Return of the Wolf Man (34 page)

Stevenson didn’t appear to see the wolf-eyes or notice anything unusual about the workers. He was looking ahead, through the tall sugar cane, toward the distant plantation. The attorney’s body was in nearly constant motion though he was probably unaware of it. After sitting still for a moment he would anxiously move a hand or recross his legs or shift his body to a new position.

Talbot was concerned for Tom Stevenson’s safety. He was also worried about Caroline. She had to be located and taken away quickly. Otherwise, she and Stevenson would be facing at least two of the most malevolent spirits on earth—three if the Frankenstein Monster were also here. Talbot resisted the urge to look at Stevenson’s right palm. He didn’t want to know if the pentagram were there or not.

The house of Dracula loomed as the cart came around the field of cane. Like its owner, the plantation was born of another time. There was a large, flat roof and an off-white wooden portico that ran the length of the three-story structure. Eight columns fronted the mansion’s first floor and large bow windows dominated each side. Hanging just above the double doors were two lanterns with amber-colored panes and scalloped, black iron wings that swept from the outsides of each. A large guest house—probably used once to house slaves—was visible through the knotted braids of strangler figs to the east. Barely visible in the valley beyond was what appeared to be the top of the sugar mill. In the distance, to the west, the asymmetric Mt. Mord loomed tall and cold.

“This is quite a place,” Stevenson said. He looked ahead anxiously. “Well, Mr. Talbot? Exactly what kind of welcome
can
we expect from ‘Gentleman Singe’? Some of those wolves we were warned about? Zombies?”

“I’m not sure,” Talbot admitted. “Count Dracula has been known to set very comfortable traps. He’s also capable of arranging unpleasant welcomes. Whatever he does, the first thing we should do is use branches or pieces of wood to make crosses. We can use those to keep him at bay. We’ll also need to find wood to use as a stake.” He nodded toward the mill. “There, probably.”

“I wish there’d been time to make some of the preparations back at the harbor,” Stevenson remarked.

“If we’d armed ourselves there, Dracula might not have allowed us to get this close,” Talbot pointed out. “Dracula is powerful—but he’s also cautious.”

“Good point,” Stevenson said. “Tell me something, before we face him. Exactly how does Dracula control people? I mean—assuming one doesn’t look at him, what else can he do to make someone his slave?”

“He bites them and infects them with his blood,” Talbot said. “He makes two puncture wounds, usually in the throat. As he draws the blood of his victim, he salivates his own blood into the wound. Through it, he controls them.”

“Permanently?”

“Most victims can still be reclaimed after a night or two,” Talbot said. “They still possess enough of their own blood. After that, they bccome vampires and must drink the blood of others, just as Count Dracula does. Then their victims also become slaves of Dracula.”

“So the object, then, is for one of us to keep Dracula at bay with the cross while the other person . . . impales him.” The word stuck in his throat.

“If we can do that, yes,” Talbot said. “We must seize any opportunity to destroy him. Hopefully, we’ll be able to search for Dracula’s coffin while it’s still light. Perhaps we can strike before he rises.”

The wagon rolled slowly up to the imposing house. It didn’t stop but continued past the mansion, past the dark guest house and down into the misty valley. There, it followed the winding and rutted dirt path until it reached the mill where the sugar cane was processed.

The mill was a long building whose sagging wooden roof was literally a continuation of the earthen ledge above it. The mill walls were made of stone with high, smoke-blackened stone chimneys on the narrower north and south sides. A river coursed along the west side of the building, behind it, and there was a large wooden door in the middle of the east wall. The door was open and two men with machetes stood on either side of it. Both of them were Caucasian and nearly as tall as Andre. They were muscular and had longish, unkempt hair. They walked over as the wagon came to a stop. The pack of wolves also showed themselves, four of them moving silently from the cane, which grew almost to the south side of the mill.

“Jesus,” Stevenson said as the large, gray carnivores approached. “Does Dracula control them too?”

“Not while he’s at rest,” Talbot said.

“What do we do? How do we act?”

“Move as slowly as possible,” Talbot said. “See how they’re standing? Their tails are up and their heads are down. That’s a challenge. Don’t even make eye contact with them or they may perceive it as a threat.”

Stevenson acknowledged with a nervous nod. With labored slowness he followed Talbot from the back of the wagon.

Moving at the same languid pace as before, Andre put down the reins. He slid from his seat, as oblivious to the wolves as they seemed to him. He walked toward the men and stopped when he reached Talbot’s side. He pointed to the men with the machetes.

“Go with them,” he commanded.

“Come on,” Talbot said to Stevenson. “Slowly.”

Talbot and Stevenson began walking forward. As they did, the two men fell in next to them, one on either side. They moved with the same lazy motions as Andre. Behind them, the wolves padded even closer. Talbot could feel their breath on his hands. He was proud of Tom Stevenson; despite the way his arms and jaw were trembling, he kept his shoulders back and maintained his slow and steady gait.

As Talbot neared the door, he braved turning to the left to take a look at the sun. With sudden horror, he saw that it was sinking toward the mountain. That was why Dracula had chosen this island and this spot on it: because of the mountain, sunset would occur at least an hour before it did elsewhere. Though Talbot would not undergo his transformation until the moon had risen, Count Dracula would rise much sooner than that. Somehow, they were going to have lo get out of the mill quickly.

Talbot and Stevenson walked through the door.

As it closed behind them, Talbot sensed that they were not alone.

TWENTY-SIX

T
he black coffin was made of highly polished primavera with heavy iron hinges and fittings made of sardonyx. It rested on a high marble base with three steps on each side leading to the moist earth. The coffin’s white trimmings looked gray in the dark basement of the mansion, the only light coming from a lamp that was kept burning at the top of the stairwell. Spiders spun webs in the high corners of the cellar to trap unwary flies while rats moved through holes in the ancient baseboard. Despite the scurrying and furtive movement, all was silent.

