Dracula stood behind and to the side of me, craning so he could see as I crouched in the stable straw. He pointed to a spot on the leg of one of his horses where the surface vein was quite visible.
"There," he said, touching it delicately, then withdrawing his hand.
I was supposed to bite deep into the flesh and drink, just like that, and I absolutely could not bring myself to do so.
"There," he firmly repeated.
Terrible hunger possessed me, hunger such as I'd never known could exist. My limbs trembled from it. Weakness fluttered throughout my whole body. I had to hold hard to the animal's leg to keep from falling over.
Hovering inches from this new source of life, aching for want of it, sickened by the thought of it, I stifled my overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Drink, Mr. Morris," he told me. "Drink . . . or die."
My appetite had come very much awake on my second night's stay in the castle, but I said nothing about it to Dracula. I had the faint hope that if I could avoid blood, then I wouldn't be a vampire after all. My plan was to put things off long enough so my craving might transmute itself to the point where I'd become so famished as to eat regular food instead.
If Dracula suspected what was on my mind, he never let on, and only politely inquired if I desired refreshment, abandoning the subject when I just as politely replied I did not. We passed the evening in conversation, he plying me with many eager questions about my life and adventures. I did my best to answer, all the while hiding the constant pain within.
On the third night he cocked one eyebrow at my disallowance and pursed his lips for some time before giving a mild challenge.
"My Szgany cook informs me that you sampled some of her soup earlier," he said.
Which was true. And yes, Dracula had servants about the place, just as he had when Jonathan Harker stayed with him, but now as then they kept themselves well out of sight. Harker had been unaware of them, thinking them completely absent, though he could have inferred their presence by his countless meals and clean bed linens. I'd known of their being about from the first moment I'd entered the castle. With my sharp new senses I could hear their subdued movements and voices echoing up along the stone corridors. I could hear the rats scuttling in the pantry, for God's sake. Little wonder Dracula sought solitude in the remote upper floors of his home if they offered isolation from such annoying distractions.
This third night, waking with the hunger burning with such intense pain that I could think of nothing else, I'd followed the sounds and soon the smells to a wide, low-raftered kitchen, startling the inhabitants there to silence by walking in. They were watchful, and certainly fearful. The men stood, their hands resting on the hilts of the great knives thrust in their wide belts; the women backed away a step or two from their washing and cookery to stare. There was no doubting that they were well aware I was like their master. Perhaps they saw my raw need stamped plain upon my face and thought I'd come to feed from them.
The place reeked of food smells. Boiling vegetables, roasting fowls, baking bread, and a vast cauldron of soup accounted for the moist stench. I wanted to run gagging from it, but made myself hold my ground and slowly come forward. Identifying an older and very solidly built woman as the most likely head of the pecking order I addressed her.
"I've a powerful appetite, ma'am. Would you oblige me with some of your fine soup?"
It was obvious that she didn't understand a word of it, but since I put a questioning tone to my voice and gestured at a stack of bowls and toward the cauldron, she eventually caught my meaning. She spoke rapidly at the others, probably making a translation to judge by their reaction. They eased up a bit, looking puzzled, and one of the men emitted a brief grunt that could have been a laugh. He said something back to her that I took to mean she should go ahead with my request.
A minute later and I was seated at a large and very old oaken table with a filled and steaming bowl before me and all their eyes fixed on my every move. I was skittish and didn't welcome an audience, but there was no helping it; I didn't have enough of the language yet to tell them to mind their own business. It would have been better for my peace of mind if they'd left. I could hear their very hearts drumming away, could scent the blood rushing beneath their flesh.
Ignoring its distraction, I picked up a spoon with shaking fingers and dipped a small swallow of liquid. I blew, then slowly forced it to my mouth. The smell of the stuff should have been toothsome and probably was, but to me it was like trying to sup off kerosene. I made myself take it in, though. It ran down my gullet like hot slime and hit my belly like a gunshot. I had to hold tight to the table to keep from doubling over from cramp. The others watched me close. From their murmurs I got the idea they thought my eating to be a most remarkable thing, indeed.
I tried a second spoonful, again taking in only the liquid. I couldn't bring myself to try chewing on any of the pieces floating in it. One thing at a time. It was still bad, but I got it down and kept it there. The same again for the next and the next. My poor belly roiled and twisted. Half a cup was about all it could manage. I put aside the spoon and stood, still holding to the table to keep upright. I bowed and thanked the cook in her own language, which pleased her mightily, gave a genial nod to the others, and made my way out, walking about as steady as a drunkard trying to hide his condition.
Mixed in with my nausea was grim triumph, the kind that goes with the accomplishment of a difficult and noxious task. I'd managed to consume normal food and get away with it. I'd been told otherwise. Dracula had been pretty resolute on that point; he'd said there was no way around it, but I wasn't ready to believe him. My nature is such that I generally like to see things for myself first if it seems a reasonable way to go.
