To Spite Another God Pt. 09

In stories, sorrow was often joined with rain.

But Dracula had always been a different kind of man -- and so, his death was announced by the return of the clearest skies that Mina Murray had ever seen. The stars twinkled, and she swore she could see the red gleam of Mars with her vampiric sharp senses, and the only sound that rose above the ruins that had once been the city of Timisora was a single keening wail, one that rose and fell and rose again, and pierced her to her heart.

The human civilians had emerged from the factory, following the orders that they had been given before the battle to collect up every scrap of Martian metal and machinery. They had several new flying machines to work with, and the ruin of nine tripods, and dozens of heat rays that had been retrieved in varying degrees of functionality. But as they moved in the dimness with their lanterns in their hands, casting jagged shadows and jouncing puddles of orange-white light...they worked in silence and they did not cheer, nor celebrate.

They simply worked on, their heads bowed, their shoulders tightened against that keening.

Verona was the one who was crying the loudest. Her two other wives had both been with Dracula for centuries, and they were cradling one another, pressing their heads down, their bodies together, shaking and trembling as they tried to find some kind of sign that he had been here at all. Mina didn't know if she could imagine anything as horrid as this...as the knowledge that he had died, as the unmistakable fact of it. They had each seen him, even Aleera (half blind with his own agonies and wounds) had watched the stake go through his chest and his body sag away into ash.

But there was no solidity to that fact, nothing that they could ground themselves on. No corpse to cling too. No ashes to place in an urn. Nothing to remember Dracula by, save for memories that felt as hollow as the ruined buildings around them.

Lucy's head lay in her lap, her mouth closed around Mina's wrist. She drank, gently, as Mina tried to focus upon the alchemical transformation going on within her body as she turned her blood into the album vitae -- it had the same healing properties when imbibed by a vampire as it did on a human being. But, like with a human, she had to make sure to purify it properly, so that Lucy would not be blood bound to her.

Not that I'd have an easy time telling the difference, huh? Mina thought.

Each drink that Lucy took was ragged and careful. She had been younger than Aleera, and when the bizarre secondary weapon that had...somehow stripped their defenses and laid them bare before the heat ray, Lucy had been far worse burned. Every drink clearly caused her pain, and her plaintive mental thought was more like a sensation than words -- a throbbing ache in the back of Mina's own throat, an echo of the agony that Lucy had to be going through. So, Mina caressed her hair with her free hand and whispered, softly. "Shh, shh, it'll be okay. It'll be okay."

But the question hung in the air: Would it?

Dracula was dead.

Their greatest hope had been killed in a single instant -- slain by a tripod and a device they didn't even begin to understand.

Mina looked over at the wives, who continued their crying, then at the human laborers. They were being assisted here and there -- she could see Jonathan, his arms trembling, holding up some rubble so that they could get at materials buried underneath. Everyone was mutely following the plan that Dracula had left behind...but everything beyond the next few hours was nothing more than a kind of...hazy possibility.

Mina bit her lower lip, then looked down at Lucy. Her skin had turned from the horrid red mass that it had been to something more pinkish and smooth. Her eyebrows and her golden locks were gone, leaving her looking more like a shaved egg, her face waxy and overly smooth. Her eyes closed and she pushed Mina's wrist away with a soft 'mew' noise, clearly unable to drink another drop. Mina nodded, then snapped her finger and gestured to Jonathan. He came to her side, jogging over as if he was some mortal late for the underground train.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Do we have enough native soil to give her a proper coffin to sleep in? She's too hurt to shrink..." Mina asked.

Jonathan's eyes went a bit hazy, consulting their supplies. "...y...es...yes, I can get that together."

As he jogged off again, several other humans came over. They were all men, rough and tough looking, and one of them -- a tall fellow with a bushy mustache that Mina barely recognized -- said: "Miss Murray, we've managed to get some of the pieces from the flying machine but...the...the, ah, the queer metal that tries to fly? What should we be doing with that?"

"Keep it where it is," Mina said, nodding. "In fact, throw chains over it! Weight it down if you can and bolt those chains to the ground with as much force as you can." The men nodded, then hurried off. She called after them. "Find George and Dr. Elphinstone, they're both strong enough."

