the altar. Intoning words I recognised as Latin, he pressed it to my lips. I smelled the spicy tang of wine and took a sip. The priest then offered a holy wafer to my lips. I put out my tongue and accepted it, feeling it dissolve in my mouth and mingle with the wine. I felt courage rise in my heart.

The priest pressed his hand upon my head. I closed my eyes and tried to hold the comforting sensation, knowing I would have need of it in the days to come.

The priest then led me into the vestry, where he put more holy wafers into a silken cloth, then folded it and pressed it into my palm. He also gave me three small glass bottles, making the sign of the cross as he did so. I guessed they must contain holy water—another tool Van Helsing used to fight the parasitic vampire.

I took it all from him gratefully, wishing I had the language to express my thanks. I did the only thing I could
think of and kissed the priest on his weathered cheek. He smiled and patted my hand.

As I write, John sharpens the stakes we uncovered in Van Helsing’s bag. I shudder to think of their ultimate purpose, but I must be strong. We have but four days to make our journey and return Lily to the safety of home. May God help us.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

25TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

Quincey did not come to me till long after sundown. “I have brought your key,” he said, placing it on the table beside the door. I rushed into his embrace, not caring about the key while he was with me.

He pressed me to him. “I’m afraid you must be very bored.”

I could not say that boredom was what afflicted me, for most of the time that Quincey was away, loneliness and trepidation had occupied my heart. Try as I might, I could not find comfort here at the castle.

“Why did you not come to me sooner?” I asked, unable to keep the reproach from my voice.

“My poor Lily.” Quincey lifted my chin gently. “I hate neglecting you like this. But I have been away from home for so long, business has quite piled up. At least we shall have this evening together….”

I looked up at him hopefully.

“Mother has planned a supper for us,” he announced. “We are to go down to the Great Hall directly. She is already waiting.”

A mixture of emotions troubled me. Any bride would welcome a formal supper with her future mother-in-law. Yet there was something about Mina that put me ill at ease. I felt acutely uncomfortable around her. Yet I could not explain why.

“Shall we join her?” Quincey asked, offering me his arm.

I summoned a winning smile—for his sake. “That will be lovely,” I told him. I looked down at my dress with a hesitant glance. “Should I change?” The pale blue dress I wore had been packed for travelling. Until my trunk arrived, I had nothing formal to wear.

Quincey smiled and gently stroked my neck. “You need no adornment, my sweet,” he said.

He took me down a spiral staircase that led onto the opulent entrance hall. It was ablaze with oil lamps burning with open flames. A pair of stone staircases curved up to meet in a galleried landing on the floor above.

As we crossed the white marble entry, I stared at the magnificent black-and-red dragon mosaic in its centre. It was beautiful, and for a moment my heart wrenched looking
at it; it was not unlike a pattern in the charm that Antanasia always wore around her neck.

We climbed the stairs to the landing. The castle seemed more alive at this end. Innumerable voices and the sound of laughter echoed beyond the closed doors we passed.

“Have you friends staying with you?” I asked him curiously.

He nodded. “The family always welcomes its friends. We reward allegiance with hospitality.”

“Shall any of them be joining us for dinner?” I inquired.

Quincey paused before he answered, as though deliberating his words. “You will meet them at the wedding,” he told me. “Tonight is to be a family occasion.”

We passed through the first open door I had seen, which led to a sumptuously furnished drawing room. Just beyond that was the Great Hall.

Quincey led me into the huge, high-ceilinged chamber. The tapestries hanging from its walls were spectacular, though dulled by the dust and cobwebs that seemed to have taken hold throughout the castle. I peered up into the vast darkness above my head and wondered how high the ceiling stretched beyond the shadows.

Mina was already sitting at one end of the immense dining table. She looked dazzling in a violet satin gown that accentuated the creamy slope of her shoulders. “Welcome, my dears, do sit down,” she said.

