Dracula's Daughter

She looked away. "I'm not one for drawing pictures."

Dr. Seward refilled his pipe. Before he could reply they were interrupted by the arrival of a man Gwen had never seen before. He was short and steel-haired, with a prominent nose and small, round spectacles. He was dressed somberly, almost like a mortician, and when he spoke his English was curiously accented, but even so Gwen immediately felt at ease with him.

"Yes, Dr. Seward tells me you are not the artist in the family. But he's seen what Helen draws, and those things made him suspect that the reason you do not talk about that night is that you assume you will not be believed. That's why he called me."

Gwen almost had to look down to meet the newcomer's eyes. "I'm very pleased to meet you. But to be honest, I'm not sure there's much you or anyone can do to help."

"Try me." It sounded like a challenge, but the look on his face was genial, even grandfatherly. Dr. Seward clapped the strange man on the shoulder.

"Why don't we all go in for tea, and Miss Hartly can decide if she wants to talk?"

"That sounds perfectly fine. If Miss Hartly consents?"

Gwen looked back at where Helen still sat alone, at the top of the hill, looking over the asylum grounds. The sky was gray and soon someone would come and collect her for fear of a storm, and Gwen knew that it was hardest for her when she had to be inside, and that she did not feel safe anymore unless she was in some open place. Left on her own, she'd sit out here in the storm all night, even if it killed her.

"That sounds fine," she said. "Mister...?"

"Van Helsing," the man said. "Abraham Van Helsing. A colleague of Dr. Seward's."

"A specialist," Dr. Seward added.

"A specialist in what?"

Van Helsing smiled. "The unbelievable."

***

The sign on the cage read: "Gray Wolf," and beneath that, "Dangerous." The animal lay with its snout on its paws, still but not sleeping as dusk turned to night. A couple walking hand in hand through the zoo gardens peered at it. "How cute," said the young woman. The wolf snarled. The woman shrank away and her husband hurried her along. The London fog crept in.

John pulled his coat tighter, though in truth he didn't mind the cold. Something else altogether made him shiver. He lingered near the wolf's pen. It laid its ears back and bared its teeth again, but then its demeanor changed. It sat up, and its expression became passive, even eager. John's flesh crawled. He went as if to run, or more likely to stumble and trip, mad and desperate, but before he could even take a step she was there. She wore a fur coat with a hood, and her dark eyes stared out from it shadows, fixing John to the ground.

"Where are you going?" she said.

John licked his dry lips. "Nowhere, Mistress. I was out for a walk."

"I didn't know where you were."

"I got lost finding my way back. I'm not used to this city yet..."

She didn't blink. He squirmed. When she reached out he held his breath, but the touch turned out to be a loving one. "I do make it so hard for you, always going one place to another. But you don't mind, do you darling?"

"Of course not. Mistress." And in truth, he didn't. Her touch, her voice, the smell of her perfume, the way the luscious sables draped across her exquisite body (like a statue that walked) crammed his fears into a tiny corner of his mind, replaced with--what? Love? Perhaps. But not love of any sort he'd ever known. Not human love. But its power was no less compelling. He wanted to fall on his knees and grovel, but he reminded himself they were still in public.

She turned away, searching the horizon, though there was nothing to see through the fog and the lights of the city. "We're going out. I feel I need company. You'll help me, of course."

John felt queasy, but he mumbled the words automatically: "Yes, Mistress."

She noticed the wolf. It whined at her and wagged its tail. She put her hand between the cage bars and petted its muzzle. It licked her fingers.

"How cute," she said, her voice filled with both hunger and affection. "How cute..."

***

It was dark, and Gwen had finished her tea, and Van Helsing was telling her about his studies in Amsterdam, and then he got her talking about Transylvania so naturally that she scarcely realized she was doing it. She had told no one the truth--the whole truth--about that night, only mumbled half-truths to the authorities and doctors. "We were traveling through the country. David--he was my fiancé--was writing a book about the old noble families, and Helen was his illustrator. John and I were just along for the sights."

"Borgo Pass does not see many tourists."

"Have you been there?"

"Only once. Please go on?"