It all seemed very reasonable indeed as I made my way along the empty passages, climbing toward my host's living area. Seemed, until I came to a window and the clean scent of fresh snow hit me. I'd found I had no need to breathe regularly, but wanted to clear my lungs of what they'd picked up in the kitchen. I opened the ancient shutters and leaned over the wide, bare stone sill. That was all it took. The soup I'd struggled so hard to consume now violently left me, those few feeble mouthfuls splattering on the cracked flags of the courtyard some twenty feet below.
How I hated it. Hated my body's betrayal of me, its rejection of such basic, normal nourishment. Most of all I hated the fact, that as I sat collapsed against the wall beneath the window and sweated out my recovery, I still desperately hungered.
It wasn't going to go away.
Groaning at the unfairness of it I gave in to true despair for a full five minutes, letting my tears flow, cursing the world, and feeling as sorry for myself as anyone has a right to be. None of which did me a damned bit of good at changing things. I finally woke out of it, not feeling better, but certain I could feel no worse.
I was half-blind from the craving. My legs trembled, and my head ached from having been sick, but I forced myself to totter up to the library and take a chair by the fire. It was well fueled and bright, filling the room with a warmth that had no effect at all on my shivering.
The only thing I'd gnawed on in all this time was my pride, my wish not to give in to what had happened to me. It kept me going, but did not satisfy or ease the pain. I determined that I would rest a few moments and warm up, then make myself try yet again. Next time I would take in simple water. Having had nothing in three nights I knew I'd need at least that to stay alive. I would not let this change take me over.
Dracula came in some little while later, though I didn't notice. Sharp as my hearing was the man could move quiet when he wanted to, though I wasn't paying mind to anything in my present state of misery.
"I said good evening, Mr. Morris," he intoned in such a way as to catch my attention.
I slowly crept up from the pit I'd dropped into and refrained at the last moment from pressing a protective hand across my always-hurting stomach. "G-good evening."
He'd paused by his work table, which was littered with many papers and books, then walked over to put his back to the fire, as though to seek its heat. He peered closely at me. "Do you desire some refreshment?"
"No, thank you," I replied.
Then did he make his statement about his cook.
"Yes, I was down to the kitchen just a little bit ago." No point in denying it.
"This was just after sunset?"
"That's right."
"Might I draw your attention to the mantel clock?" He nodded in its direction.
Finding difficulty focusing my eyes, I stared long at its face and finally worked out that it was nearly three in the morning. "It hasn't been wound," I said.
"The clock is quite correct, the problem is with yourself." He turned and got busy with building up the fire, which was now very low.
"I must have fallen asleep." It seemed the most natural way to account for the lost hours.
"Sleeping as others do is not something you may indulge in when the sun is down. You know that." He straightened and looked at me again.
"I'm sure I dozed off."
"You were in the thrall of a trance. When food is scarce in the winter certain animals do much the same thing. So it is with us."
That made a kind of sense, though it wasn't anything I wanted to hear.
"Mr. Morris, a good host allows his guest freedom, but also looks after his welfare. When I see someone under my protection trying to walk off a cliff, then it is my solemn duty to prevent him from harming himself."
"I'm all right," I muttered.
"I will risk giving offense and say to you that that is a complete lie."
I hadn't the strength to argue.
"Of course, you yourself are giving me much offense by your refusal to deal with a very simple matter. This denial of your need puts me in a position where I must either let you continue to injure yourself or force you to take action. Both would be unmannerly."
"This is not something I want," I whispered.
"Which is very obvious. You've shown a great will in fighting against it. A great will. Few would be capable of such and still be sane. But no matter how much you desire to have things back the way they were, it will never be so. You are what you are. You must face that."
"But to drink . . ." I trailed off, shaking my head.
"Blood. Say it."
Damned if I will.
"You attach much importance to it, which can be a good thing, for blood is life to us. Attaching a negative importance is . . . destructive. To you. To anyone who crosses your path."
"What?"
"When your appetite finally exceeds your self-command you could kill. I'm sure you would not wish to murder."
I rallied enough to glare at him. "That will never happen."
"Never? You have not lived long enough to know the word has a most . . . flexible meaning." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced slowly up and down the room. "Does your head hurt? Is your vision clouded? Perhaps a decided weakness plagues your limbs?"
"Why? You got patent medicines to sell?"
His eyes narrowed. "These are serious manifestations, Mr. Morris, and jests are out of place. A Nosferatu of my breed may go without blood for long periods of time and not suffer. One of your kind cannot." He paused before me. "There is no point resisting this. It is only blood."
"Only?"
"Blood, Mr. Morris, not soul. And animal blood at that. A nourishing food they produce with their bodies. Like milk. If you think of it in such terms perhaps it will be easier for you."
"It's repulsive."
"Only in your mind. You must find your way past it."
