Bloodline (15 page)

Journal of
Mary Seward

27TH
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

In the reassuring light of dawn, we began to walk again. The castle loomed ever larger overhead.

As we rounded a bend, John grabbed me and pulled my head to his chest. “Do not look,” he warned.

But I would not listen—and turned my face to see.

On the path, beside a broken carriage wheel, lay the head of Antanasia, neck ragged and bloody, eyes wide and staring in disbelief, as though her death had come more as a surprise than a sorrow.

My heart froze at the sight. Antanasia was already dead. Would we find Lily next?

I took John’s arm as we walked past the hideous scene. “I am so sorry,” I told him. “Antanasia cared for you for so long. You must be devastated.”

John shook his head. “It is her fault that we are here now,” he spat angrily. “She should never have let Lily leave the hall.”

I stared at him a moment, surprised at the hatred in his voice.

We carried on in silence, walking quickly for most of the day. We knew that we must reach the castle as soon as possible. There were just two days until St. Andrew’s Eve—when the vampire’s strength would be at its height.

Finally, we approached the side of the great structure. I looked up and noticed a rosy glow beginning to colour the afternoon sky. “It is not long till sunset,” I said anxiously. “We must hurry!”

As we quickly skirted the perimeter of the castle keep, I noticed, with shock, that the huge entrance gates were slightly ajar. “Look!” I whispered.

John scanned for any signs of life. “They must think the wolves deterrent enough to keep out intruders,” he observed. “Let’s begin. There is no time to waste.”

“Wait,” I whispered. Rummaging in Van Helsing’s bag, I drew out two bottles of holy water. I slid one into John’s pocket and the other bottle into mine. John nodded in silent thanks.

I followed him as he hurried through the gates and crossed a cobbled courtyard to the great, studded front door of the castle building. No lights flickered in the windows. My
heart pounded as John turned the massive handle and pushed the door open.

We crept into the vast stone entrance hall, where an elaborate twin staircase curved upward to the first-floor landing. The massive stone walls were adorned with paintings and weaponry that paid testament to the inhabitants’ warrior heritage.

The late afternoon light hardly made any impact through the small defensive windows around the entrance. No sounds emanated from within. The place seemed desolate—vacant.

“Come, my love,” John whispered. “We must hurry.” He pulled me forward to the grand staircase. I lifted my skirts and took the stairs two at a time, desperate to find the place where Lily was held captive—or Quincey Harker slept.

John pointed to a corridor to the left. We hurried into it and crept along, trying the door handles on either side. All were locked.

Then, halfway along, we came across a door that was wide open. We stepped inside—and a dreadful sight met our eyes.

A young woman lay facedown on a rich Persian rug. Her dark, glossy curls were splayed around her head, creating a halo of ringlets.

Her hair, her blue dress, they looked just like …

“Lily,” I whispered.

“No!” John shook his head in disbelief. “It can’t be!”

I took in her slender build and my heart wrenched. I noticed the girl’s arm, lying by her side. Her skin was deathly white.

I wanted to grieve—to comfort John in that moment—but there was still something to be done. If Quincey had drained Lily of her blood, I needed to be sure he hadn’t also ruined her soul.

According to Father’s notes on Lucy Westenra, a vampire could turn his victim into one of his kind after a series of bites. The bite marks on Lucy’s neck belied the state that would befall her, for they appeared quite severe and large before her burial.

I could not allow Lily’s delicate soul to inhabit the wicked realm of the undead. If she
was
changed, we would have sooner need of Van Helsing’s stakes than we expected.

I crept over to the body and rolled it over. It turned easily—its unseeing eyes fixed now on the ceiling. Its neck was broken.

I gazed at the poor soul that lay there—and breathed a sigh of relief.

Behind me, John slumped against the wall.

Her face—it was that of a stranger. Lily might still be safe somewhere in the castle!

I pitied this girl whose remains lay in this wretched place, yet my heart filled with hope. Perhaps we were not too late.

John pulled me away and we carried on. Open doorways on either side revealed room after room, but all unoccupied.

There was no Lily—and no sign of a coffin anywhere.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the other end of the wide landing overlooking the entrance hall.

We stole down the other side of the twin staircase and hid once more in the shadows beneath it. “Where now?” I asked urgently, glancing at the fast-reddening sky through the narrow window.

“There.” John pointed. I followed his gaze to an ornate stone doorway. I nodded. This must be the door to the vampire’s crypt.