"That place, Castle Dracula...at first I thought the peasants were just superstitious, but when we arrived I felt there really was something evil about it. We all separated, David and Helen to work, John and I to explore. David...never came back. He fell down some stairs. Neck broken." She closed her eyes and an image flashed into her mind of David lying in a heap, so she opened them again. "At least...that's what we told everyone."

"What really happened?"

"I wasn't there, but Helen says he didn't trip. He was pushed. By a man who wasn't really there."

"A ghost?"

"Yes."

"And she says this was the man." Van Helsing held up a charcoal sketch. Gwen recognized the style as Helen's, but the subject made her flinch: a face, pale and bloodless, with hard lines, a hooked nose, and the most awful eyes. Van Helsing seemed peculiarly moved by it too. Without explanation, he fed it into the fire. "Ghosts are one thing. What I wonder is rather what else might live there. What happened to your sister's fiancé?"

"He was trapped in a room that had no way out. I brought a rescue party there later, but there was no sign of him."

Van Helsing cleaned his spectacles. He looked older without them. He was not a large man, and he was aged, but she felt safer with him around. Ever since Transylvania, the nights held special terrors for her whenever she thought she heard the flutter of a wing or the cry of an unseen beast.

"One man dead, another missing, and your sister's sanity quite destroyed. So you brought her here."

"Dr. Sweard was a friend of our father's, back when he was alive. And honestly...we had nowhere else to go."

"And what about you, Miss Hartley? What became of you that night?"

Gwen raised her teacup to her lips and realized it was empty. It clattered against the saucer when she set it down. "I haven't slept more than a few hours ever since. Terrible dreams. In them I'm back in the castle calling for John, but he won't answer. Instead I hear a woman's voice."

"What woman?"

"I don't know. But I imagine I heard her that night. And then I wake."

"Hmm. Miss Hartley, I hope you won't find this untoward, but I find it very interesting that you dream of your sister's fiancé and not yours. And that you appeared much more pained talking about John's disappearance than David's death."

Gwen felt herself go red. Then she was suddenly angry, but before she could loose her retort Van Helsing made a consolatory gesture.

"You might not think it to look at me, but I am familiar with matters of the heart, and with how a young woman may find herself less free to choose where her marital fortunes lie than a man."

"Helen met John first...we had so little money after father died, and David seemed to care for me. When he asked I was afraid of what would happen if I said no. But why am I telling you these things?"

Van Helsing gave her a handkerchief, but she refused to cry. He returned it to his pocket.

"Perhaps you are telling me because part of you realizes how important it is. I said such an indelicate thing because I had to know whether you would be willing to do what is necessary to save John Martin."

Gwen sat up straight. "Do you know where he is?"

"Indirectly. Your story confirms things I have long feared. Are you familiar with the city's recent outbreak of conspicuous catastrophic anemia?"

Gwen shook her head, bewildered.

"It's the rarest of all blood diseases, characterized by an extreme exhaustion of the physical humors. A man can die from it in days, or even a single night. Cases have sprung up all across the continent, but only ever a few at a time, and only for a short time, and always in the largest cities. Now it's here."

"But what's that to do with John?"

"The last time we saw such an outbreak in London, it was shortly after the last count left Castle Dracula."

Gwen fretted, biting her lip. "Are you saying that John is here, and he brought something awful from that castle? That doesn't make any sense with the way he disappeared."

Van Helsing stood, looking troubled. "I will explain myself better when I can. If you're gracious enough to entertain me again, that is. I do have one last question: Did you believe the stories the peasants told about that ancient castle?"

Something fluttered at the window again and Gwen turned, but she couldn't tell if she'd really heard it or if it was her imagination. She waited for her heart to slow again before answering.

"I meant it when I said there's something evil about that place. But I don't believe the legends about werewolves and vampires if that's what you mean."

Van Helsing nodded, and before he left he patted her on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way. For the first time she hoped that perhaps this really was someone who could help Helen. Before leaving, he paused at her door.

"Miss Hartley? If we're going to help your sister and John Martin, there is one thing you need to remember:

"There ARE such things as vampires."

And he left.