"I will not give in."
"That is something outside your power. I've a responsibility toward you as my guest, but also toward those who serve me. I will not allow them to be endangered."
"I won't touch them. I swear it."
"You will come to a point where you won't be able to help yourself."
"No."
"It is an inevitability. You will lose control. I would prefer you sate yourself on an animal than on one of my servants. Would this not be preferable to you as well?"
"I'd rather try the cook's soup again."
"This is your broth now." He pushed back the sleeve on his arm, and turned up his wrist. The skin was whiter than bone. Beneath its thin surface the blue lines of his blood vessels were clearly visible. With the sharp nail of his index finger he dug deeply into the flesh, breaking it. His blood welled up, bright as a ruby.
"Don't," I whispered.
"You can smell it, can you not?"
I turned my head away, stopped my breath, but the insidious scent was already within me, ripping my self-mastery to shreds.
"You may wish to refuse it, but with good reason your body tells you otherwise."
Yes, its betrayal was well begun. I felt my corner teeth descending to their full extent. I could see nothing but the blood. Lurching from the chair, I stumbled toward the door, trying to escape the overwhelming temptation being offered. I made it halfway before my legs gave out.
Dracula stalked over, looking down from a great height it seemed. With me watching, he put his wrist to his mouth, sucking on the wound he'd made as one does to close a simple cut. He did it quite deliberately, his gaze on me the whole time.
Again, I smelled the blood. Cramp took me. I doubled over on my side, wishing for a knife so I could cut out the pain. A long time later it eased. Slightly. I could see again. Dracula was still there.
"Enough of this foolishness," he said, pushing his sleeve down. "I've better things to do with my time than look after your troubles."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then you will look after them yourself? Excellent. I'm most delighted. Come, and I'll show you the way to the stables."
It wasn't as though I accompanied him by my own choice. He clapped one of his lean arms about me and hauled me up, walking slow so I more or less stayed on my feet. If I fell again he'd just carry me. That would have been too humiliating.
The journey seemed to take forever and at the same time passed in an instant, such was the befuddled state of my mind. I was no stranger to hunger and knew it could do odd things to your thinking, but I'd never experienced anything like this waking nightmare.
Dracula paused before one of the big black horses in its stall. The animal was calm enough, probably well used to its master's needs. It didn't budge a muscle as I all but dropped at its feet. I managed to pull myself up a bit, and there I was, in close proximity to the vein on its leg.
I could hear the deep, regular thumping of its heart. Smell the blood.
"This you must do to live," said Dracula, an edge of impatience in his tone as I continued to hesitate. "Take it now, before madness takes you."
Slumping, I finally gave in to the inevitable.
It was as bad as I'd anticipated, worse even. The touching of the tough hide with my lips, my sharp teeth working to cut the skin, finally breaking through. I made a mess of it with the stuff flowing onto my face, staining my hands and clothes—
Then the first taste of it struck my tongue.
Changing everything.
My realization that I'd been a fool would come later, when I could think again. For now all was sensation as the blood welled into my mouth and I swallowed again and again. It was different from all the other pleasures I'd ever known before, intense as any and comparable to none. I was aware of the living heat flooding through me, erasing the awful cold within. It was better than a shot of the finest whiskey and far more intoxicating. There seemed an unending supply, and I drew on it greedily, a starved child whose hunger is at long last appeased.
I had no judgment over how long it took, having lost all accounting of time, nor did I care. It mattered not. I drank my fill and more.
When I finally took command of myself and drew away, I was quite alone except for the horse, which seemed none the worse for what I'd done. My host had departed, probably back to his library and whatever concerns he'd left there while dealing with me. I was glad of the privacy. It would give me the chance to organize my thoughts before seeing him again.
I owed him a profound apology.
He accepted it graciously enough, showing the sort of manners that would please even an Englishman.
"You had to discover for yourself," Dracula said with a slight wave of his blunt fingers. He was seated at his table before a drift of papers, pots of ink, and several goose quill pens. To see him, a deadly Nosferatu, amid such prosaic articles lent a bizarre note to my changing perception of what life was like for him. One moment he's urging me to drink blood, and the next he's working away at some dull-looking business task.
"I'll allow the truth of that, sir. You've been uncommonly patient."
"It is an acquired virtue for me, I fear. Happily you did not exhaust it before coming to your senses. May I now safely conclude that you've achieved an acceptance of your condition?"
I eased into the chair by the fire, opening my palms to its heat out of habit rather than need. Prior to coming up I'd washed away the blood from my hands and face and donned a clean shirt from a supply of clothing my host had provided. All proved to be of English make, and I could guess that it had been the stuff left behind by Harker when he'd made his escape from his prison of a room last summer.
"I accept that I must drink blood to live," I said.
Something like disappointment shimmered in his eyes. "Ah. Well. It is a beginning. Small steps are best when one is mastering a new thing."
