Bloodline (19 page)

“John,” I pleaded, “do not give up the fight. It’s not over yet. I’ve seen Quincey’s journal—”

John cut me off with a contemptuous laugh. “Have you been reading other people’s diaries again, Mary?”

I flinched at the malice in his tone, but he continued to accuse me.

“She likes to pry, you know,” he told Mina. “In fact, the first thing she did when I was brought to the sanatorium was steal my journal. She delighted in my private thoughts while I lay helpless in a hospital bed.”

“Please, John, don’t talk so,” I begged him. “You love me. We are to be wed….”

Mina glared at me scornfully. “I don’t understand what you ever saw in a creature like her,” she sneered.

“She took advantage of me when I was weak,” he muttered, turning to her.

A stab of pain seared my heart at his wicked, cruel words—but I felt it crack when I saw the two large puncture wounds on his neck. They were just as Father described them in his notes. The same wounds suffered by Lucy Westenra.

My stomach lurched as if the floor had suddenly dropped out from under me. John was now a vampire. He truly was lost to me.

I took the cork from my bottle of holy water. “Get away from the door,” I screamed. “Leave Lily the last few hours of peace she will have—until your evil ceremony destroys all that is good in her!”

As I waved the bottle at them a few drops scattered in their direction. Mina hissed in pain as a drop caught her hand. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the damp air and her skin turned as black as if it bore a bullet wound.

She clasped her hand and glared at me, her eyes burning red. “Enjoy your peace while you can,” she hissed. “The ceremony is tonight. And once Lily is one of us, she’ll have no further want of you—except, perhaps, as dessert.”

I fell, weeping, into Lily’s room. Mina said nothing as I took every sacred thing in our possession and shielded the entrance.

As I regained my breath, I opened my eyes—and realised that Lily was not there. A letter sat on the bed, addressed in Lily’s own hand. I picked it up and read the contents.

Letter from Miss Lily Shaw to
Miss Mary Seward

Dear Mary,

Forgive me, my dear friend, for leaving you, but I can do nothing else.

Though I know the terrible truth—Quincey has confirmed it to me himself—I shall be drawn to him for as long as I live. Every fibre of me yearns for him. How tempting it is to take him as he is, to join him and spend eternity in his company. But I cannot live a life filled with evil and death—and I cannot live without him.

And so, I must end it.

Take care of John, Mary. Be happy in his genuine love. I pray your strength and goodness are enough to overcome the dangers you will face.

Do not weep for my passing. I tasted happiness once, and that must be enough.

Your eternal friend,
Lily                       

My heart, already hammering, lurched in fear. I glanced toward the open window, its heavy drapes billowed outward into the chill air.

A piece of white lace hung from the latch. “No!” I cried.

I rushed over and forced myself to look down to the jagged rocks below.

In my heart, I already knew what adorned them.

Lily had freed herself from this wretched place.

I sobbed with such passion then that I thought I would not stop.

I cannot help but believe that once restored to her home in England, she would have learned to forget Harker. I pray God forgives her for this, her final sin, and takes her sweet soul to where it may be safe from evil and misery.

I smiled bitterly. At least she was spared the knowledge of John’s corruption. How acutely I feel the irony of her words.
Be happy in his love.

That was impossible now.

But I would not succumb to this evil plot.

I would not believe, as Harker did, that this was a destiny I could not escape.

No, I would fight my way out, or I would die in my attempt to be free.

Journal of
Captain Quincey Harker

29TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I strode through the great entrance hall and gazed at the bustle around me. The ceremony my father had planned was only hours away. Frenzied arrangements were taking place.

As I watched the preparations, I considered the weight of what the next few hours would bring. Inevitably, my thoughts wandered to Lily.

Was she dressing right now? Was she frightened? Confused? I wanted to ease her fears if I could—to convince her of the efforts I would make to ensure her happiness.

I decided to speak with her and walked swiftly her room. I knocked gently on the door and called out her name.

There was no answer from within. Clearly Miss Seward was occupied elsewhere—and so much the better. Lily and I could speak without interruption.