And, like that, Mina found herself making a dozen or so small decisions. Where to place what. What to begin working on next. Who got to drink from what. Tiny things, easy things. But each time she answered the question to the best of her knowledge, she glanced back over her shoulder, half expecting Verona or Aleera or Marishka to emerge from their grief and to take over. They were the oldest. They were the vampires who knew best what was going on and what to do...right? But instead, dawn broke and she had seen Lucy to her coffin, gathered up the tripod components, and started shifts in the factory to begin the chemical work of producing gunpowder, using the simplest expedient of magic.

Dracula had explained it to her, on the way to the city: All chemistry is simply the adding and removing and combining of certain elements. The complexity came in the fact that those elements were all foolish and didn't know much beyond what they did naturally -- for instance, gold naturally refused to blend with most other chemicals, making it an excellent insulator. The same was true of glass, being resistant to acids. They did not choose to do any of those things, it was just how they worked. But vampires had an advantage. When they drank blood, they could break that blood down, then recreate it within themselves into the album vitae and album noctis.

All well and good for blood, but we need saltpeter and sulfur and charcoal...in the right mixtures, too. And we can't do that in our bellies!

Ah, Dracula had said. And yet, has a vampire ever tried? He had had the most whimsical smirk on his features. You might have noticed, blood tastes quite good...

"This is foul," George groaned as he watched Mina pinch her nose and drink down the bubbling concoction made of soaps, industrial solvents and other foul liquids found in the ruins that had contained any hint of the chemicals they needed. "How will this not...kill..."

Mina coughed and wheezed. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her throat did not ache nor burn, and her belly didn't feel as if it was contracting. She had none of the normal symptoms one might have considered, if you normally drank that amount of rat poison. Instead, she simply had to contend with the taste and an ancient, atavistic urge to vomit. For the first time, she was deeply regretful of her vampiric status. She spat, tried to clear her tongue, then resolved to never do this again if she could. But George, watching from the side lines, whispered. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I mean, it can't kill her because we're already dead," Sharon said, cheerfully. "Do you need some blood to wash that down?"

"No, thank you, Sharon," Mina said, her voice as prim and polite as possible -- the focus on her diction helped to distract her from the taste on the back of her throat. "Blood is simply another element that I shall have to focus upon." She closed her eyes, then bit her lip. She felt the concoction within her and realized, immediately...that...while it was significantly more complex than a simple drought of blood, it was also considerably simpler at the same time. Blood was simply blood...except that, in a way, it was not.

"That makes no sense," Mina muttered.

"I didn't say anything," George said, chuckling.

"No, I...trying to make sense of myself," Mina said, smiling and opening on eye to a sliver. She could see, beyond the two others, the factory floor where men and women worked on metal presses. Canisters that would become explosive charges were being stacked up -- but currently were as harmful as shot puts. She closed her eye again. "I can feel each chemical -- on their own, each one is nothing complex, not compared to blood. Which is odd, but...I think blood is more than simply blood..." She trailed off, then bit her lower lip. "Now...let us..." She cocked her head to the side. "Wait, damn! Damn!"

"What?" Sharon asked.

"All vampires know how to make vitae -- but I have no idea what proportion gunpowder is-"

"Ah, I know how to fix that," George said. He reached into his pockets, then drew a revolver. "Not really a useful tool now that I've become a...well, but, I kept it and..." He popped it open, drew a bullet, then cracked it open. "Tongue out, my dear."

Mina snorted. "I will need to wash this down with something very pleasant afterwards..."

"I'd offer, but you are engaged, are you not?" George gave her an impish little grin. "And, what is more, that..." He tapped the bullet and a tingle of gunpowder slid along her tongue. She closed her eyes, tasting it. "That Antoni fellow is also interested, is he not?"

Mina flushed and tried to put the idea of Jonathan or Antoni or Lucy...or even George and Sharon out of her mind. Instead, she felt the chemicals within her gut, tasted the gunpowder on her tongue and focused and tried to juggle the mixture about and- she coughed, blinking as she felt a sudden weight in her belly. It had been so easy, so effortlessly simple, that she found herself rather wrongfooted. She put her hand on her stomach, feeling herself through her white shift, and tried to understand why.