"Providing one is willing to master it."
Dracula folded a sheet of paper up and sealed it, impressing the soft wax with a ring on his left forefinger. He added the finished document to a growing stack of similar items in an ornate metal box. "Until another dilemma makes a fever in your brain?"
He did have a point. "This takes some getting used to; I'm sorry to cause you inconvenience."
"Bah. You've done better than others I've seen. Some have gone mad from the change, but then they were of my breed. I was uncertain if you would adjust yourself, but this little progress is good."
"And if I'd gone mad?"
His heavy brows quirked and his mouth twitched. "Then I'd have dealt with you as with them. You may take some comfort in the knowledge that you would have not suffered."
His matter-of-fact manner on the subject of my death almost riled me, but I could see his side of things too well. If I'd gone mad, especially with my formidable new strengths and abilities, then I'd need killing. Best to leave that dog lie. Or wolf, as he might have referred to it.
I understood that I'd probably come up with other aspects of my change to object to, but feeding on blood had been the real cork in the bottle. It worried me now how I'd changed my mind so quick after such determination to starve. One taste of blood and suddenly I'm feeling right as rain, all my misgivings faded to nothing. Having seen how a syringe full of morphine could quiet the most violent lunatic in Jack Seward's asylum I wondered if the blood had done something similar to me, affecting my very thoughts. If I made myself go without again, would I return to the kind of thinking I'd had before?
Looking at the situation, with my head clear and the grinding pain in my belly vanished, I deemed it unlikely that I'd even try. Pure stubbornness had kept me going down that road. Since it hadn't led to anyplace good, I'd have to admit I could do nothing constructive for myself there and strike out in another direction. It just rankled that Dracula had been right about it all. At least he wasn't being smug.
"You're apparently well revived now, which is all that matters," he said. "Your color is better and your eyes are not so dull. What of your spirits?"
"Improved."
"Yes, a good meal is always a help there. You did enjoy it?"
What an inadequate word, enjoy. "Once I'd started. Yes."
"No more revulsion? Ah. So excellent. But for the future I must advise you not to become too lost in the pleasure of it as to be unaware of what is around you."
"What do you mean?"
"The time will come when you wish to leave my home, and the wide world is not so understanding of these things as are the people here. Should some stable lackey chance upon you while you are engaged in refreshing yourself his reaction may not be—ah—convenient to you."
"So I need to take care not to get caught."
"Exactly. A little caution will save you much trouble and probably your life."
His quill scratched over a fresh sheet of paper at irregular intervals as he made notes from an old book. I wondered why he did not avail himself of a modern steel pen, or even a typing machine like the one I'd gotten Mrs. Harker, but perhaps such items were scarce this far into Transylvania. Certainly I'd seen plenty of evidence that the advantages of living in the nineteenth century had not progressed far into this corner of the world. These days even in the wildest parts of Texas you could unexpectedly come upon a well-to-do household with a piano on proud display in the parlor, the whole family and the hired help having enough schooling to be able to read from their Bible. Not so here. From the look of things the land and people hadn't changed much since the Dark Ages.
That was clearly in Dracula's favor. With everyone in the strong grasp of fear and superstition he had little need to worry about the peasants making trouble for him. He was fairly safe from any local sneaking up to the castle during the day with a stake and hammer.
Of course the same went for me, which was something to rejoice in, for I was far more vulnerable. Dracula could be up and about with the day if he chose or if necessity dictated. No such luxury for what I'd become. As soon as the sun made its first lance of light over the horizon I ceased to be aware of anything until it set again. Had I gone mad from my change, then that would have been the best time for Dracula to deal with the problem. At least then I'd have been oblivious, and as he'd said, I'd not suffer.
My thoughtful host had given me a secure enough place to retire. He'd provided me with the key to a windowless chamber high up in an otherwise abandoned tower. The oak door was a stout thing nearly a foot thick, and if the lock was very old then it was also quite formidably huge. There was also a heavy iron bar I could slip between two massive rings set in the stone on either side of the door. Even if someone got past the lock they'd still have to break through that obstacle, which would take hours, and the noise might draw attention from the other inhabitants of the castle.
I'd been rather curious on how Van Helsing had been able to enter this fortress so easily to make his executions of the three vampire women, until I got a look at their resting place on my first night. Dracula had led the way into his castle through a series of passages that he assured me Van Helsing had quite missed. Finally, my host pushed through a ponderous door that opened onto his family crypt.
The vault was so dismal and hideous, the air so fetid with the smell of sulfur, rot, and death that only a vampire with no need to breathe would dare penetrate such dreadful depths. Little wonder the Szgany servants avoided it even in the day, and little wonder they'd heard nothing of the violence that had taken place there.
We passed on to the old chapel. Dracula looked turn-on-turn into three empty tombs, but found naught there but dust.
