Lord of the Vampires (12 page)

Thus tonight I performed a formal ritual for guidance and aid and, for the first time, attempted to evoke Arminius as one might a god or demon. To my disappointment, he failed to appear, and so I performed in Circle a divination to guide me.

Clearly, I am intended to leave for Londonbut not at once. I shall wait and watch alertly for the signal to go.

But two cards from the reading trouble me still: the Devil and the High Priestess. Meditation instructs me that they speak somehow of this mysterious Elisabeth.

My anxious mind was focussed on these symbols as I dozed at Mamas bedside, where the dream of the Dark Creature in the woods betook me. Once again, there stood my teacher, Arminius, gleaming and white in his purity and kindness, attended by his familiar, Archangel the wolf. Again I screamed, and again, no reply, no comfort, from him who had so helped me in the past.

Then came the time when the Great Darkness loomed nearer, and began to change shape

But no more did it shift from wolf to child to man. No, this time it transformed directly from animal to woman. And the darkness brightened slowly until the black silhouette had become instead filled with colour.

Speechless, I stared at the vision before methat of an impossibly beautiful woman, her long waving hair catching the daylight like spun gold, her eyes the deep, deep blue of the sea. Her skin was alabaster kissed with the delicate pink of eternal youththe preternatural glow so often seen upon the countenances of vampires eager to lure prey. Yes, hers was a loveliness to make the beholder weep in admiration at such glory, yet I felt no such joy, only the purest dread.

At my terror, she laughed, throwing her head back and tossing the golden waves so that they sparkled in the sun sparkled like her small, unnaturally white teeth. The canines were not sharp, as I had expected, but of perfectly ordinary size; that realisation served only to heighten my fear until, overwhelmed, I cried out.

I woke perspiring to the sight of Mama watching me, and feebly picking at the covers as if in a confused effort to reach out and comfort me.

Bram? Her voice, frail and broken, seemed a parody of what it had been before her illness, but I was touched to see the look of recognition and worry in her exhausted eyes. Such radiant, gentle, loving orbs they are, the colour of cornflowersthe absolute moral opposite of those belonging to the woman in my dream, for Mamas shine with pure goodness. But lately, it has grown difficult for me to gaze long into them, for they look at me and do not see me, as though they are looking beyond at Infinity.

Child, are you all right? She spoke in her native English, for in recent months she seems to find it difficult to recall her Dutch.

I took her cold, thin hand and pressed it between mine to warm it, answering also in English. Im fine, Mama. I was just dreaming.

Her face suddenly contorted with pain, and beneath the covers, her legs writhed; though she bit her lip in an effort to keep from crying out, a groan escaped her nonetheless. I realised then that it had been
her
cry, not my own, that had wakened me. Yet she was more concerned about my mental distress than her own physical anguish.

Another round of morphia would have been dangerous; I had dosed her only an hour before. So, with profuse apologies, I followed the wise old medical adage concerning the elderly and the dying: When in doubt, check bowels and bladder. I did so quickly, grateful for the fact that both illness and sedation eased any overt sense of embarrassmentfor her (she was quite too exhausted to care), if not for me. Examining a patient is one thing; examining ones mother is quite another.

What I found made my heart sink, for I knew I should have to cause her further agony. Mama, I said gently, Im afraid I will have to help you again. There is a great deal of stool lodged here against your bedsores; I shall have to extract it for you.

With almost lucid resignation, she released a disappointed breath, then made a pitiful effort to roll onto one hip. Do what you must.

So I fetched bedpan and salve, and helped her to turn onto her sidethat alone was excruciating for her. Then I performed what was necessary, praying the whole time that God or whoever had the power would see fit to make my thick fingers as thin and small as Katyas. Mama screamed in a way that broke my heart, and struggled feebly to push me away. Fighting tears, I said, I am so sorry to inflict this indignity, Mama; but you will become terribly infected if I do not remove this stool.

At once she cried out, No, no! Dont remove it, dear, or you shall certainly fall!

For one moment, I was confused; the next, I struggled to contain sad laughter at her darkly comical and entirely unwitting remark. Dont worry, I shant fall, I soothed her. It is quite steady.