The table was laden with so many dishes; I wondered
that so much had been set out for so small a party. A roasted suckling pig lay at the table’s centre, its crisp skin glistening in the light from the candelabras that adorned the table.

The movement of a pale, thin figure caught my eye, but before I could regard it carefully, it disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the hall.

I supposed the stooped person to be a servant—the first I have actually seen at the castle.

Quincey silently took his place at the head of the table, his eyes drawn to the window, where the lamplight gleamed on the diamond-leaded panes.

“Do you always dine so late?” I asked tentatively, settling myself on one of the velvet chairs.

Mina inclined her elegant head. “It has been a custom of my husband’s family for generations. I hope it is not an inconvenience.”

I twisted my hands in my lap. I hadn’t meant to be rude. “No, no. Of course not,” I assured her.

“Then please eat, my dear,” Mina murmured.

During the course of the meal, my future mother-in-law ate next to nothing, preferring instead her crystal glass of deep red wine. But she took great pleasure in watching me partake of the feast and urged me to indulge in whatever I desired.

Her manner was cordial, and yet, I could not shake my uneasiness about her. If I didn’t know better, I would say
that Mina regarded me in a detached and bemused manner—as a cat observes a canary in a cage.

“Which part of England do you come from?” I asked in an effort to make conversation.

“We lived in Essex, my first husband and I,” Mina told me. “But I hardly think of those days anymore. I never really began to live until I came here.”

“Have you not been back since?” I asked, surprised at how easily she had given up one life for another.

“Why would I go back?” she asked, astonished.

“Well, I cannot imagine what it would be like … never to return to England.”

I dared not say how I really felt. I was horrified at the prospect of
anyone
living at this castle—day in and day out—for the rest of her life. Once Quincey’s business was settled, I planned to return to Carfax Hall as soon as possible.

I peered at Quincey, hoping he would share my sentiment, but he did not meet my glance.

Giving no sign she heard or understood my gentle plea, Mina changed the subject. “How long, I wonder, till our other family member arrives?” she said, giving Quincey a long look.

“I have been informed that he is on his way. He should make the castle in two days’ time,” he muttered.

“I do hope so,” Mina drawled. “For I would hate him to miss our celebrations.” She raised her glass as if in toast and I wondered who this new guest must be.

“Are many coming?” I asked.

“Well, of course, my dear,” Mina answered. “The marriage of my son is quite an event.”

Quincey glanced down at his plate and I thought I saw a frown crease his brow. I studied him for a moment. The presence of his mother had a decidedly negative effect on his mood.

Mina went on, “That is why we have chosen St. Andrew’s Eve, a special date, for the ceremony.”

“Saint Andrew’s Eve,” I echoed, remembering Mina’s letter. “Why is it so special?”

“It is like Christmas to the Tepes family,” Mina answered enthusiastically. “A time to celebrate and rejoice. It has been the tradition for centuries.” She gave a sudden smile and leaned forward in her chair. “Now, my dear, I am sure that in the rush, you did not have any time to acquire a wedding gown.”

“N-no,” I answered. “I had not even thought of it. Quincey and I packed so hurriedly for our journey.”

“Well, do not worry. I have a gown that would suit you well. It is the one I wore for my marriage to Tepes. We look to be a similar build.”

“Why—why, thank you,” I breathed, touched by this generous gesture. “I would be honoured to wear it.”

Mina smiled. “Excellent. I shall have it brought out from storage and prepared for you.” She turned to her son. “Lily shall make a most appealing bride, don’t you think,
Quincey? And in my gown, she will be simply
delicious
.”

I was happy at Mina’s enthusiasm, but Quincey’s brooding silence troubled me. I looked at him, praying he might show some interest, but he stared on at his plate till his mother chided him for his unchivalrous attitude.

“Quincey, I know men rarely appreciate the planning of a wedding,” she said, “but your bride has no family to guide her through this momentous occasion. We must help her and show her kindness in the time that she has left—”

Quincey shot his mother a fiery stare.

