Diaries of the Family Dracul - The Covenant with the Vampire Part 14

She drew a hitching breath and released a soft sigh on which was carried the barely audible word: "No..."

"Don't speak like that," I said firmly, still feeling the undercurrent of my fury at Vlad, at fate, at G.o.d, that such a cruel thing should be happening to such a helpless innocent. "Of course you'll get better."

Her eyes were glittering, bright with excitement and a vibrant, radiant joy in sharp contrast to her cadaverous appearance. She fought to take another breath, and with an effort that was painful to watch, whispered, "No... I want... death..."

I fell silent, pierced through the heart. There was nothing I could do but remain beside her and hold her hand, and when Dunya reappeared, breathless from running on the stairs, I sent her away again to fetch Arkady.

She was gone some time. During her absence, Zsuzsanna closed her eyes, and appeared to sleep; and I-G.o.d forgive me-could no longer resist the lure of the little diary on the night- table. I know it is a sin to invade another's privacy, but I had to know the truth, had to know whether my real enemy was Incarnate Evil, Madness, or Superst.i.tion.

And so I stealthily slipped my hand free from hers, took the diary from the table, and opened it to the final entries.

There are no words. No words to describe the revulsion, the horror, the lurid fascination those pages held for me. I cannot-I cannot write here of what I read. Decency forbids it.

Zsuzsanna had taken the vampire as lover.

My first thought was that this was the most grotesque, obscene sort of fantasy; but can fantasy kill a woman? If she is mad, then we are all mad with her, and living in a world in which the magical, the impossible, the fantastically evil, are resoundingly real... and deadly.

I devoured the last four entries with a swiftness born of t.i.tillation and terror, then set the vile little book aside and raised shaking hands to my face.

I thought: We must flee at once.

I thought: He is free to go to England now.

I thought: We must kill him quickly.

I stared at sleeping, dying Zsuzsanna, and in my mind heard Dunya's solemn voice:... kill him, doamna, with the stake and the knife. It is the only way...

Zsuzsanna stirred, languidly lifted her eyelids, and gazed up at me.

I retook her hand, and tried to compose my expression into one of comfort, tried to smile.

How large those eyes were, how infinitely dark and deep and loving. They shone with the gently mad, beatific radiance of a saint, shone like a midnight sea rippling with moonbeams.

They caressed me, pulling like an ocean current.Without realising it, I leaned closer to the dying woman until her soft, gasping breath warmed my cheeks, until our two faces were scarcely a hand's width apart. At that moment I was suddenly struck by the fact that in death, Zsuzsanna"s heretofore plain face had taken on the cla.s.sic beauty of an alabaster Venus, sculpted by the most brilliant of Roman artists.

Her mouth seemed softer, fuller, touched by the same newly unleashed sensuality that emanated from her fathomless eyes, eyes that grew larger as I approached, until they filled the entire world.

"Mary," she mouthed silently-or perhaps she did not speak at all, perhaps teeth and tongue and lips never moved. Perhaps I merely imagined that she struggled to speak my name. "Sweet sister. Kiss me before I die."

I surrendered, sinking deep into the dark ocean of those eyes with the euphoric peace of a drowning swimmer who at last yields to death. I brought my own lips closer to those pale parted ones until I hovered two inches above her. She smiled with the same dreamy pleasure that now engulfed me, and her tongue flicked in antic.i.p.ation over white, gleaming teeth.

The door swung open with a resounding slam. I straightened, startled back into ordinary consciousness.

"Doamna!" Dunya exclaimed breathlessly. She stood in the doorway, one hand against the lintel, st.u.r.dy little body taut, frozen with alarm. I knew at once that she had purposely made a loud noise. Zsuzsanna did not stir, but the tenderness in her eyes had entirely vanished, replaced by an unmistakable glint of hunger-and livid hatred.

"Doamna," Dunya repeated, her manner oddly formal, "if I could speak to you in the corridor..."

I rose stiffly, as though I had been sitting in the chair for eternity instead of half an hour, and followed the girl into the hallway.

When we were both outside the room, Dunya reached for the door and closed it, so that there would be no chance of Zsuzsanna overhearing. The instant it clicked shut, she became galvanised, and whispered, all in a rush, with the air of a panicked conspirator: "You must not kiss her, doamna, nor permit anyone else to! She is hungry, and there is a chance now that her kiss could create new strigoi."