Blood is not merely blood, she thought. It is part of a person. We take that part, then we shape it -- but shaping a person is hard. Chemicals are just chemicals. They have no self that we must work with!

She closed her eyes and attempted to not look revolting as she collected...and then...

Coughed up a thick handful of compacted gunpowder.

It rested in her palm and Mina panted, heavily. "Easy. But...disgusting."

"I'm just a farmer, but..." Sharon hooked her fangs on her lower lip, frowning slightly. "Don't we need significantly more than that? Aren't there whole factories that make gunpowder, by the ton? Not by handfuls?"

Mina rubbed her palm against her face, setting the gunpowder down before her. "Knowing I can do it, it just is a matter of doing it more," she said, nodding. "And..." She blushed. "I must relieve myself of the excess..." She winced at the very unpleasant mental thought -- she had foregone several biological functions and the idea of using them once more was rather unsettling to Mina.

"Ah, quite," George said, his cheeks flushing. "But it seems a mite of a waste of a vampire to make them into a...gunpowder cow."

"Well, we can make more than gunpowder," Mina said, standing and wincing. "If we can make any kind of chemical mixture within us, it's entirely plausible we can make better explosives, right? Stronger, faster burning, more easily transported?" She brushed dust from her shift.

"Possibly," George murmured.

"There's still the issue of making more," Mina admitted, rubbing her throat. "I'd hate to drink and eat the amount of stuff that we'd have too-"

"Don't."

George and her looked at Sharon, who was standing up herself. The Jewish vampire began to pace. "I'm a farmer -- I never raised cattle, but I did have goats and I know that goats make milk -- and I know that cows make milk, and that both can make more milk than humans can. Because they're bigger, right? And I know for a fact that you can become a wolf. And...Dracula..." Her face fell, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "And Dracula became a..."

"A dragon," George said.

"Yes...I still can hardly believe it." Sharon looked down at her feet. Then she shook her head. "So, you can become the gunpowder cow."

Mina nodded, slowly. "During morning, noon and dusk, we can only become hunters and predators -- bats, wolves, and such. But at night..." She grinned, slowly. "We-"

"You!"

Mina almost dropped her gunpowder -- and then she actually did as Verona stormed into the room. The eldest wife of Dracula was still dressed in the tatters of what she had worn to battle, her cheeks streaked with red lines from her tears. She grabbed onto Mina, then lifted her upwards and then smashed her into the concrete wall behind her -- the entire fortress factory rocking with the impact. Mina wheezed, the air forced from her lungs as Verona closed her hand around her throat and squeezed, growling to her. "You let him die and you think you can take over!?"

Mina grabbed at her wrist, while Sharon and George sprang forward, putting their hands to Verona's shoulders.

"She did no such thing!" George said.

"She hasn't taken over!" Sharon snapped.

Mina dragged Verona's hand away -- just enough -- and then brought her knee up. Verona, clearly not expecting usch an attack, took the blow. She couldn't phase away from another vampire, and the impact was enough to send her stumbling backwards. George and Sharon both gaped, releasing her, while Mina brushed her hair back with her hand, then stepped up towards Verona. She felt as if the sorrow and confusion of earlier today had transmuted, like the saltpeter and sulfur in her belly turning into gunpowder, into rage. She grabbed onto Verona's hair, jerked her head back, and glared into her eyes.

"Yes. I. Have." She hissed.

Verona's eyes widened.

"Dracula is dead." Mina said, her voice cutting. "He is dead, and there are Martians in London, and unless we stop them, they were blacken our skies for all eternity. Those are the facts, Verona. And while those facts remained true, when we needed direction most, you wept for hours and only emerged now -- and rather than coming to me and talking, you throw out wild accusations. It was a battle, and I did my best, and sometimes that isn't good enough. You didn't destroy enough flying machines to stop the one that killed him. I didn't smash the heat ray before he was slain. Lucy didn't tie up the tripod in time to prevent her and Aleera from being targets. We all tried and we all failed...a-and..."

She could see tears brimming. And she felt them in her own eyes. And Mina knew, now, to coax, now that Verona was at least listening. Her hand grew soft. She cupped the back of her head and she whispered. "And now we have eternity to grieve, Verona." She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to hers. Her eyes closed. "Aleera told me once to think on eternity...as part of my training. That is not a curse, Verona. You will have an eternity to remember Dracula, to keep him alive. All of us will. But that eternity only comes if we win..."