“Lily, are you asleep?” I called when still no answer came.

Finally, I pressed down on the handle. The door opened and I glanced around the room. It was empty, but I did not think it odd.

I turned and saw the open window, the wind whipping the curtains like great black wings. I moved to close it—and glanced down.

There, on the rocks below, I noticed a figure illuminated in the lights from the castle. Bright red slashes stained the lace of its white gown. Its position on the jagged cliff was twisted and unnatural. Mahogany hair billowed around its skull.

I looked closer, and my breath stopped in my chest. I felt a pain so intense, I could not remain standing. I fell awkwardly into a chair facing the bed.

It was Lily—my dear Lily—dead on the ground below.

I needed no one to tell me what had happened. My bride, my love, had preferred death to joining me in eternal life.

I raised my head to the sky and cried out in anguish. I would never see her face again. Never know her passionate kiss. Then the tears came—a strange sensation I had not experienced since my transformation.

What of our destiny? I wondered. What of Father’s plans?

All these years of preparation made them seem like an absolute certainty—an end that no one could alter or escape. Lily had proved that notion wrong with one final act.

Perhaps … I thought. Perhaps I have been wrong about my destiny.

Perhaps there is another way…. I shook my head.

I could not think of that now. Instead, I would go to Rosemary.

I was the reason her daughter’s life had ended. I must be the one to deliver the horrible news.

Journal of
Mary Seward

29TH
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

I crept from our tower into the depths of the castle, toward the vampires’ crypt. Such preparations were going on for the wedding ceremony that I was hardly noticed. I snuck to Rosemary Shaw’s resting place.

In one hand I held the lamp, and in the other I gripped Van Helsing’s bag. Knowing I was protected by his weapons gave no ease to my breast. My heart hammered with fear as I descended the final staircase that led to the coffin room.

I knew I must leave tonight—before Lily’s body was discovered. And I hoped that Rosemary could help me. There
was information I needed from her—and something I must do before I made my escape.

I pushed open the heavy oak door, remembering the last time I had been there, with John at my side. The memory jabbed at me, filling me with grief, but I forced it away.

I could see the shape of an unlit lamp ensconced in the wall ahead. I hurried to light it and another beside. Rosemary lay in her coffin, the cover open. Mina’s coffin was, I noticed with relief, empty.

How gaunt Rosemary looked compared with the rosy bloom I’d seen in Mina’s cheeks. I could not help but feel pity for her. She was like a beggar among the others, unable to relish this life, but driven by a hunger she could not resist.

I used my crucifix then, holding it over Rosemary to rouse her from her slumber. She woke with a violent start.

“I am sorry,” I apologised, placing the cross in my pocket. “I did not know how else to wake you.”

“Mary, what is it?” Rosemary asked.

“It is Lily,” I told her. “She is dead.”

Rosemary searched my face, her brow knit in fear and confusion. “But how?” she asked. “She is Quincey’s. The others here would not dare …”

“She left this,” I said, handing her Lily’s suicide note.

Rosemary read her daughter’s words. As she neared the
end, her face twisted in pain. For a long time, she simply stared at the paper. Then, finally, she spoke.

“How different from me my daughter became,” she whispered, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “This life was meant to be an escape from pain and death; Lily embraces death rather than remain.”

“I am sorry,” I repeated.

“Do not be,” Rosemary said. “She is free. And in that, I envy her.”

“I cannot be here any longer,” I said, anxious to make my intentions known. “Lily is gone, and John has become—”

“One of us,” Rosemary interrupted. “I know.”

“If I stay, I will surely be killed,” I continued, “but I need your help.”

“What can I possibly do?” Rosemary asked. “I am too weak to fight the rest of the demons here.”

“I do not wish for you to fight. Only to tell me where the child is.”

“The child?” Rosemary asked.

“The babe we saw brought to the castle,” I clarified. “I will take her when I make my escape.”