She seemed to take some comfort from that, and cried out only twice afterwards. Soon I was done, and elected to give her a very small extra dose of morphia; now she sleeps soundly and well, her expression the lax, unfurrowed one of deep, painless sleep.

I checked on Gerda quicklyno changethen returned to Mamas bedside to watch that her breathing remained strong and steady.

And here I sit again in the rocking-chair at Mamas bedside, listening to her soft snoring and knowing that the familiar sound is one I soon will never hear again. Yet I feel as though I have always sat here and always will, and that her suffering will never end.

Clearly, I must go to London soon and take Gerda with me, so that I will be waiting there when the vampires arrive. They cannot be permitted free rein in England-dear God, victims are so plentiful there that they would never be detected not until the whole country was changed into vampires! My responsibility there outweighs all others, even that to my family. This I know in my brain; but my heart knows that it would be a crime to leave Mama alone in this house to die in the presence of strangers.

Golden Elisabeth, what are you?

And what chance do I have against one so powerful, without Arminius intervention?

* * *

Zsuzsanna Tsepeshs Diary

May.

No entry for a time; things had settled into a pleasurable enough monotonybut a monotony all the same. Day after day, our routine has been to enjoy ourselves freely during the suns heavenly reign, nibbling upon the Englishman at our leisure, then straightway enjoying a sensual interlude. Afterwards, Elisabeth takes me back to her chambers and picks clothing from her numerous trunks and suitcases, and Dorka alters it for me; or Dorka grooms my hair in a fashionable style (though my poor locks refuse to hold the slightest curl, despite her heroic efforts); or Elisabeth educates me in the cosmetic arts. Lipstick, powder, kohlI would never have thought these silly things could enhance even further my immortal glory, but they do indeed. I am not only more beautiful than ever, I look like what the British call the New Woman: sophisticated, modern, fashionable and soon, I pray, independent.

In the afternoon, we sleep together beneath Elisabeths sumptuous linens for a handful of hours, then rise again at sunset. Elisabeth dutifully repairs to Vlads chambers to visit, for apparently he wants to be sure that she spends little time with me (although he sometimes releases her a few hours before the dawn). No doubt he fears that she will tell me too much of the truthlittle does he know that it is too late!

Nights are the hardest time, for without Elisabeth or our Englishman, little awaits me save boredomand poor Dunya, who is not returned to full vigour. She sleeps all day still, and clearly needs to feed. But each time I broach the topic, Elisabeth tells me that it is better to simply let the poor girl rest until the time comes for us all to leave the castle. I suspect that restoring Dunya would tax Elisabeths powers too greatly, though she will not admit to it. She likes to maintain an aura of omnipotenceand indeed, she very nearly is omnipotent.

And if she is, why can we not
leave
? It is anguish to remain here upon this ruined, deserted estate, thinking of the glories of London! Each dawn, I go to the open window and stretch my arm forth, yearning for the warm, delicious kiss of sunlight upon it.

How long must I wait?

I sigh, impatient, as I write this while Elisabeth and Dunya still lie sleeping in the great bed. I sigh, and write: Enough! I must maintain my sanity; dwelling upon my captivity will only serve to torment me. And so, now that restlessness has come upon me, I write

Yesterday I woke at mornings first blush (how strange to write these words again, after so many years) in Elisabeths arms, and stared for a time out the unshuttered window as the grey light warmed to pale rose. (We had missed our afternoon nap, and so used the darkest morning hours for rest.) After a time my darling stirred and gazed up at me with a sleepy smile, her long sunny curls spilling with delightful haphazardness over her ivory shoulders, back, breasts. The warmth of her body was pleasant, the morning cool; I therefore remained beside her, and we indulged ourselves in languid conversation beneath the covers. I, as always, asked:
How long? How long? And
Elisabeth, as always, replied,
Soon, soon

Presently our conversation turned to Vlad, and her demeanour became markedly curious. She sat up suddenly, letting the covers drop away (though the early morning air was cool)and, knees bent with long, slender arms wrapped round them, she demanded:

You have spoken before of the covenant Vlad had with your family, and with the villagers. But I have not heard yet of the covenant he surely has with the Dark Lord. What do you know of it?