I leaned against the wall, suddenly weary, and rested my hands on my stomach, wis.h.i.+ng that I could cover my poor child's ears, to protect him from all this insanity. "It is true," I said softly, more to myself than Dunya. "Everything about Vlad. I have read Zsuzsanna's diary."

Dunya's full lower lip began to tremble. In a high, unsteady voice, she said, "It is my fault, doamna. She will die because it is all my fault." And she covered her eyes with her hands and began to weep, with bitter, rasping sobs that shook her small frame.

I put my arms around her and patted her back, softly and regularly, as a mother would a colicky infant; she clung to me desperately, like a child, and gasped, "He made me sleep... If I hadn't been so weak... But I do not understand why she became so strong..."

"He deceived us both," I said soothingly. "She wrote in her diary. He made her drink from him, to deceive us, and to bind her to him. We must be careful now; he knows everything she sees and hears."

Dunya got control of herself at last. She straightened, then crossed herself, and with her index finger caught a single tear that slid down her cheek. I released her from the embrace with a rea.s.suring pat on her shoulder.

"What can we do to help her now?" I asked.

She shook her head. "There is nothing now that will prevent her death. All we can do is prevent her from becoming strigoi."

"By killing Vlad," I whispered.

She hesitated. "He is so old and cunning... Many have tried. All have failed. There is another, safer way."

I felt a glimmer of hope. "What must we do?"

She looked down at the carpet, unable to meet my gaze, her lips twitching with the effort to repress further tears. "After the domnisoara is dead, but before she can rise as strigoi- which she will do in two days, perhaps three-drive the stake through her heart. Then the head must be severed, and garlic put in her mouth, and this buried separately from the body."

Aghast, sickened, I put a hand to my gaping mouth and leaned once more against the wall, fearing my legs would fail me. In my mind's eye, I saw the glint of a large steel blade as it hacked through the skin of that small, tender neck. I saw the thick wooden stake positioned between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, heard the ring of the hammer as it came down, driving that stake home, heard her anguished shriek as her eyes flew open, wide with startled agony...

Arkady would never permit such an atrocity to be committed against his sister. If it was to be done, it would have to be done in secret; but such a heinous act seemed impossible to accomplish without discovery.

"Why?" I asked, when I once again could speak. "Why such a horrible thing? Why... must the head be buried apart from the body?"

She finally looked up, and straightened her small shoulders, trying to summon resolve.

"Because the regenerative powers of the strigoi are so great that, unless the head is buried in a different place, even such terrible wounds might heal, and the undead rise again." She glanced back over her shoulder at the closed door. "You saw her, doamna. Her body is perfect now."

It was true. I had been too shocked to pay much notice, but now I recalled the body of the woman lying on the other side of the door. Zsuzsanna reclined straight on her back, both shoulders perfectly formed, with no sign of curvature in her spine. And beneath the quilt, the shape of her legs was clearly visible-a matched, healthy pair.

I raised my hands to my face and wept bitter tears to think she would die, and far bitterer tears to think what we would do to her once she was dead. I doubted myself physically capable of the deed, because of the pregnancy, and Dunya was too small to accomplish the gruesome act herself. So I collected myself, thinking all the while that we were quite insane to be having such a conversation, and asked, "Dunya... is there a man whom we could pay to do this, after she has died?"

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I was quite composed as I said this. Yet my voice or expression must have evoked pity, for Dunya awkwardly touched my shoulder-timidly, at first, knowing it the utmost forwardness for a servant to touch the mistress uninvited, yet so overwhelmed by compa.s.sion that she could not resist. "Of course, doamna; there is someone who will do so, but he will refuse payment. But please do not worry about such things. I will take care of them for you." She said it so sweetly, in such a soothing tone that I began to cry again, and could not speak for a time. She put her arms around me then, and we two wept like sisters.

I said, "Dunya, I am so terrified. I am about to have a child, but I do not want to do so here.

I am afraid it is not safe. A wolf attacked at the window last night. It leapt at me, and shattered the pane. It was so close, I saw it clearly. It had Vlad's eyes. It was him. I know; I have seen him change."

She seemed not at all shocked by this, but nodded, patting my shoulder in an effort to rea.s.sure me. "I will keep you safe, doamna, with the cross and the garlic. We will let no harm come to you."

"Am I going mad? I saw him change into a wolf, before my eyes..."