We hurried to it and saw that it opened onto a staircase descending into blackness. The walls that enclosed it bore elaborate designs in their ancient stone. I ran my hands over the inscriptions, and my palms prickled.

We had found what we were looking for.

John peered past my shoulder and I knew he thought the same, for he slid the revolver back into his pocket. If vampires slept there, the gun would be of no use to us.

I fumbled in Van Helsing’s bag, drew out the oil lamp, and, with trembling fingers, lit it.

“The descent into hell?” muttered John darkly. He grasped my arm and took the lamp from me. “Stay behind me, my darling. I shall go first.”

I prayed the sun still hovered above the horizon as we
hurried down the smooth stone steps. At the bottom, a sickly sweet odour permeated the cold air. All was deathly still.

I squinted in the dim light of our small lamp. John and I stood in along, narrow hall. The corridor of dank stone was punctuated with heavy wooden doors—each embellished with gruesome dragon head handles. Lamps, yet to be lit, hung between each door.

I touched the cold metal of the handle nearest and was prepared to turn it when John tugged my arm. He pointed to a door at the end of the corridor, wider and more elaborate than the others.

“Harker,” he whispered.

Gathering all my courage, I followed John toward it. I heard a scraping from one of the other rooms as we passed, and a terrifying thought occurred to me—how many more vampires inhabited this place? When they woke at sunset, would we be able to defeat them all?

When we reached the door, John handed me the lamp. He turned the great wrought iron handle. It opened easily, swinging lightly on its hinges.

The rank air in the chamber beyond caught in my throat and made me gag. It was hard to imagine that any living creature had entered there before.

I held up the lamp. The stone walls were lined with rich tapestries, embellished with gold thread that shimmered in
the lamplight. On a great plinth in the centre lay two boxes, long and narrow.

“
Two
coffins …” I gasped. “If one is Harker’s, then the other must be for …” I could not finish, for the thought that Lily already lay in the other made me sick to my stomach.

John said nothing. He took from the bag a stake and hammer and approached the plinth.

I forced my frozen limbs to follow, though every fibre of my body fought against it.

With silent purpose, John leaned over the nearest coffin. He lifted its heavy lid and rested it against the nearby wall.

“Hold the lamp closer,” he instructed, leaning over to see in the darkness.

With a shaking hand I held the lamp above the coffin, illuminating what lay within. I felt John grow rigid against me and heard a clatter as the stake and hammer dropped from his hand.

“My God …” The words left his lips in a horrified gasp.

I stared into the coffin and saw a woman—young looking yet without the bloom of youth. Her face must have once been beautiful, but now it spoke of misery. Her pale lips barely covered her pointed teeth.

I glanced to John, whose eyes were fixed on this creature. His face was rigid and expressed a look of horror I had not seen since the sanatorium.

“John,” I called. But he did not answer. He was frozen with terror.

I knew now was not the time for pause. Were this creature to wake, we would have to fight for our very souls.

Our horrible task must be completed—or our rescue would be over before it began. I thrust the lamp into John’s petrified hands, then bent and picked up the hammer and stake. I raised them above the vampire’s heart.

“No …” John gasped. He gripped my hands. “Mary … you cannot strike her. She is my mother!”

Journal of
Mary Seward

27TH
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

John’s appalling words made me freeze. His mother? But how could that be?

The eyes of the creature snapped open. She stared up at me in shock. Then she looked at John.

Her expression quickly changed to one of wild amazement. She covered her face, as though shamed by her unmasking. She let out a scream filled with despair.

As she did so, the lid of the coffin beside her began to move.

John was insensible to it. I knew I had to move quickly to save us both.

Dropping the stake and hammer back into the bag, I pulled John’s arm. We hurried from the room and made our way down the narrow hall. As we reached the stairs, I heard
the other doors along the hallway beginning to open. The vampires were emerging!

John began to regain his composure, and by the time we reached the top of the staircase, he was matching my pace with ease.

As we passed the lamps in the entrance hall, they blazed to life with a loud whoosh. At last we reached the studded front door. I pulled the handle—

“Good evening.”

We spun around, hearts in our mouths.

Quincey Harker stood on the great landing, gazing down at us with a look that chilled me in its confidence.

“I have been waiting for you,” he said, descending the stairs with purposeful steps. “You were spotted on the mountain last night.”

The sight of him, now that I had full knowledge of the monster he was, chilled me to the bone. His eyes burned into me.