***

John looked away, but he couldn't unsee it: Two bodies on the couch, both pale, both cold, but one still moving. The man half-dressed, his eyes closed and his breathing stifled; the woman nude, luxuriating, looking at him with those dark eyes. She wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. "Ah John, so brave and faithful. I love you so. Do you love me?"

He mumbled.

"A woman needs love. Even a woman like me. I know how you feel when I bring other men to taste the joys that should be yours alone, but I must always have men about me. I love none of them. They know the bliss only once, while to you I always return. You see how much I love you."

When she stood the body rolled off the couch. The sick thump on the carpet was loud enough that you could hear it all the way through the flat, but there was no one here but they two. When he arms circled him he did not resist. When she kissed him, some flicker of a memory came back, recalling some other woman in another place, one he'd held close very like this and thought to kiss...but it was gone just as suddenly, and all he knew then was the hard, strong, lithe body coiling around him. Her mouth devoured his, pushing him down. Her legs gripped his body. He stepped over the unmoving figure on the floor and let himself sink onto the same couch, where she undressed him, pulling apart the clothes she'd covered him in and running her hands over his body. She was cold, and she made him feel cold.

Her body flexed and twisted over his. Her breasts were utterly white, each crowned by a dark nipple. Her belly was flat and smooth, her neck long and slender, her arms lithe and graceful. She looked small and fragile, though he knew she was not, and when she lowered her head he was seized with the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. Instead she held him down, lowering herself onto him and drawing a thin, sharp gasp from him. She tightened almost immediately. Her fingers traced the line of his neck until she found the pulse and when she rode him it matched the beating of his heart.

"I love this city of yours. I think I will stay her always. I would like to watch it change with the generations, watch its children dance and play and then grow old. To see sad smiles of memory come into their faces as they steal away and die. Won't it be wonderful?"

He gasped his agreement as she went up and down him, the force of each rise and fall seeming to push him further and further down until he felt he might be buried or break altogether. He spotted a few red drops dappling her milky white skin, spilled remains that she had missed. He had the awful urge to lick them away, his rough tongue scouring her marble body clean...but she scraped them with the tip of one sharp nail and then her red tongue darted out, licking it clean herself. Then she threw herself onto him, lips tracing the lines of his bare chest. When her mouth reached his neck he froze in fear, but she only kissed him gently, her hips still wriggling on top of him. Only a few candles lit the bedroom and in the darkened mirror they glowed like white phantoms, hazy and unreal. Thunder rumbled outside...wait, that wasn't thunder. It was too close...

The wolf snarled and John jumped, falling over the back of the couch. The animal stalked forward, lips drawn back, but as soon as a lily-white hand touched it on the ear it heeled, trotting back and lying beside the couch. She clucked her tongue. "Poor John. Did my new pet scare you?"

He stood, feeling sheepish. "It's...fine." The wolf eyed the body on the floor, and with a start John realized he had forgotten the dead man was there.

"Take care of that, will you?" she said, stretching out on the floor and petting the beast. Swallowing, John obliged, putting on his pants and throwing the dead man over one shoulder. Steps would have to be taken to ensure he stayed dead, and then to ensure that he would never be found. The body was heavy and John was weak from so many nights of exertion, but her voice filled him with a new kind of strength, one born of the fear of what would happen if he failed.

***

"It says here there's an escaped wolf running around London and nobody can seem to catch it. Isn't that odd?"

Gwen put the newspaper down and Helen glanced at it. The salad in front of her was half eaten, the most Gwen had seen her take in months. All around them: white tablecloths, tinkling glasses, the strings of an orchestra. Gwen worried that the music here might be too loud for her, but Helen seemed to like to watch the couples dancing. Gwen was skeptical when Professor Van Helsing told her to begin taking Helen out into the city, but she'd regained color and started speaking again. Dr. Seward insisted on advancing them any money they needed, both for the sake of Helen's treatment and for their father's memory.

Now she looked at the dance floor and said only, "Odd things happen." Then, suddenly, "Do you want to dance?" Gwen almost laughed. Helen looked nearly embarrassed for a second and then said quickly: "I don't mean with me. Or with anyone. I'm just saying, wouldn't it be nice to dance, if someone was here? It's been a long time since either of us did."

