Blood to Blood (28 page)

Since moving from Arthur's lodging to Mina's rooms in Mayfair, Van Helsing managed to relax in spite of his shattered calm. Mina's letter unsettled him, but he had to admit that her logic was flawless. So he waited for some word from her or Arthur. He expected to receive a letter from her first, but had never anticipated that Arthur would be the one to deliver it.

When he heard the frantic pounding at his door and Arthur calling to him, he paused to pick up a bottle of holy water. He slipped it into his pocket before letting the young man in.

His concern that Arthur might have been taken over vanished as Arthur stormed into his rooms without an invitation. And there was color in Arthur's face, far more than Van Helsing had seen there in many months.

"Explain this," Arthur ordered, handing the letter over and waiting, watching Van Helsing's face as he read it.

"You are angry because we are concerned about your so-dangerous behavior? What kind of allies would be we if we were not?" the doctor asked.

"Have you seen this letter before?"

"I have not. I was expecting it, though." He turned over the envelope, noted the lack of address. "Why do you have it?"

"I found it in the coat pocket of a murderer."

Van Helsing sat back in his chair, pointed to one nearby. "Sit down, Arthur, and tell everything to me."

Arthur did. Every detail Joanna had described, then the nature of the wounds he'd seen on Colleen's body. "All this summer there have been murders, the same sort of cuts as I saw myself. People speak of the Ripper, or someone copying him. And this madman, this killer, had Mina's letter in his pocket."

"He may have stolen the coat."

"Joanna tells me it's the same man she encountered before. He wore a similar coat then. And the letter is dated for yesterday."

Van Helsing's mind moved quickly through possibilities, discarding the least likely, holding on to others until only one was left. If the man hadn't stolen the letter with the coat, he likely intended to deliver it. "Describe the killer again," he said.

Every new detail convinced Van Helsing that his first guess was the right one. "Dr. Rhys," he said.

"That doctor from the Exeter clinic? You can't be serious."

"I am most serious," Van Helsing said. "Mina told me that something about him disturbed her. I noted it too—a hardness in his heart toward those he sees as morally inferior. And there is his Eastern belief in reincarnation. He may not even believe he is committing murder in the sense that we would. He may think he is merely giving some poor unfortunates another turn on the wheel."

"He killed two last night. The woman in the burning shack by the river was likely his usual sort of victim. And Colleen. She may have been only a witness."

"And if he knows that, then he will have committed his first true murder, in his own eyes, no?"

Van Helsing went to a cupboard near the door. Inside, along with the stakes and crosses Arthur had expected to see, he noticed a crossbow and a pair of pistols. Van Helsing handed a pistol to Arthur and stuck the other in his belt. "Dr. Rhys is coming here at four-thirty. We're to go to dinner. He likely meant to deliver the letter then. If you wait with me, we two can take him."

They sat speaking quietly for nearly an hour. Now that he had Arthur alone. Van Helsing questioned him at length about the vampire woman. Arthur answered candidly, evasive only on the details that would put her in danger, far more detailed on what he had learned of her human likes and dislikes—the gardens and the theater.

At six. Van Helsing gave up the wait. "He's punctual. He isn't coming, and he did not send a note to me. All the more reason to conclude that he is guilty."

"He's likely left the city. If he went back to Exeter, then Mina is in danger."

"We'll send a telegram immediately. And we must go to her." Van Helsing tucked a clean shirt and underwear into his medical bag, then found a train schedule among a stack of papers. "There is the westbound train at six tonight."

"I can't go with you. I made a promise elsewhere."

Van Helsing stared at him, weighing possibilities. "Hold out your hand," he ordered.

Arthur did, palm up and cupped, as if he knew Van Helsing would pour holy water into it. When he did, Arthur brought the liquid to his lips and drank.

"If she isn't controlling you, Arthur, what is?"

"Herself, doctor. Not Illona or Dracula or the hunger within her. Herself. And it is herself—that human part of her—that I have come to love. I will not harm her or abandon her. And I will not let you do her harm."

"Nothing can come of that love," Van Helsing said gently.

"So she has shown me. But I can no more change my feelings them you can change yours for the wife you lost decades ago."

"The force that animates her is deadly," Van Helsing warned.

"Should she choose to use it."

"She will, Arthur. It is her nature."

Arthur picked up his hat and cane. "Come, doctor. I'll accompany you to the telegraph office and station just in case the murderer is lying in wait for you."

They said little as they walked together, senses alert for danger. At the telegraph office. Van Helsing labored over how to make the message clear but not to the extent that some operator would violate a trust and alert the authorities. He settled for something cryptic he expected only their little band would understand:

My dear Madame Mina. Something has transpired here that you must know. You may recall some discussion we recently had concerning troubles in London's East End. I believe that your doctor from Exeter is involved. Joanna has informed me of this through Arthur. I am astonished to say that I believe her. I am coming to Exeter on the late train. We can speak more freely then. AVH

When he had finished the one, he sent nearly the same message to Jonathan. "They will get these today?" he asked the operator.