“As an unmarried woman, I mean,” Mina clarified her sentiment.

I tried to summon Quincey’s gaze once more, but still he looked away from me.

My heart trembled. Suddenly, everything seemed wrong. Did Quincey no longer wish to marry me?

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My vision began to blur. I would have run from the table, but at that moment, I felt Quincey’s hand grasp mine.

“Oh, Lily. I am sorry…” he whispered. He raised his eyes and I saw in them a dark remorse.

I wonder—what has changed since our voyage? I am sure that Quincey loves me, and yet the closer our wedding day draws, the more uncertain he becomes. What makes he, who has carried me along like a whirlwind, now hesitate?

26TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I do not know how long I slept, but it was before dawn when something disturbed me into wakefulness. A shadow darkened my pillow and I became aware that someone was in the room. I sat up in alarm and drew my bedclothes to my breast.

It was Mina, her milk-white face looming over me, eyes gleaming with red reflected from the hearth. She moved closer and smiled. I felt a jolt of confusion. Two of her strong white teeth now appeared slightly pointed.

“My dear one …” Her voice came as a sigh. She reached her hand to my cheek and caressed it slowly. “Such sweetness is hard to resist.”

Mina’s words and her seductive tone kept me rooted in place. “Wh-what are you doing?” I asked. My voice came out a whisper.

“You have been so agitated since your arrival.” Her voice seemed to echo about the room and through my head. “Relax, my pet. Relax …”

Her fingers moved to the collar of my nightgown, exposing the hollow of my neck. My breath quickened. Mina leaned forward—

A sudden clatter on one of the windows startled her. She spun in the direction of the noise. When she again faced me, I saw that her expression held no menace—only her usual smooth composure.

The lights in the room appeared brighter than a moment before.

I shook my head. Had I been dreaming?

“Dear Lily, I know that you were upset by Quincey’s manner at dinner. I merely came to see how you were sleeping,” she explained.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered, not knowing what to make of her explanation. “I am fine.”

After Mina had swept from my room, I leapt out of bed and locked the door behind her. Then I ran to the window, anxious to discover what had clattered against it. I pressed my face against the cold glass.

The shape of a large bat rose up in front of my window and soared away toward the valley. I stared at the great arc of its wings in awe.

In that moment, I wished that I, too, could fly away—could leave Romania with Quincey at my side. For whether the perils around me are real or of my own imagining, I am certain that I do not belong in this fearful place.

Journal of
Mary Seward

26TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

Leaving everything but essential belongings at the inn, we set off as the sun was still rising in the sky. Our steeds were sorry creatures, culled from the few left in the village after the army had taken what they wanted.

We made slower progress than we had hoped.

We had ridden most of the day when at last, the castle loomed into view. It sat on its great rock, like a black-hearted giant, crouched in waiting—ready to pounce. My heart tightened as I imagined poor Lily imprisoned in that dreadful place.

Soon the path began to steepen and the horses became slower still. By their flattened ears and anxious whinnies I knew they sensed the danger we were driving them toward, yet they plodded on with noble courage. Then John’s old nag
stumbled on the rocky path and we decided, fearful we might lame the sorry creatures, to let the horses loose and go on by foot.

We dismounted and John untied the bags in which we had stored our equipment. Then he slapped the horses and sent them running back down the hill. They needed little more encouragement, for they galloped back toward the village with more haste than we imagined they possessed.

Together, we pushed on, hoping to reach the castle well before nightfall. Without the horses, however, the distance seemed impossible to cover.

John gazed toward the horizon. “The sun is setting. We’re not going to make it,” he surmised.

I agreed. “Perhaps it is best to camp here. No one at the castle knows that we are coming; we should be safe.”

John pulled me to him in a tight hug. “Nonetheless, we will take the necessary precautions.”