And drying blood. The smell of it permeated the chamber. Butcher's work had been done here, brutal, audacious butcher's work. Even knowing the implacability of his nature, I could hardly attribute this horror to Van Helsing, but there were the man's own square-toed boot prints scuffed into the grime on the floor next to each resting place.
Dracula offered no comment, and apparently no prayer. He only heaved a great sigh, put his back to his sorrows, then guided me up into the castle proper and eventually to the tower room. After a brief discussion where he determined that I had absolutely no desire to lie in anything resembling a coffin, he saw to it that a supply of earth was brought up along with a simple pallet for a bed. As I still possessed the blanket that had wrapped my body, I lay it upon the dirt to spare my clothing.
Without irony he bade me goodnight and departed, pulling the door shut with a solid bump. The room became too silent and lonely for my peace of soul. I dropped to my knees and prayed as I'd not done since a child, pouring out my misgivings and terrors to a hopefully kind deity. Not knowing if I was heard or not did nothing to ease my low spirits. I remained on my knees until an awful sluggishness abruptly stole over me. Through the thick stones of the wall my body had sensed the risen sun. I crawled onto the pallet and for the first time assumed my portion of death for the day, unmindful of the discomfort of the hard floor.
My spirits were no better when I woke in pitch darkness. For a few moments panic overcame my hunger until I blundered my way to the door and hauled it open. The faint light that shone up the spiral passage helped steady me. I was ashamed of my fear, but did not know what to do about it, so I pushed it away for the time being.
Dracula had promised more agreeable amenities, and on the second night my room had a proper bed (with the earth spread between the linens and a fine feather mattress), a table, chair, oil lamp, and candles. No fire was possible, but that was of little concern to me since I now seemed to be fairly indifferent to the cold so long as I was out of the wind.
After inquiring, I learned that in ancient times the room was meant for use as a sort of final bolt hole should the castle be overrun by enemies. There would the women lock themselves away until they either greeted their triumphant defenders, surrendered to their conquerors, or killed themselves. Dracula made no mention which of those events might have happened in the castle's long history, only saying that I would be perfectly safe there. Certainly it was proof against anyone but my host, who could change himself into mist and slip through the cracks if he chose.
Of course, I could do pretty much the same, or so he maintained.
Though of different breeds, he vouched I could dematerialize and float about where I liked, except past running water. During our initial confrontation in the forest he said I'd lapsed into an incorporeal state for a few seconds without even knowing. At the time I thought I'd been about to give in to shock and collapse, when all along it had been my body responding to my heartfelt wish to escape.
I'd not attempted a repetition of it because of the pain and weariness of my self-imposed fast, but now made an inner promise to try to rediscover this new ability. It struck me that a proficiency for easy vanishing would spare me from being troubled by stray stable hands while dining.
"Why are you so concerned for my welfare?" I now asked Dracula after a good long study of the fire.
He paused with his writing. "Because the customs binding host and guest are sacred in this land."
"I accept that, but not many days past I was doing my all-out best to kill you."
"Such is the nature of war. As I have won, there is no reason for me to continue the fight. Besides, I had questions for you."
"Which I've long since answered."
"You have."
"So?"
He let the quill drop. "I have heard of how direct Americans can be. It is a most stimulating change from the so-polite British circumspection. Very well, my concern for you is tied to concern for me, for all others who share this life. I deem it a duty to see that you are able to look after yourself so that you may not draw attention to the fact we Nosferatu even exist. Our chief protection in these enlightened times of science is that most believe us to be a myth. It has not always been so, but now that it is, you will be wise to preserve the sham, to safeguard yourself and always keep others from being discovered."
"But I know no others of our kind. Except for Nora."
"That you are aware of. Recall that your lovely Miss Jones seemed a normal woman in all ways. Perhaps now that you know what to look for, you will find more than you would think."
"You make it seem like a secret society."
"Some may view it as such, though I find the idea of Nosferatu gathering themselves together quite absurd and dangerous. Such foolishness would only call attention to us. Those whom I've encountered had little in common with one another save their changed state. As with other people we each have our separate needs to look after."
"And maybe it's better for the predators to have plenty of hunting room."
"There's that," he admitted, apparently missing my sarcasm.
"So you do feed on people as well as animals."
"When moved by passion, of course. You will as well when the time comes. And do not make the face and begin to object. Did you not find great pleasure with Miss Jones?"
"Yes . . . but she should have said something to me."
He gave a little shrug. "Indeed, but that is something you must settle with her should you meet again. For your own future dalliances, it is up to you how much to convey to your mistresses. When it happens, make certain they are of a character that you may utterly trust them with your secret. By that you are trusting them with your very life. Few such exist, I promise. It has ever been so. It is best that you not even bother. So long as you only take blood and not exchange it with your mistresses, then—"
"But they'll know when I do that. I did."