At the sound of that entitys name-and at the diamond-hard, diamond-brilliant intensity in herveyes, focussed keenly on mineI shuddered. Yet I answered honestly and in full: that Vlad had offered up to the Dark One the eldest son of each generation of his family. That a sacrifice was required each generation in order to purchase Vlads renewed immortality. That in 1842, my brother Arkady had (as both mortal and subsequent vampire) resisted being pressed into Vlads evil service. Arkadys second deathas a vampireshould have brought Vlads immediate destruction, but did not because my brother had left behind an heir, which his wife, Mary, took into hiding. So long as the heir lived and there remained a chance that Vlad could deliver his soul to the Dark Lord in place of Arkadys, Vlad survived.

But Vlads weakness had come about because this heir whose name had been deceitfully changed from Stefan Tsepesh to Abraham Van Helsing by his mother when she fled with him to Hollandwas told by his father, Arkady, the truth of his heritage. And so Arkady instructed Van Helsing in the foul art of killing vampires.

Yet Van Helsing, a mere mortal, was no match for Vlads strength, and his efforts to destroy the Prince of Wallachia met with utter failure and my dear brothers death.

However, the wicked Van Helsing soon discovered another terrible truththat by destroying other vampires (those of Vlads victims who died, were not properly destroyed, and subsequently rose), Vlads powers were gradually sapped. Thus, over the past two decades of Van Helsings killing spree, Vlad and I had grown weaker and weaker, until we had become the pathetic remnants Elisabeth greeted upon her arrival.

She listened with fascination and care and, when I had finished, added, Clearly Van Helsing was preparing to come here and dispatch you both. Vlad is too suspicious to trust anyone, least of all me; for him to beg for my aid means that he was in terror of death But here, my darling! Why this sudden unhappy shower?

For I was quite overcome with grief at the memories that assailed me at the telling of this sad history; and I cried harder still when she lifted her hand and tenderly brushed away my tears. Sobbing, I said, Because, those twenty years ago, I was lonely, dreadfully lonely, because Vlad had emotionally forsaken me. And so I took Van Helsings little boy, Jan, as my own immortal companion. Just a baby, he was, barely able to walk and talk, and so sweetly innocentand Van Helsing murdered him!

She held me, patting my back as if soothing a wailing infant, then withdrew and gently held my arms. And did this beast also murder your poor brother?

I shook my head. No. Arkady died in an encounter with Vlad He is here in the castle. Would you like to see him?

Her lips, pink and glowing as the dawn, parted abruptly in unmasked amazement. His body has survived all this time? Zsuzsanna, that is impossible!

Possible or no, do you wish to see him?

At once! she cried, springing gracefully from the bed and pulling on her dressing-gown with such alacrity that, before I could myself rise, she was already holding out my gown to me.

I led her down the stairs and through a rotting and rusted oaken trapdoor bound with iron, to the cellara subterranean cavern beneath the castles stone foundation, a place I have come to think of as the first circle of Hell. Years ago, I wept as I carried my poor brothers body there a dark, mildewed womb of earth laced with spiderwebs, sprinkled with dust and the faeces of rodents. Oh, yes, the bones of martyrs rest in the catacombs of that grotto; the bones of so many hundreds of unfortunates who served as Vlads supper that the servants had no more roomand came to dispose of later victims in the forest.

And chief of those martyrs is my brother.

To spare myself the need to tread upon too much Death and suffering, I had laid Arkadys body in one of the first empty catacombs, those which were not enclosed by heavy rusted iron bars hung with chains and disintegrating padlocks. I had constructed for him a catafalque of stone, surrounded him with tapers, and draped a banner of black silk upon the rough earthen wall.

There we found him, lying just as I had left him on that terrible day: impaled through his bloodless heart by a stake so thick I cannot encircle it with one hand. And so handsome at rest, with his narrow but prominent nose, his severe black brows and hair, his long-lashed eyelids closed forever over the gentlest hazel eyes I ever knew.

At the sight of him, I wept openly. For though his last desire was to see me and Vlad destroyedas he put it, to free our souls (as if we could ascend to Heaven instead of fall straight to Hell)he still loved me, and I him. The bonds of mortal siblings are not easily broken, even by the afterlife or differing loyalties. So overwhelmed by grief was I when I first laid him to rest that, had I been capable, I would have offered up my own existence gladly if he could return. Given the chance, I might do so even now