Using our bags for pillows, we lay down on a bed of soft pine needles a little way from the path. We ringed ourselves with holy wafers, and John fastened his crucifix around his neck. I touched the one I always wore, confirming its presence.

Father’s notes assure us that even if a vampire should discover us here, they could not breach the ring of holy wafers.

Despite this, I shivered. We were in the land of the enemy, and we were at his mercy.

I heard the crack of a twig in the woods nearby and
bolted upright. I shot a glance over at John and saw that he too was disturbed by the noise.

We sat that way in the forest, ears pricked, for a long while. Finally, John whispered, “Nothing to fear. Just the sounds of the trees.”

“Perhaps we should not sleep tonight,” I suggested.

“But we must,” John told me. “We will need our strength. Here, lie by me. I will keep watch while you slumber.”

I moved my bag and snuggled next to John. He placed his arm protectively around me and I did indeed feel safe once more. My heart swelled. In a world where such evil was possible, how blessed I was to have John Shaw by my side!

I record all this now by soft glow of Van Helsing’s lamp. John surveys the woods around us. I shall turn in, however, as my love is right. I must rest myself for tomorrow.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

27TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

In the early hours before dawn, my thoughts turned to Antanasia’s trunk, sitting in the entrance hall next to mine.
Quincey had come moments ago to inform me that the two cases had been delivered. He disappeared again just as quickly.

The yearning to wrap myself in the comfort of my guardian’s belongings became overwhelming. I took a candle and crept from my room.

I hurried down the spiral staircase and into the entrance hall. The lamps along the grand staircase were lit, and the rooms beyond the landing were filled with voices and laughter again.

Near the massive front door were the two trunks. Crossing the marble floor, I knelt before the great leather one Antanasia brought with her to England after Mother and Father’s death.

I unlatched it with trembling fingers and lifted the heavy lid. I delved eagerly into the clothes and boxes stored inside Antanasia’s trunk.

In one of the boxes, hidden under the starched skirts that I clung to as a child, I found a bundle of letters tied together with a red cord.

Drawing the first from the top of the pile, I recognised its stamp as Romanian. There was a strange familiarity to the handwriting, a rounded evenness I distantly remembered. Perhaps I’d seen the letters at Carfax Hall in passing; maybe they were from the sister that Antanasia had once mentioned.

Tentatively, I opened the yellowing envelope and unfolded the letter from inside.

14TH
J
UNE 1906

Dear Antanasia,

Thank you for sending me news of John and Lily. Your account of Lily’s 8th birthday brought me a bittersweet joy. I’m glad she liked my gift, though it breaks my heart she could not know it was from me.

Every day and night I berate myself for my moment of weakness—and will never forgive myself for what happened to my dear husband.

I pray you will foster in my children the strength and courage they shall need to face their future. But you must promise to love them as though they are your own, for they need a mother’s affection.

I will write again soon. Until then, kiss Lily for me tonight when you put her to bed, and when John comes home for the holidays, feed him well and deny him nothing. I know how strict these English boarding schools can be.

Kind regards,    
Rosemary Shaw

CONTINUED

I grasped the side of the trunk to steady myself. Our mother! This letter was from her! She had been alive when John and I believed her dead.

But how could it be?

Then another thought: Antanasia knew of this and never told us.

I fumbled through the bundle, looking for the last letter, desperate to know how recently it had been written.

I read the date on the postmark: 17th August 1916. Just months ago …

Was she alive still?

Questions raged in my mind. My heart seemed ready to burst with anger and frustration. John and I had been deprived of our mother unnecessarily. But why?

Did she give us up?

Where was she now?

With trembling fingers I hurriedly pulled the other letters out of their envelopes. I scanned each—but there was no address on any of them.

I staggered to my feet and across the marble floor to the staircase, my mind reeling from shock and disbelief.

I had to find Quincey. He would help me make sense of this.