"True, but you can make them think it unimportant. Did Miss Jones not impart such a request to you? Perhaps at the same time looking deep into your eyes? Such is the power of influence you now command. Use it sparingly, out of self-protection lest others notice."
"But I don't know how." I was wary of trying, too, as it struck me as being almighty ill-mannered to press my will upon another person, especially a lady.
"It will come in the doing. Knowing that you are capable is all you need; the accomplishment will then be a most natural thing."
More like a most supernatural thing, I silently corrected.
"Any other questions?"
"Yes." I wondered if Dracula might shy away from this one. "I want to know about Renfield."
He looked honestly puzzled. "Who?"
"The wretch who helped you at Seward's asylum."
"That madman who attacked me? Yes, what of him?"
"You killed him."
"Indeed, I should very much hope so. He was useful to me for a short time, and then his insanity overtook him at last. He was a . . . liability."
"How can you say that?"
"Is it not the correct word? A danger then."
"A danger to you? That poor devil?"
"I suppose one may feel sorry for a mad dog, but—"
"You murdered him! I was there at his dying when he named you."
Dracula pursed his lips, regarding me with what seemed to be great patience. "I've no need to explain my actions to anyone. If you consider defense of myself against him to be murder, then so be it. You were not there to see how things were at the time."
"Then enlighten me."
He paused a long while, finally shrugging. "Yes, I used him to gain entry to the building. I used him and others in that house to help me discover what your friends were up to in regard to myself. My powers of influence worked well on the servants, but mad people are immune. Mad people and drunkards. That is something you need to remember."
"Why did you kill him?"
"You may believe or not, but he gave me no choice. He babbled of vengeance against those who had imprisoned him, and he included Mrs. Harker in his plans. I could not allow that. Seward was too kindly a keeper, and to my mind, too stupid to see what so obviously lay ahead. This Renfield was a disaster poised to overtake all of you. It was a fortunate circumstance he chose to attack me first."
"But he was trying to defend us against you."
"Ha. And you believed his ravings?"
"He was quite sane at the end. Completely lucid."
Dracula made a waving-away gesture with one hand. "I care not. Only his intentions prior to his death concerned me. In the days of my breathing youth I'd have had him removed from his misery, and it would have been more effective than confining him to an easily breached cell. Are all the lunatics under Seward's charge so adept at escape or was Seward simply incompetent?"
I bristled, wanting to defend John Seward, but quelled it. "You say Renfield might have tried to do us an injury?"
"It was a certainty to say the least. I was given to understand Mrs. Harker had taken to visiting him. Apparently she would sit with him with but one attendant for protection. Be that creature tied hand and foot, I would never have trusted to place her fate within twenty yards of him. Your friends have too much civilization. It overcomes honest sense. Bah!"
Once more I was placed in the position of trying to balance what I'd seen against what he was telling me. Both views made sense depending where I stood. Could we have all been so wrong?
"Is there anything else you wish to have clarified?" he asked.
"Indeed, sir. I wish now to know about Harker."
He did look mildly surprised, but not worried. "A most general request. Would you please more specific be?"
"I want to know why you treated him so harshly. He spent most of his time here with you in fear for his life."
"Is that what he told you and the others?"
"It's all in his journal, which I have read."
Dracula spared a regretful look at his papers, pushed his chair from the table, and stood. "I should be interested to hear a complete account of that, Mr. Morris."
"It is not complimentary."
"Evidently, since your friend was so anxious to kill me and was able to pass that desire onto others. Give me an honest reporting and spare no detail; I shall not take offense."
"But I want to hear what you have to say."
"In good time. Please." He made a gesture of invitation with his upturned palm.
As it didn't seem I'd get anywhere unless I went first, I did so, full well knowing that he'd have the chance to think up a ripe and reasonable explanation for each of his crimes against poor Harker. I plunged into things, from Harker's arrival in Munich to his desperate climb down the wall to freedom and his subsequent hospitalization in Buda-Pesth for brain fever. Dracula made no interruption, though once in a while his brows descended and he paced once or twice before the fireplace pulling at his graying mustache. He seemed more thoughtful than agitated, though, and continued in his silence for quite some time after I'd finished.
"This is Harker's exact story?" he finally asked. "That which he set down?"
"I've read it many times over. You've gotten a fairly short version, but everything's there that matters."
He shook his head and clasped his hands behind him, stalking slowly up and down, his gaze on the floor. "No wonder all of you pursued me with such vigor and determination."
"Between what happened to him, what you did to Mrs. Harker, and—"
He froze in midstep at her name and snapped a dark look at me. "That subject, young man, is closed, for now and evermore."
I smothered the rest of my utterance. It had to do with Lucy and was perhaps best left unsaid, lest I betray myself to him.
"Now shall I speak of Jonathan Harker's sojourn with me, nothing more," he stated in a manner that would brook no argument.