"You are not mad," she said, with such authority I felt a measure of comfort-an unhappy comfort, to know that such evil indeed existed. "It is true, he can become a wolf. And if he kills another while in this guise, that soul shall become strigoi, unless prevented. But he also commands the wolves. We who live near the forest know that the creatures by nature are shy; they do not threaten the villagers-only livestock, and only in winter, if they are starving, and then only in packs. A single wolf is no threat, and we do not fear it-unless he commands it. For he knows how to make them kill whomever he wishes-though this death is a natural one, and the victim's soul returns to G.o.d."

Out in the hallway, I made her swear that she would arrange in secret for Zsuzsanna to be freed from the curse of the strigoi, and would say nothing of any of these things to Arkady, or to anyone else. She promised, but warned darkly that the servants were growing suspicious of Zsuzsanna's paleness, and that rumours were already circulating in the village as to its cause.

As for Arkady, it seems he took the caleche in a great hurry this morning, and apparently headed for the castle. One of the servants has gone to fetch him, but I do not understand what is taking him such a long time to return. I fear Zsuzsanna will die before he comes.

I have sat with her this past hour, and she wakes occasionally to feebly ask for Vlad.

I do not know what to tell her. I have no desire to invite the return of such evil to my home.

Yet she asks so pitifully, I do not know how much longer I can refuse.

Dunya remains with me, and has been a great comfort. I asked her to explain more fully, once Zsuzsanna was asleep, the covenant between Vlad and the family.

"It is as I told you, doamna," she said. "An agreement similar to the one with the villagers.

He will harm none of his own."

"Yes, I remember. But in exchange for... ?"

She lowered her eyes and released a little sigh of reluctance before returning to the same high-pitched tone of rote memory she had used earlier when telling the tale of Vlad"s pact with the town. "He will harm none of his own, and the rest of the family members may live in happy ignorance of the truth, and be free to leave the castle forever-in return for the a.s.sistance of the eldest surviving son of each generation."

I stared at her in horror, knowing in my heart what she would reply even as I demanded, "What do you mean, a.s.sistance of the eldest son?"

She turned her face away, unable to meet my stricken gaze. "His help, doamna. To see that the strigoi is fed. For the good of the family, the village, the country." My poor darling... ! * * *

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh 17 April.

Addendum written on separate parchment. I have closed myself in Father's office; his revolver lies on the desk, near my right hand. In half an hour, I shall go back downstairs and escort Herr Mueller and his wife to the safety of the manor. Until then, I must do something to ease my nerves and keep my mind free from images of Jeffries' severed head, and the manner in which he met his doom... at Laszlo's hands, or V."s?

And so I write, using Uncle's stationery.

When I saw Laszlo and the guests ride past the manor, I threw on my clothes, grabbed the pistol, and went at once to the stables, where I harnessed the horses to the caleche. We made top speed to the castle, and as we made it to the crest of the slope, some fifty feet distant, I could see that the carriage had already been unloaded, and the stablehand had led the horses back to the stable.

I pulled up into the front courtyard and tethered the horses to the front post. There was no point in unharnessing them; I would not remain here long.

The door had been bolted, and so I rang and waited, pacing impatiently until Ana answered.

"Where are the guests?" I demanded.

Her eyebrows lifted, and her eyes widened in the face of my heated intensity. "Why, upstairs, of course, sir. Helga has drawn them a bath; they're rather tired and dusty."

I pushed past her and headed up the stairs directly for the guest chamber in which poor Jeffries had stayed.

The door was already closed, and when I knocked, an answer was so long in coming that I at first feared Helga had taken the guests elsewhere.

And then I heard a splash of water, and very m.u.f.fled and faint, a feminine giggle; then a young man's voice, somewhat nearer, calling out in German. Go away.

"I am a member of the Tsepesh family," I called, in the same language, "and I must speak to you at once."

"Who?" His rising, indignant tone revealed that he had heard the name, but did not recognise it.

I flushed, remembering how V. so facetiously signed his correspondence with guests. "One of the family Dracul," I called, and when expectant silence followed, added, "I am sorry to disturb you, but the matter is urgent."

"One moment," the young man replied.

I waited patiently for the requested moment-actually several moments-while beyond the closed door came faint, m.u.f.fled sounds of conversation, movement accompanied by more splas.h.i.+ng, then the closing of the inner door to the bed chamber. Footsteps came at last, and the door swung partway open to reveal a cleanshaven, bespectacled young man with curling, golden-brown hair that was decidedly damp and tousled. He could have been no more than eighteen, with a well-formed, handsome face that sported a small, turned-up nose which accentuated his youthfulness. I did my best to appear not to notice that he leaned out so as to hide the lower half of his body; the upper half was covered with a damp silk smoking-jacket which stuck to his skin.