“Mary, no,” Rosemary argued. “The babe is Tepes’s. It is too dangerous for—”

“Something pure and innocent must emerge from all this wickedness!” I yelled, interrupting her. “I will not leave that child behind. Now please, tell me where she is.”

Rosemary revealed the place where the babe was being kept. They would be taking it to Tepes soon, she said. I must hurry.

I turned to go but could not leave, for Rosemary asked one favour of me in return….

“Please, do what I ask with a clear conscience,” she begged.

I agreed. She lay back, and I waited for her to once again fall into slumber.

After a few moments, I removed a stake from my bag, then lifted out the hammer. Resting the wooden tip on Rosemary’s breast, I pointed it at her heart. Her garment dimpled where the stake rested.

Steeling my soul, I raised the hammer and aimed a blow so fierce with intent that, as I write now, I am still amazed at my own strength.

The stake pierced clothing, then skin, to the flesh beneath. Rosemary writhed in the coffin, screeching with such terror that the chamber reverberated with the noise. Blood spat from the wound, spraying my face. It frothed from her nose, her mouth.

I hit the stake again and hammered it through to her heart. Finally, she fell still.

I wiped my face on my sleeve. I heaved, wanting to vomit. But I could not fall apart. Not now. I forced myself to take deep breaths.

I turned to make my way from the crypt—and saw Harker in the open doorway.

“Rosemary,” he whispered. His face held a stunned expression.

Frenzied with terror, I felt for the glass bottle in my pocket. “I will never forgive you for what you have done to John and Lily!” I cried as I uncorked the bottle with my thumb. “I am leaving this place!”

I sprayed the contents of the bottle at Harker’s face.

He ducked, but some drops caught his cheek. He yelled in pain as his flesh burned with a hissing sound. He gasped and stumbled, but I did not wait to see what injuries I had inflicted.

I ran as fast as I could through the door and up a back staircase to the north wing. As I climbed the steps, I heard a whimpering cry.

I tracked the noise to a small arched doorway set back from the second-floor corridor. My heart racing, I pushed the door open and peered inside.

It was a plain room, furnished with an ancient cot, an old nursing chair, and a crib. A tall angular woman was stooped over the fireplace, prodding the coals with a poker. She turned and at the sight of me hissed in anger. She bared her sharp fangs and lunged toward me.

I took the final bottle of holy water, uncorked it, and flung its contents at the woman. She screamed in horror as
the water hit its mark. Flesh dripped from her face and hands, revealing first muscle, then ancient, yellowed bone.

She staggered backward toward the fireplace, clutching her face in agony. The flames from the fire seemed to reach out and catch her long skirts—racing upward, greedily consuming them. She fell to the floor, writhing like a soul in hell.

I flung the vial away and grabbed the baby from the crib. A quick glance told me that the child was frightened but physically sound. I slung the screaming infant onto my hip and ran from the stinking, smoking place.

I held it close, pressing it to my hammering heart.

I ran with all my might down the stairs again and into the courtyard toward the tunnel shown to me by Rosemary. It was our last hope.

My heart pounded with such ferocity it seemed to hammer against my breastbone. I glanced nervously up at the castle windows and I pulled the iron ring to lift the great flagstone.

My heart froze in panic. I hadn’t the strength to lift the heavy stone. I crouched and pulled again, cursing my weakness.

I heard a shuffling behind me as someone approached. I looked up to see Quincey Harker towering over us.

I made no move as he leaned down toward us, his chiseled jaw almost grazing my cheek. I shuddered as I smelled Lily’s faint perfume still upon him.

My life was over, I was certain. I said a quick prayer as Harker’s demon eyes gazed into mine.

He placed his hand over my own as I held the ring. I felt his iron grip tighten and I yelped in pain.

He pulled and lifted the great flagstone, and I saw the passage beneath. I stared up at him in utter confusion.

“Go,” he said, letting my hand slide from under his. I felt rooted to the spot by my bewilderment.

“I will fight you to the end,” I warned him.

“I know,” he answered softly.

Then, without another word, I hurried down the stone steps. I was only a few paces into the tunnel when I heard the flagstone lowered back into place.