Part 10 (1/2)

The blow would have knocked a st.u.r.dy man from his feet; but in this case it only displaced the small velvet hat, causing a cascade of blue-black curls to spill down onto her swan-white neck and bosom.

She scarcely flinched. The blow clearly provoked no pain-only an anger that was terrifying to behold. She rose to her feet, the child draped over one arm, and growled-a sound that was entirely feral, inhuman. Her face, which only an instant before had been stunningly beautiful, transformed itself into a Medusan rictus, revealing sharp hideous fangs and eyes whose soft clear brown had grown opaque gleaming gold.

With a movement so swift I was taken off-guard, she struck back-with one arm sending me reeling backwards, off-balance, so that I slammed against the seat and slid to the floor.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I half-sat, one elbow propped upon the seat- cus.h.i.+on, and fought to recover my breath while her quicksilver visage transformed again from beast to beauty.

She smiled tenderly down at the pale cherub in her arms and smoothed the hair from his forehead. ”I would never hurt you, would I, darling? No ... I only give you kisses-the very sweetest-so that you can stay and be my little man forever.” And she lifted him higher in her arms and brought her face low to his small white neck.

I forced down a gulp of air and lunged at her.

Again she struck out with a slender blue satin arm, this time not even bothering to remove her attention from the tiny victim in her grasp. But her second blow hurled me against the window-seat with such force that I heard, upon impact, a loud crack and knew not whether it was my own skull or the wooden seat-frame.

I collapsed, dazed; I may have spent a few seconds unconscious. And when I came to myself I saw my little nephew lying horridly limp and motionless in Zsuzsanna's arms, while she sat with her red lips fastened upon his neck, her own pale throat working mightily as a single crimson drop spilled upon her white bosom and threaded its way down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

And as I watched, poor Jan emitted a death-rattle; his murderess raised her face and graced him with a b.l.o.o.d.y smile. ”There, now,” she said in the most maternal, soothing tone.

”Sleep, my sweet. Sleep, and when you wake, your new mama shall see that you have everything you desire!” And she wrapped the small corpse more tightly in the blanket, patted its backside, and hummed the strange lullaby as though it were a living drowsy child.

I could bear no more. I had seen the mother stricken with guilt on my account and could only imagine her agony at finding her child gone. Now to see little Jan killed, my dear nephew, while I watched, unable to prevent it ...

I covered my face and burst into hoa.r.s.e, loud sobs.

Almost immediately I felt a cold, feather-light touch upon my arms, my shoulders. In the midst of my racking grief, I expected her to strike out again, to beat me into silence; yet I was too overwhelmed to raise my hands in defense, to do anything other than weep. I should not have cared had she killed me then.

But no blows came. Her touch remained light, and I came to realise, after the first horrible wave of sorrow pa.s.sed, that she was gently stroking my hair and murmuring rea.s.surance.

Comforting me, and when I looked up at last, my vision blurred by tears, I saw she had left Jan's swaddled body upon the seat and knelt beside me; and in her eyes shone genuine compa.s.sion.

”Ah, my poor Stefan,” she said, tenderly wiping my cheeks with her cool gloved hands and leaning her face next to mine so that I smelled her breath, bittersweet and metallic. ”I know how difficult all this is for you. But do not cry for your nephew! He died gendy, in a state of pure bliss-this I swear to you, for I have done it myself. He felt no pain, no fear; and when he wakes, he shall never, never feel pain or fear again. He will live forever! And I shall see to it personally that he will always be loved and cared for. I spent my life a lonely woman, without the love of a man or child. Please-do not deny me this.”

I could answer her only with more tears. She put her cold arms round me as I wept, rocking and shus.h.i.+ng me as though I were little Jan. I yielded utterly to grief and guilt, and how long we remained thus I cannot say.

But after a time I had no more tears and came to myself enough to realise that I was still in her arms, my cheek nestled against her neck, her shoulder, her perfumed hair. I lifted my face and found it pressed against her bosom; I drew back slowly, reluctandy, aware of the sudden rapid beating of my heart, of her desirable beauty. Remembering the pa.s.sion of the night before, I drank deep of her seductive, laughing gaze and wanted nothing more than to embrace her cold perfection. . . .

To my utter disappointment, she pulled away from me with a bemused grin; I think she quite relished my reaction to her loveliness and enjoyed the flirtation. ”Ah, yes, you are a lovely young man, Stefan. But if I yield to one appet.i.te, it is not so easy to control the other-and I have not fed sufficiently for that now. Were I in pa.s.sion's throes to give you one of my special kisses, he should never forgive me.” And she smoothed a hand over my cheek, my neck, down to the centre of my chest, where she lingered coquettishly. ”Perhaps later, my dear. But if there is anything else you should require during your journey- anything within reason -just ask, and I shall see it provided.”

I looked away, disgusted that such thoughts should enter my head at such a heartbreaking moment, when the child of my lover and my brother lay dead before me.

I spent some hours staring out the window at the changing countryside, contemplating when and how to make my escape. Thus far, I have had no opportunity; Zsuzsanna does not sleep and is quite watchful-despite the fact that she still holds my little nephew's corpse in her arms and coos at it from time to time. I attempted once to bolt from the compartment, thinking to jump from the train-to death or freedom-but she restrained me all too easily.

Like my dear dead nephew, I am her prisoner, her pet.

So I demanded paper and pen, which amused her -you come from a family of inveterate journalists, she said-and I spend my time writing it all down. Now I await another chance; but from her hints, it is clear that someone else-a human woman, I think-is somewhere nearby, armed with a pistol, and that she will serve as my guard when day comes again.