" Herr Mueller?" I asked politely, retrieving from memory the name on the letter V. had dictated.

"Ja?" He struggled to maintain civility, but did not entirely succeed in hiding the fact that he was eager to be rid of me; he kept a hand on the doork.n.o.b in hopes of dismissing me quickly.

"I am Arkady..." I hesitated. "... Dracul, nephew of Prince Vlad. I am sorry to disturb you and your wife's privacy"-at this, the young man blushed violently-"but there has been a mistake. Our coachman should not have brought you to the castle, but to the manor, where a room is prepared for you. I shall take you there now." I had no desire to frighten these good people; if I could whisk them from the castle unaware of the danger, so much the better.

"But the room here is perfect!" Herr Mueller exclaimed. "Lovely! And besides..." He peered at me with a trace of suspicion. "Your uncle left a note in the room welcoming us here. Why must we leave?"

I struggled to think of a compelling reason other than the truth. "Yes, well... Did you ever get my letter in Bistritz? The one warning of illness in the castle?"

His eyes widened slightly; he took a step back from me, from the door. "Why, no... Just the letter from your uncle, explaining when to meet the coach."

The letter I thought I had cast upon the fire. I struggled not to blanch at this revelation.

"Ah," said I, gravely, "it must have missed you. It's nothing too serious, of course"-and at this, his eyes narrowed and he took another half step back from the door -"but we felt it would be safer to put you up at the manor until the disease has left the castle."

"What disease is this?" Herr Mueller insisted, but I countered that such details were better discussed once we arrived at the manor.

Herr Mueller became eminently reasonable then, but begged for some time-"Thirty minutes, no more"-for the sake of his wife, who was "tired and indisposed, and was in the midst of bathing." I told him sternly I could allow no longer, and instructed him to keep the door locked and open it only when I-and no other-returned for him.

I went directly up to my office, and wrote a very short note to V., saying that I knew I was breaking his rule about interfering with visitors, but that it was utterly necessary and for his own good, as well as that of the guests. I thought at first to leave it in his drawing-room, on the table where he would be sure to find it-but now I grow nervous that one of the servants might remove it. And so I have decided to slip it beneath the door of his private chambers.

Thinking of doing so evoked again the strange, elusive image buried in my childhood memory: The silver flash of the knife; the pain as it cut the delicate flesh at my wrist. My father, holding my arm over... something dully gleaming gold. I cannot see it now. But I remembered once again the ancient throne, and this time, the words JUSTUS ET PIUS, just and faithful...

Invisible claws dug into my brain with such vehemence that the pain overwhelmed me. I cried out and sank forward, elbows and face resting on the inkblot, hands clutching the back of my skull, and surrendered for a time to blackness.

I have recovered now to find myself staring at the letter in my hands. Time to slip it beneath V."s door, then quickly collect the guests.

Footsteps on the stairs! Someone is coming; the revolver-!

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh 18 April.

It is the wee hours of the morning, and I cannot sleep. This house is so full of misery and despair, how can any of us ever slumber peacefully again?

My husband was so undone by the news about Zsuzsanna that at first he waved a gun at poor Mihai, who had to coax him down the castle stairs into the carriage and drive him home; another servant later retrieved the caleche. Arkady is with his dead sister now, and cannot be persuaded to leave her side. I fear for him, despite the fact that Dunya says she doubts Vlad will harm him, especially as he is the eldest son, and such a thing has never occurred in all the centuries the covenant has been in effect.

Nor has he ever bitten one of his own family, I almost retorted, but held my tongue; I know she means only to comfort me. Yet there can be no comfort. The truth is none of us are safe.

Until her brother arrived, I sat with Zsuzsanna and held her hand. She grew somewhat restless and incoherent, and began to ask for Vlad. At first I had not the faintest intention of yielding to her request, but she grew so tearfully, heartbreakingly desperate for him that despite my resolve, I began to relent, and took Dunya aside to ask whether this was safe.

"He can do her no further harm," Dunya whispered solemnly. "As for us-he cannot harm us unless we allow him; so long as we wear our crucifixes and avoid his charms, we will be safe. But he must know that it is Zsuzsanna, and Zsuzsanna alone who invites him here."