“I knew that John would come after Lily,” he said, “but I confess I do not know why
you
deemed it appropriate to undertake such a journey, Miss Seward.”

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, I fought to recover my self-possession. “Lily is my friend and John my fiancé,” I countered. “It is right that I should help them.”

“Fiancé?” he echoed, a fleeting frown betraying his displeasure at the development.

I felt a small satisfaction in unsettling this fiend—but Harker’s discomposure did not last. “What a definite sense of right and wrong you have, Miss Seward,” he went on coolly. “I almost envy your simplicity of outlook.”

I turned then, searching for another way out. Behind us, streaming from the crypt’s doorway, were the waking vampires!

“Splendid. You have arrived in time to meet my friends. Don’t worry, they won’t bite … yet.” Quincey’s voice dripped with malice.

I gazed at these creatures—cursed souls with evil in their eyes. There were six of them in all—men and women of all shape and size.

Unlike Quincey, their appearance was animalistic … feral. They gazed at us hungrily, licking their lips. I grasped John’s hand and fingered the cross around my neck. As long as I had the protection of this holy ornament, the vampires would not dare attack me.

John’s hand squeezed my own. I saw fury building within him.

“I see from your new trinkets that you have deduced my true nature,” Quincey taunted.

“I’ve always had this,” I answered defiantly. “I never had need to show it.”

“You monster,” John growled. “Where is Lily?”

“She is in her room.” Harker waved his arm toward one
of the four arched doorways in the atrium. “I’m sure that she, at least, will be delighted to see you.”

John and I gazed at each other, both clearly fearing for the other’s safety should we separate. I sought to reassure him by glancing down at Van Helsing’s bag, the contents of which would provide my protection.

John touched his own cross, which hung around his neck, and looked down at his pocket, indicating the bottle of holy water he kept there.

He gave me a tiny nod, and I returned it.

Harker turned to John. “Let us leave your new
fiancée
to fetch Lily, while we relax in the drawing room. I’ll pour you a glass of port. You look done in, dear chap.”

I watched them go with great worry and uncertainty. Then I shook myself. There was no time to waste.

I made my way up into the shadows of the winding staircase. When I reached the top, I looked along the corridor. “Lily?” I called tentatively, fearful of what horrors I might awaken with my cry.

I could see nothing except the flickering shadows cast by my lamplight. “Lily!” I called again softly, but heard no reply.

I continued to creep along the corridor, holding the bag of weapons to me.

I came to a corner and spied two gnarled, scruffy figures hunched up against a closed door.

They were men, I realised. Though they appeared shriveled and undernourished.

They shuffled about, whispering to each other and listening at the keyhole. I closed my fingers round my crucifix—but as they turned, I saw from their coarse complexions and blackened, ordinary teeth that they were no vampires.

The sight of me clearly startled them.

“Is this one the master’s too?” one asked the other.

“Best not touch, just in case,” answered the other. “You remember what he did last time he caught us here.”

“Who is out there?” the almost hysterical voice of Lily sobbed from behind the door. At the sound of it the two wraiths fled away down the corridor.

“Lily!” I called again urgently, hurrying for the door. “Lily! It is I, Mary….”

There was a loud click as a key was turned. Very slowly the door was opened, revealing the darling, tearstained face of Lily. Her eyes were huge and darkened with anguish in the lamplight.

She gave another sob, then threw the door open wide and collapsed against me. “Mary! It really is you!” she murmured.

I clasped her to me. “Has he hurt you, Lily?” I demanded, “Has he hurt you at all?”

“Who?” she asked. She drew away and looked at me, puzzled, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Harker, of course!” I answered.

“Quincey would never hurt me, Mary,” she sobbed. “But something terrible has happened, something I cannot believe! Antanasia is dead, and among her things I have discovered letters—from my mother!”

Lily moved to her desk and grasped a piece of paper. She held it out to me. I took paper and unfolded it.

Inside, there was a letter. At the bottom, a signature—Rosemary Shaw.

“She is alive!” Lily wailed. “I do not understand how it can be!”

“Have you seen her?” I asked tentatively, wondering how much Lily knew of her mother’s fate.

“No.” She shook her head. “There is no return address. I do not know where she is.” She sat down on her bed and drew a deep breath. “But Mary, there is more. This place—this place is most distressing. I have been the victim of the most horrible nightmares. When I sleep, I dream of terrible demons. Men with sharp-pointed fangs who feed off the blood of the living. Some of the visions seem terribly real. So much so that I do not know what is dreaming and what is wakefulness anymore!”