"I guess it has."

"David was never much of a dancer with you, was he?"

Gwen's heart caught in her throat. It was the first time Helen had mentioned either of the boys since the castle. She covered her shock by wiping her mouth with a napkin. "He wasn't."

"But John was always willing to do another dance with you, wasn't he?"

"I..."

Helen shook her head and waved it off. "I'm not saying anything. I was just remembering."

Her voice trailed off and she seemed to be staring at something. In fact, everyone was staring. Even the band's music faltered for a moment. Into the hall came a woman, dark and exotic, covered in furs. Every eye went to her and stayed on her. She held her coat to the man at the front, and he nearly tripped as he took it. She sat at a reserved table, far enough away from everyone to have privacy but close enough that they could still all see her. The man who came in with her was curiously listless, almost dragging his feet as he walked, but nobody paid him any mind. Helen caught her breath first. "That woman..."

"She sure knows how to make an entrance," Gwen said. She was blushing for some reason. The whole spectacle was so surreal it seemed like a dream, a private dream she wouldn't tell anyone about. She hoped the stir would die down once the moment passed, but Helen leaned over to the young couple at the next table and asked:

"Who is she?"

"Countess Szelinski," said the young man, instantly. "She's the talk of the town these days."

"She's wonderful," said the woman with him. "Can you imagine being so wonderful?"

"Likes to make a scene but keeps to herself. Spends money like water. And lots of company, if you'll pardon me," the man said, quirking an eyebrow. Indeed, in addition to the faceless man she'd entered with the countess had attracted two new tablemates, each about the same age. Gwen noticed, though she suspected no one else did, that all three looked pale and in poor health. Gwen saw a waiter come to their table, but the countess ordered nothing and the men with her did not touch their own drinks.

"I don't like the way they're looking at her..." Gwen said.

"Can you blame them?" said the young woman.

The truth was, Gwen did not like the way Helen was looking at the countess either, even as the countess was coming down with one of her listless boytoys on her arm. Soon the two were spinning, arm-in-arm, parting the crowd. The man moved in an automatic way but the countess was graceful enough for the both of them. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Gwen's stomach. All this agitation, whatever its cause, couldn't be good for Helen. As she went to her sister she happened to glance at the couple on the floor and--

Her breath left her. The room spun and the floor heaved. She grabbed the back of the nearest chair so that she couldn't faint, but couples seated nearby noticed anyway and came to help her. Helen noticed too, snapping out of her reverie. Brow knit with concern she came to Gwen's side. "I'm fine," Gwen said, short of breath. Then, thinking quickly, she said, "Actually, I'm not fine. I've felt faint all night but I didn't want to spoil your evening. Maybe we should go now?"

"Of course," Helen said, and Gwen allowed her sister to take her by the arm and lead her to the door. She didn't need the help, but anything to keep Helen from seeing that man dancing with the countess. Of course it couldn't be John. It didn't even really look like him. John had been a beau, and this man was positively ghastly. And yet...

Helen waited for a cab and Gwen went back in, feigning having forgotten something. She approached the doorkeeper and, distracted, she blurted out, "Would you like five pounds?"

The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"What I mean is...that woman, Countess Szelinski? She came in with a man. Who is he?'

The doorkeeper sniffed. "Baron Daronstein. That's what he calls himself, anyway. If you ask me he's just some gigolo out for whatever he can get. Pardon my language Miss, but it's true."

"Does she keep a lot of men?"

"All sorts. You saw those fellows tonight. She goes through them fast--pardon my language again. But the so-called baron is always with her."

Gwen took a five-pound note from her purse. "I need to speak with that man."

The doorkeeper looked astonished. "I'm not on terms to make an introduction."

"But you might know the countess' address. She must have a driver you can get it from?"

"Her driver is deaf and dumb. But...I suppose I could get it from the office. She spends a lot of money here and her bills are paid by check. It's very risky for a man in my position, of course..."

Gwen took out another note. She passed them both and even gave his hand a squeeze for good measure. Then she went back out into the foggy night, where Helen waited with the cab. She talked more on the way home than she had for months, but Gwen hardly heard her. She could hear nothing over the beating of her own heart.