I reached the top of the stairs, then rushed from the landing to the shadow-filled corridor. Its walls flickered red as my movements caused the lamp flames to sway. I moved along, rattling each of the door handles, hoping to find one that would give. I called my beloved’s name. Surely he must be here in the castle somewhere.

At last, a handle twisted beneath my grip and the door swung open. I fell into the room—and saw a couple locked in a passionate embrace. Mortified, I was about to withdraw when the man turned at my disturbance. I froze in horror.

How can I describe what I saw?

The man glared at me with eyes that shone like rubies. His complexion was ghoulishly white and his lips gory from the blood that dripped from them. The girl in his arms hung limply, as if drugged or mesmerised. Blood streamed like tears from two punctures in her neck. I watched as it pooled into a red stain that blossomed over her breasts.

The man hissed, his eyes blazing redder, clutching his victim tightly to him.

“No!” I shouted in fear. I stumbled from the room and ran, not seeing where I fled. I tore down endless corridors. Scream after scream issued from my throat. I turned a corner—and came to a dead end. I could run no farther.

There were monsters here. True monsters! They had killed that girl—and they would kill me!

My mind whirled. I was going to die in this awful place!

I fainted then from sheer terror, and as the world faded to black, I heard my beloved’s voice. “Lily, Lily, I am so sorry….”

Journal of
Mary Seward

27TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

An eerie howl wrenched me from my uneasy sleep.

I sat upright. It came again.

Wolves.

John pulled me close. “Don’t fret. If necessary, I’ll use this.” He pulled open his jacket to reveal Van Helsing’s pistol in his belt.

The sound of footfalls padding through the undergrowth sounded around us. The howling became a chorus that spread and rose until the mountains around us echoed with the ominous sound.

I shivered as words from Jonathan Harker’s journal came back to me:

I tried to block out the mournful lupine cries, my eyes anxiously scanning the shadows through the trees.

Suddenly John sprang to his feet. He grabbed me with him and pulled his pistol from its holster with his other hand.

There, in the middle of the road, loomed a huge grey wolf. It lifted its head and howled into the sky. At its call, more grey creatures streamed in from the trees and gathered around their leader.

Another bloodcurdling snarl came from behind us. I turned and with a jolt of horror saw that the pack had surrounded us! Their mouths were open so that we could see their long fangs and their eyes fixed on us with terrifying intent.

They began to creep slowly forward—like an army bent on massacre.

The howling from the forest fell silent. Now all I could hear was the low growl throbbing from the throats of our attackers.

John took out his pistol and fired it at the nearest wolf. The bullet plunged deep into its skull. The wolf sank heavily to the floor, its crimson blood pumping into the dirt. But its companions streamed closer, undaunted.

John fired again, felling another, and then turned to fire upon the wolves behind us. Though he hit his mark, the wolves kept coming. By the look in their hungry eyes I could see their bloodlust had only been strengthened.

Fury boiled up in me. I would
not
have life or Lily’s salvation torn from me so easily! I drew a stake from Van
Helsing’s bag and raised it in defiance. If they came at me, I would die fighting. And Harker, the fiend who commanded these wolves, would see them bloodied and scarred.

The first wolf leapt at John, the great impact pushing him backward. I tensed every muscle, expecting him to fall. But he simply staggered, taking the weight of the wolf with relative ease.

“No!” he snarled. He shoved the wolf before it could sink in its fangs. “Get away!” he shouted. His tone was utterly fearless and he eyed the pack with such ferocity, I hardly recognised him.

At his command the wolves ceased their growling and began to back away.

I ran to him, trembling, as the pack turned and slunk back into the forest.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” he said, his strong chest heaving against me.

At last, we released each other. The forest had become ominously still—save for the bats that wheeled around us overhead. Looking up at them, I wondered if Harker already knew that we followed him.

If so, it is even more important that we wait here—until the safety of sunlight and morning. I only hope that Lily can hold on until then.