The quiet was broken as the lid creaked and rose to the right. Long, thin, cadaverously white fingers emerged from the opening. Slow and wraithlike, the hand turned palm up to open the lid completely. Count Dracula lay inside. He was swathed to his eyes in his cloak, like a bat folded within its wings. A thin layer of dry, pale, dusty Transylvanian earth was spread beneath him. It was a glaring contrast to the damp earth of Marya Island and the rich white satin lining of the coffin lid.

When the lid was upright, it stopped moving. The vampire sat up, staring ahead, his left hand hooked over the side of the coffin. He turned, his thick, black eyebrows dipping in the center. He released the side of the coffin and extended his arm toward a darkened side of the room, a corner far from the lighted stairs. Steepling his wrist, the vampire stretched his fingers and then slowly brought them together.

“Come,” he commanded.

A figure stirred. Her long, blond hair caught the light as she moved forward. Her arms hung limply from straight shoulders and her hazel eyes stared vacantly ahead. Still wearing the black suit she’d had on when she buried her great-aunt, Caroline Cooke approached the coffin. Without breaking her stride, she rolled her shoulders and shucked off her jacket.

Dracula reached out his hand a second time, like a master puppeteer pulling the strings of a marionette. Caroline turned slightly so that she was walking toward the foot of the coffin. When she reached the steps of the funerary pedestal, she turned again so that she was facing the vampire. She stopped.

The vampire rose like a thick black vapor. Still wrapped in his cape, he stepped from the coffin and walked down the marble steps. He stood beside Caroline, facing her. The woman continued to stare ahead.

The Count put his right hand on her shoulder. He brushed her hair back with his index and middle fingers. His eyes fastened on the flesh above her collar. Her throat was wholesome and strong, pulsing with life. He put his thumb under the line of her jaw and a wicked smile grew on his face. He could literally feel the blood rushing through her veins. His own blood, still sluggish from sleep, began to stir. He moved his fingers down the back of her neck to her shoulder. Caroline sighed and shut her eyes as his left hand opened the top two buttons of her blouse. He freed her shoulder from the garment and looked down at the smooth curve of her neck. Though all victims were helpless before him, Count Dracula was less feral toward women than toward men. Of the thousands of women he had bled, he could not remember more than a handful who had not been drawn to him before they were entranced.

The vampire’s smile had revealed two slender, elongated canines. The twin teeth pointed down like the tines of a pitchfork. They tapered sharply as they narrowed toward the points and then curved inward slightly. As the vampire moved his mouth toward Caroline’s exposed throat, a film of rubescent saliva ran from his gums onto the teeth. Pin-sharp and moistened by the bloody saliva, the fangs barely stung as they penetrated the woman’s flesh.

Dracula’s right hand slipped under her chin and he grabbed her throat to steady her. Caroline’s head rolled away and she held his forearm for support as the tingling heat of his blood mixed with hers. The two figures sank to the ground, she to her knees and Dracula into his cloak. His tongue worked in slow circles around the two openings in her flesh. He lost none of her precious blood as it pumped forth. As he drank, he felt energy return to his body, strength to his limbs, acuity to his senses. When he was finished, the vampire tilted his head back, shut his eyes, and cleaned his lips with the tip of his tongue. Then he looked at Caroline. The puncture marks had closed, leaving only a slight swelling and redness around the small wounds.

He rose. As he did, he held Caroline by the shoulders and drew her up with him. When he released her she stood utterly still, save for the slow, shallow breathing. She was inhaling through her nose, her belly expanding and contracting. He covered her shoulder with her blouse. Then he moved his right hand in front of her face, as though his fingers were caressing her brow, eyes, and cheeks. Caroline’s chin rose and her eyes opened and after a moment she smiled.

“Yes . . . Master,” she said.

“You will follow me, Dr. Cooke,” Dracula said. “It is time for us to begin our work.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied.

Dracula threw the hem of his cloak over his forearms so that it wouldn’t drag on the basement floor. Then he walked grandly toward the stairs, followed by the spellbound young woman. They emerged from the basement into a library, which was accessible through a revolving bookcase. Andre was waiting for them. The
sarpe
shut the door as they entered the room.

The tropical humidity here was much greater than in the basement, but Dracula didn’t feel it. Heat and cold had no effect upon dead flesh. But something borne by the muggy air did affect him, and the contentedness that had marked Dracula’s mood in the basement crypt evaporated. During the daylight hours, when he was in his coffin, the vampire was insensate and unable to move. Now that he was awake and nourished, his senses were at their peak. And he felt keenly a presence that was familiar yet unfamiliar, dangerous yet not. The contradiction puzzled him. Yet this was not a student or tourist. There was malevolent power in the presence.

Confusion gave way to indignation as Count Dracula looked toward the foyer. The vampire’s chest expanded and his face rose aristocratically. “Someone has come here, Andre. Who has dared?”

“Two men, Master—”

“Only one of them interests me,” Dracula stated.

“Yes, Master,” the
sarpe
said impassively. “I do not know who he is, yet he called you by your other name. I thought it best to bring him here. Vollin and Benet are guarding them.”

“You did well,” the vampire replied. With effortless pace, he crossed the two-story library to the door leading in the foyer. Caroline remained behind. Stopping, Dracula looked down the long, narrow hallway. He stared across the ancient hardwood floors, past the paintings and the precious mementos of his homeland. The offending spoor was stronger here.

Dracula’s black eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled back involuntarily from his fangs. How did his nemesis find him here, and so quickly?

“Our visitor,” Dracula said without turning. “Did he give you his name?”