Pushing my nascent anger away for the moment, I leaned forward. "I'm listening."
"Then listen well, for now you will hear the truth of things."
Keeping a poker face is second nature with me when I choose to use it, and so I held to a neutral expression. I thought it would be to his advantage to lie, to make himself look better in my eyes, but I could not ignore the nagging instinct that he really didn't give a tinker's damn for my good opinion, or anyone else's for that matter. There was also the fact he seemed to be fairly annoyed about something, and if he was intending to lie then he'd be more prone to put on a pleasant manner in order to convince me of his sincerity.
"All that you told of his story was true—up to a certain point," he said. "Yes, I did hold him prisoner in his room, but it was for his own protection."
"To keep the—your three friends away from him?"
"Let me speak of it in order. You tell me that his real fear began when he saw me descending along the castle wall?"
I nodded. Certainly at that point Harker first realized the true supernatural nature of his host. While reading that part of his journal I'll say without blush that my hair went straight up on the back of my neck and goose-flesh raced along my arms. I'd had to stop for a time to gather myself enough to finish it and needed a bracing drink afterwards.
Dracula snorted. "I shall state with certainty that the seeds of his fear were sown long before he arrived. His companions on the diligence he took here no doubt supplied him with many rumors about me, about the land. It must have quite slipped his mind how I'd gone to great pains to see that he arrived safely, and even saved his life when he insisted on an ill-advised walk and got caught in a snow storm, but that is nothing to the rest. Such is man's character to forget the good done for him. Harker is a most sensitive sort of fellow, is he not? I noticed that about him from the first."
"He was when I met him." He had good reason to be, after what he'd been put through.
"Which was after his return to England?"
"Yes."
"He must have always been so, but not allowed others to see, I think. When Harker first came here he was most anxious to be of service and so it seemed only . . . typical? . . . to me. I am accustomed to people behaving in such a manner; it was nothing to remark upon. I made him welcome, we conducted our business, and he soon became comfortable in my presence. He was helpful to answer my questions about the English law and customs. I found him a good listener, and the hours of evening passed quickly for his company. I thought all was well for him. What I'd not considered was the effect of the—" he gestured wide about us to take in the whole of the castle. "—atmosphere this place might have on one unused to it."
"I suppose he might have found it a little forbidding."
"Perhaps you are not as sensitive as he. You walk unafraid through passages that still ring with the thousand lives and deaths that have gone before. These stones have long memories—and I know Harker felt their oppression."
"Are you talking about ghosts?"
"Not in the ordinary sense."
I gave short chuckle. "I don't think a ghost is supposed to be ordinary, that's why people get all alarmed about them."
"I do not speak of crude figures in winding sheets rattling chains and locks. I speak of an essence left behind, an impression, a feeling one senses with the soul, not the eyes. This ancient land is steeped in blood and barbarity well beyond any savage imagining, and it can have an adverse effect on those unprepared. Harker was a soft man from the city, raised to civilized comforts, sheltered from the true terrors of the world past and present. Comes he then to a wild, dark country where he has not the instinct to listen to the wiser voice of his heart. When it says stay indoors at night and pull the covers over your head it is for a very good reason.
"I should have seen the mal power working away on him, but not knowing him well I could not judge what is normal or not for him, and he being English, he speaks nothing of his troubles to me. In a very short time the gloom of this place began to take its toll upon his mind."
"You're saying he got touched in the head just from being here?"
He gave a little shrug. "A most interesting phrase. I must remember it. It seems right."
"And all that he wrote in his journal was a fiction?"
"Not all. Much there was true. He departs from the facts concerning my three companions. He departs very far."
I felt my heart sink. "In what way?"
"You say he wrote that I interrupted before my dear ones could kiss him, take his blood. That is not what happened."
"Then what did?"
"They were . . . playful and curious. And disobedient. I told them to leave him alone, but the temptation was too much for them, and when he fell into a doze in that part of the castle they did come upon him. What followed you may guess, for you are a man of the world."
"So they—"
"Oh, yes, They did indeed. Once he discovered the delights of their company he was a most willing participant. One can hardly blame the fellow. He is a lonely stranger far from the restraints of his own genteel society and has before him three most passionate, beautiful women. One cannot blame him at all."
"But he loves his wife, very deeply."
"She was not his wife then, and is it not the custom that young men are expected to, as I have heard said, `sow oats' before settling down?"
"I wouldn't call it a custom. Besides, I can hardly see a steady fellow like Harker going on such a rip as you suggest. Are you sure?"
"My dear ones confessed as much to me when I did finally take notice of Harker's . . . deterioration."
"They were drinking blood from him?"
"Only a little, not enough to endanger him and there was no blood exchange. What I saw was a sharp decline in his spirits. At night he knew the heights of ecstasy, but during the day he wallowed in the depths of guilt. So much so that it began to show in his manner and speech. I do not understand why it is that some people suffer such distress and shame for doing what is so enjoyable. It is as though they must punish themselves for taking pleasure from life, as though they deserve it not. Why must joy be atoned for? There is no reason for it, but many persist in bringing harm to themselves when they should be thankful and accept. Harker was of that number.