Verona sniffled. Her hands grabbed onto Mina's hips, drawing her closer. She whispered, her voice choked. "I...I can't..." She breathed. "He can't...be gone."

Mina chuckled, her voice choked. "He won't be. So long as we're here." She paused, then snorted, opening one eye. She watched the ruby red tears dripping down Verona's cheeks, then leaned in close. She kissed the line, breaking the clean flow of blood. She tasted warm and sweet. "For all we know, that wily bastard planned for just this eventuality...maybe, centuries from now, we'll find some way to bring him back, hidden among his castle's ruins, and you and Marishka and Aleera will be there for him..."

Verona snorted.

"But...we will only have that hope if we work together." Mina cupped her cheek, turning her face upwards. This close, Verona's beauty struck Mina as intensely as her physical blow had. Mina's lips tingled and she leaned slowly in. Her lips pressed to Verona's. Verona moaned, kissing her back, her tongue sliding into her mouth. Verona's fingers gripped her hips and Mina's laced through her hair -- then she drew back, whispering huskily. "But...be honest. Are you ready to lead us?"

Verona was quiet, her tongue sliding back between her lips. She sags. "No. I...I can barely think of anything but ripping Martians apart. I can't..." She gulped, then cut herself off as Mina slid her arms around her, drawing her in close and squeezing her.

"Shh, shhh," she whispered. "It's okay. You will get to rip as many of them apart as you can imagine." Her eyes flashed as she glared past the door, into the factory, where the humans continued to work.

There, she could see Marishka and Aleera, both of them emerging from the shadows -- clearly unwilling to actually stop their elder wife in her rampage, but each looking deeply relieved that the fighting had ended. Mina's grip tightened and she squeezed Verona to her slender body.

"All of you will."

***

Mina sat alone in her room in the fortress as the sun rose and sleep called to her. But she refused to become a mouse and slip into her allotment of native earth. Instead, her mind went over everything in the past twenty four hours. She could see the strange light that had pinned Dracula down. She could see the rebar she had thrown, sailing through the air, piercing through the heat ray...but not in time. She could see Verona's tear stroked face. She could see the men and women working to take in the rubble. And ahead of it all, she could see the map that Dracula had left of Europe -- with Martian positions marked here and there...and the massive object in London that Jonathan had described.

The Port. The means by which the Martians were going to use to conquer the entire world -- not merely ravage Europe.

The black eyed people, humans who had been turned to the service of the Martians by their own queer powers.

Jonathan, jogging from place to place, still so like a mortal...

Jonathan, pinned in place by a heat ray, his skin-

She put her hands over her face.

First, we are to... was her thought. First we are to...attack? Defend? Retreat? Scout? First we are too...

I have no idea what I'm doing! She thought. I'm a bloody school mistress, not Duke Wellington. I don't know how to lead an army, I don't-

The door opened and she snapped her head up. Jonathan stood in the doorway, smiling thinly at her. By the dim light that shone along the corridor from the human quarter of the fortress, she could see just how incredibly handsome her fiance was -- made even finer by his new condition. Even if she'd never admit that to him...it seemed incredibly rude to mention how much better he looked with fangs and pointed ears. His eyes, though, were what made her feel her tension unknot. They were gentle and playful, as if they were back at his flat in London, and the idea of Martians was something amusing one would read about in Punch. He held in his hands a small tray, which had a pair of goblets on them.

"Some fresh blood for the lady of the fortress," he said, holding the tray to her, and Mina took the goblet.

"Goblets? Seems a mite...impersonal..." She said.

"You know, not all of us are as cavalier about this neck biting stuff as you are," Jonathan said, chuckling as he took a seat beside her on the bed. He shook his head, his cheeks flushing. "I...of course...there are some things one gets used too faster." He murmured, looking at her -- then looking straight ahead once he realized that she had noticed him watching. Mina giggled into her cup as she drank the warm, fresh blood. Feeling it sliding down her throat made her toes curl and her eyes sparkle with pleasure -- there was a certain kind of thrill to drinking this way.