Arkady! Where are you? Summon me in your thoughts, you said, and I will come. . . .

I have summoned, but I know not where I am, only that dark place whither I am bound.

The dying of the light brings with it fear; at the same time, it brings hope that rescue will come.

But I look over at the cooling flesh of Bram's boy, as he lies stiffening in the arms of his diabolical nursemaid, and know I do not deserve to be saved. I am glad, now, that I cannot give Arkady direction. Let the darkness take me. I have destroyed my brother's life, his wife's, and now his little son's; let the sacrifice of my own bring them some measure of peace.

Chapter 10.

The Diary of Arkady Dracul 23 NOVEMBER.

I shall not be able to control the hunger much longer.

Travelling is problematic. Without my Amsterdam henchman, I have no means for feeding without creating others like me-and this I have sworn not to do. The world suffers enough from my existence; let me sp.a.w.n no fresh monsters.

Perhaps if I can control myself, drink but a little and permit my victims to live, then pray that I and Vlad will soon meet with destruction . . . but I fear I have gone too long without nourishment for such self-control.

In my desperation, I thought to-night to broach the subject with Abraham. I have sensed Stefan's thoughts and know the fate that has befallen his little nephew, Jan; I cannot bring myself to tell the father this heartbreaking news. But Bram will learn of the grisly art of setting a vampire to rest one way or another. Why shall he not learn of it now?But it is too soon, too soon.

I trust Abraham; trust him as I have always trusted my beloved Mary. He is so like her- even, coinciden-tally, in appearance, for being Dutch, his eyes are blue and his colouring fair, though the gold in his hair is kissed with red. But it is in temperament that they are so utterly alike that one might think she bore him. She has raised him to share her calm, her strength, her loyalty-and even her stubbornness.

I will need to rely on that strength and determination when we arrive in Transylvania.

Before then, there are many things he must be taught, for Stefan and Jan's sakes as well as his own. But I can see my trust in him is not returned.

After rising this evening, I found him in our compartment, lost in thought as he stared out at the grey wintry landscape, a writing tablet on his knee, one hand absently fingering his golden beard. He did not hear my approach; and I saw in his pale furrowed brow, in his blue eyes, slightly magnified by thick spectacle lenses, such worry and love that it touched my cold, unbeating heart. I have spent a quarter-century immersed in a decadent, predatory world, with only the hope of revenge and the fading memories of my dear ones to keep my humanity alive; my life as a murderer has calloused me.

But experiencing once more Mary's love, and her goodness, is sloughing the layers of coldness away. (I worried that my very touch might taint her-but no. I am convinced that, for all my wickedness, our act did not, could not sully her goodness; if anything, it redeemed and elevated me. For the first time in twenty-six years, at her caress, I felt a surge of honest warmth course through my being; I am ready now to face whatever fate awaits me.

Mary, dear, can you forgive me for putting you gently to sleep afterwards? I cannot save your one son without the help of the other-and I remember all too well your resolve; I knew you would not let us leave without you.) Bram's goodness, too, reminds me of the horror I have become. I saw the anguish he suffered the night of his wife's terrible confession of betrayal in the presence of us all; but his concern for her suffering, and Stefan's, eclipsed his own pain. He showed her naught but forgiveness and gentleness afterwards; nor has he once mentioned her transgression, or his brother's.

Without opening the door, I slipped inside the compartment and said, ”Doctor Van Helsing.”

I expected to startle him; but he was a man too burdened, too drained, to waste energy on such a frivolous emotion. Slowly, he withdrew his focus from the dark, changing scenery on which it had rested-though I knew his mind was not there but far, far distant in s.p.a.ce and time: in Amsterdam, in his wife's bedroom, at that terrible moment when she recounted her tale of violation and betrayal. His gaze went inwards a moment, then at last emerged and discovered me. There it rested, and he beheld me in silence, waiting.

d.a.m.n the hunger! It a.s.sailed me as I caught his scent, and for a fleeting second, reason left me: I could think only that here was a healthy victim, full of fresh strong blood, yet too worn, too distraught to put up much struggle. And we two were alone, un-watched. . . .

Only an instant of weakness, no more: I forced it to pa.s.s. He glimpsed it, I am sure, but the weary blue eyes behind his spectacles showed not the slightest hint of fear.

He drew a long breath-one in which I heard that infinite exhaustion caused by emotional pain-and said at last, ”Certainly, sir, these circ.u.mstances are too desperate and familiar for formality. My name is Abraham; my family calls me Bram.”

”Abraham,” I said. ”As a father, I can understand your suffering. Please know that you have my full sympathy.”He turned his face back towards the window and kept it there as I continued. ”Before we arrive at our destination, there are things of which we must speak. First and most important, you must be trained to protect yourself from creatures such as I. As a man of science, you will no doubt find some of the methods bizarre, even fantastic; but I a.s.sure you, before my transformation, I was myself the greatest of sceptics.”

”Tell me what I must do,” he said softly to the window.

I spoke to him then of what I had learned-both as a terrified mortal and an undead patron of the Scholomance. I began with the basics: the protection afforded by sacred relics, and the simple skills of inducing self-trance, of concentration and meditation, of the need to build the aura through imagery so that another might not easily penetrate; of the need to recognise and resist another's attempt to invoke trance.

With the theories of Franz Mesmer, he said he was as a physician familiar, but that he lent them little credence; they were useful for stage performers and the circus, nothing more.

For he, he stated emphatically (and with more than a little of the arrogance I have seen in current-day pract.i.tioners of medicine), could not be mesmerised. I wasted no time arguing.