“Oh, Lily!” I cried, my heart breaking. How could I tell her that the creatures she imagined were real? Worse, how could I explain that her fiancé and her mother
were
the monsters she feared?

I held the poor, dear girl close, my heart full of pity.

Finally, I drew gently away. “John is here,” I told her, taking both her hands in mine. “He is waiting for us.”

“John! Where is he?” Lily begged.

“Quincey took him to the drawing room,” I answered.

Lily led the way, seeming quite fearless in her urgent desire to see her brother.

As we crossed the main hall, I searched about for the pack of vampires that had emerged from the crypt. They were nowhere to be seen.

No doubt they were already gone, I realised, seeking their evening meal.

Harker heard our footsteps on the flagstones as we approached, for he turned before we entered the room.

“Our two ladies have returned!” he announced jovially. A disquieting satisfaction filled his voice. “Do come in.”

As we moved into the drawing room, I saw John sitting still and stiff on an ornate brocade couch.

Harker stood in front of a blazing fireplace, watching us. Beside him was a beautiful, immaculately dressed woman with long, dark hair. To his other side was another figure. Though her back was to us, I recognised John’s mother immediately.

Finally, Rosemary Shaw turned to face us. She lifted her skinny arms outward, her face twisted into a ghoulish expression of love and anguish. “Lily, darling!” she cried. “How I’ve longed to see you.”

Lily stared. The rose of her cheeks, inflamed by weeping, drained into deathly whiteness. “M-mother?” she whispered. Then she swayed and I saw her eyes roll back into her head. She swooned into a dead faint.

I held her up as best I could and looked to John for help, but he stared blindly through us. It was Harker who strode to my side. He scooped Lily in his arms and carried her away, back toward her room.

The dark-haired woman turned her gaze on me. The youthfulness of her skin and the sheen of wealth that enfolded her served to make John’s mother appear shabby and plain by comparison. She bestowed on me a smile that froze my blood for it revealed the sharp canine teeth of a vampire.

Though I hated leaving John alone with those two creatures, I could not abandon Lily. I followed Harker’s receding footsteps. By the time I caught up, Harker had reached Lily’s room. A great fire burned in the grate and heavy drapes covered the windows.

Harker had laid Lily on her bed. I watched as he pulled the covers gently over her, then tenderly pushed astray lock of hair from her face.

The gesture, though it seemed tender, had the aspect of cruelty—like enticing a rabbit into a snare with soft words of encouragement. My anger rose within me.

“How dare you touch her after all that you’ve done,” I snapped.

He regarded me with utter contempt. “You know nothing of which you speak, Miss Seward. I have done nothing. This is Lily’s destiny.”

“No!” I shouted. “It is
your
destiny, and you have pulled her into it. You deceived this innocent girl, who only wanted to love you!”

He strode toward me then, his sharp teeth bared and his face twisted with rage. I backed against the wall, holding fast to my crucifix.

“It is the rest of the world that has deceived her!” Quincey raged—his face just inches from mine. “I have shown her the truth!”

I trembled at the sight of him and could not answer.

He withdrew then and headed toward the door.

“If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to downstairs. There is a wedding to plan.”

I recovered my voice as Harker stepped through the doorway. “Do not hurt John,” I called after him. “I warn you!”

Harker smiled strangely then. “
John
… is the last person I would hurt.”

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Lily’s eyes fluttered open. “Mary?” she whispered. She held her hand out to me. I rushed over to her and took it at once.

She clung to me, half awake, half lost in nightmare. I gazed at her neck—and gasped. There were two puncture
wounds there, though they appeared no larger than pinpricks.

So, Harker had bitten her! My heart trembled, knowing what I had to do next. I took a holy wafer from Van Helsing’s bag and pressed it to Lily’s brow, holding my breath to see what would happen.

Lily squirmed, made uncomfortable by the wafer, but it left no mark, no burning scar on her. Tears of relief welled in my eyes. Lily was not yet a vampire. For now, her soul remained as safe as my own.

I have spent much of the night cooling Lily’s fevered brow and recording here the horrors of these last hours. She continues to drift in and out of consciousness. I have had little sense from her and do not even know if she remembers what shocked her into such a state.

Meanwhile, I must believe that John remains safe. I listen with a desperate heart for his footsteps to approach, but they never come. All that breaks the silence is the crackling of the fire and the occasional unearthly howl from the wolves in the forest below.