"He felt guilt for his perceived betrayal of his fiancée and perhaps of myself, his unsuspecting host. Had I known I could have put his mind to rest on the latter. My dear ones were ever free to fulfill their desires with anyone they chose unless I bade them otherwise. Harker did not know that, of course, and because of things he'd observed as I went about my other business he was too afraid of me to speak. If he'd said but one word I might have prevented much anguish for him. By the time I discovered the truth he was already half mad with the brain fever and to stop him from harming himself I had to lock him up. I gave orders to my Szgany to free him and conduct him to a doctor after my departure for England."
"Why did you not take him yourself?"
"My arrangements of travel could not be altered to allow for it by then. Besides, toward the end the very sight of me was enough to send him into a terrible fit. It was most distressing to witness—and feel." He thoughtfully touched the scar on his forehead. "It seemed best to not be around him, though perhaps I should have tried otherwise. Then might I have found his journal."
"And destroyed it?"
"Of course, out of self-protection. As you've just realized, it contains some rather damaging untruths. He describes me as being a monster. If I am a great and so-terrible monster, then his little dalliance of the flesh is not so important."
"Like stubbing a toe to forget a toothache?"
"Ah . . . yes . . . I suppose. As for feeding a child to my dear ones and setting my wolves upon the grieving mother, or compelling them to attack Harker should he set a foot outside, those are fantasies from his fevered mind. He was indeed ill to invent such things."
I shook my head. "But he wrote so believably."
"Then perhaps he is misplaced in his vocation and should take up the writing of lurid romances instead. I have had to do many dread acts in my life, but torturing English solicitors—bah!"
And to hear it like that, it did seem absurd.
"What would be the point, Mr. Morris? I'd already obtained all that I required of him. No, young sir, the truth is that the very proper Mr. Harker could not bear to have his forbidden pleasures on his conscience and so buried them deep in his mind. That he made mention of them at all in his journal is what should be so surprising to you. The only way he could speak of his carnal encounter was to say that I stopped all before it could start, leaving him an innocent victim of the others' unfulfilled lust. Would that it were true, then none of this might have happened."
That was quite an assumption to say the least, for Dracula might not have preyed upon Lucy and everything would be . . . no, I could not continue on that trail. If I started thinking about her, then I'd start hurting again over the thousand might-have-beens. She was gone and there was no help for it.
"Any more questions?" he inquired.
"No. None for now," I said. My head was so stuffed full with all these new particulars I didn't think I was ready to add more without being in danger of splitting a seam.
"It is just as well. I feel the sun's soon arrival. You've just time to get to your place of rest."
I could feel it, too. Yet another link to him, to his kind. My kind now, damn it all. I huffed out some kind of quick farewell to him and hurried away, nearly running up the worn and narrow stairs to my high sanctuary. I didn't miss a step. It would have been like a coal mine to anyone else, but not to me, for enough ambient glow leaked up the passage for my eyes to use. When I got to the chamber and locked the door, though, I was cut off from all light except that of my own making. I wondered if Dracula's vision was similarly limited, or if he could see perfectly even in such a sealed place.
Hands out, I stumbled forward and fell onto my bed with its layer of hard-won Transylvanian earth, feeling it shift and pack under the weight of my body. It had a smell more of dry dust than of anything that could cause a seed to sprout. Dust and death, I thought. Dracula must have given me some of the stuff from his rotting chapel.
I wanted light. Wanted it very badly. Groping on the little table next to the bed for my packet of Vespas, I scraped one to life against the stone wall. The yellow radiance hurt my eyes for an instant, but my vision adjusted quickly.
The tiny match flame was more than sufficient for me to see by, but I still wanted my lamp and candles. It was foolish to need such reassurance. I pushed the notion away as best I could. I'd only have to put everything out again in a few more seconds.
What light I had gave no cheer to the forlorn room. The stones were a dreary gray, scarred by ancient marks and stains of unknown origin. Blood, perhaps, spilled by the ladies of the castle refusing to give up to invaders? Or had they surrendered only to be slaughtered?
That inspired a shudder.
I felt my inner change drag on my limbs as the heavy numbness stole over me. The sun had nearly arrived. I let the match drop to the bare floor where it died. Waiting with eyes shut against the confining blackness, I could understand how Harker's imagination might have given in to the morbid influences of this desolate place.
For that alone I was inclined to believe Dracula's account of things. All he'd said sounded very reasonable. He'd struck just the right note of exasperation and sympathetic regret to sound true, but I wasn't swallowing it whole hog just yet.
This would need a store of mulling over and then some before I made up my mind whether or not to kill him.