"They should. There's some problem with the western lines, but we should have them repaired soon."

"Soon, he says! We'll see if the messages or I arrive there first. So much for modern inventions."

"And what might the train be?" Arthur asked in an innocent tone.

"An express, I pray," Van Helsing replied as they hurried on.

The train station waiting area was well lit and crowded and therefore safe. "I'll leave you now," Arthur said.

"Be careful," Van Helsing replied and, with unexpected emotion, embraced him.

It was past eight when Arthur returned to the Chelsea cottage and saw a dim light coming from the inside room. He found Joanna in it, standing beside the open box, a hand holding one of Colleen's. Arthur moved close beside the vampire, took her free hand, kissed her cheek. "How is she?" he asked.

She pointed to the girl's neck, the place where the blade had cut an artery now no more than a fading red line. "She'll wake tonight. I'm certain of it. I lit the lamp because I thought the light would be more familiar to her." She hesitated, then added. "I wanted so much more for her."

"Joanna, when she wakes, what will you do?"

"She will need me, and we will need someone to trust for those daytime needs. You, Arthur, if you will agree."

"Of course," he whispered, his throat so dry he felt like one of them. He went into the front room and rummaged in the cupboard until he found the bottle of brandy he'd spied the night before. Colleen would have no need of it any longer, and after the events of the last day, he certainly did. As he sat, listening to the ticking of the anniversary clock on the mantel of the little fireplace, he wondered how much Colleen would remember about how she died and how the memory would affect her.

An hour later, he heard Joanna call to him. Rushing to her, he looked down and saw that Colleen's hands had curled into tight fists. As he watched for some further movement, they relaxed, as if she were shedding her mortal fears.

Colleen's soul lay in the shadows between life and death, claimed by neither realm. Blind, without feeling, without any concept of form, she thought herself a ghost at first. Frightened, she tensed, with ghostly memories of hands curling into fists. She felt her nails digging into her palms. Felt pain. So the change had come!

Elated now, she forced herself to relax, to wait for the rest to return—for movement, for hearing, for sight, for the possibility of speech.

The numb silence seemed to stretch forever. Then she felt a hand gripping hers, lips brushing against her cheek. "Take your time,
draga
," she heard.

So she was home, or somewhere safe, and Joanna was with her. She managed the lightest squeeze of her beloved's hand, heard Joanna's cry of delight. Relaxed now. Colleen concentrated only on her eyes, on how to force the heavy lids to open.

When the moment to wake fully came, they opened effortlessly, then squinted shut, assaulted by a painful blast of light from a nearby lamp. Not so intense, she guessed, but her senses had become more acute. She opened them again, slower, focusing on the sight of Joanna standing above her.

She raised her arms, pulled Joanna close so she could kiss her.

Arthur stepped back. He'd seen all he needed to see. This was a moment of such intimacy, such beauty, that his presence would surely sully it. Tears came to his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand and retreated to the outer room, where he poured another, larger, drink.

Not so long ago, he had vowed to stop thinking of Lucy, yet now she was all he could think of. She had awakened alone and confused, had discovered and fought and finally satisfied the unfamiliar cravings, again alone. By the time they reached her, she was likely mad.

She'd deserved much better. Had he known the truths he did now, he would never have abandoned her.

He heard the women murmuring in the other room; Joanna's voice even, the other's broken bursts, as if she were out of breath. She would learn, he thought. Joanna would teach her.

Something happened, a shift in the tone, the voices growing louder, quicker. They came together from the room. Colleen looked down as she shuffled forward, watching her feet; like someone bedridden for months, trying to find some balance in her steps. He got up to help her, but Joanna looked at him with eyes glowing with fury. "Don't come any closer," she warned.

Colleen had remembered too much, he thought. And she'd undoubtedly told it all.

"Colleen said she sent a letter to me through you. Why didn't I know of it?"

Arthur thought he could bluff and say that the letter was never delivered, but he would not lie. Whatever punishment came to him was deserved.

"I would have. A day or two longer was all I wanted. I was foolish, and wrong." He might have apologized, but the words seemed too easy. Even as he thought them, they seemed hollow.

"You took her life… the one she might have led." She trembled as she said the words.

He expected her to laugh or scream. Instead she helped Colleen to the wicker chair, then came and grabbed his wrist, leading him to her, pushing him down at her knees. "You wanted me to feed on you. You wanted to know what it feels like. So you shall. You took one life from her, give her another."

He would not have fought, even if he'd had the will to do so. Colleen's eyes were magnificent, the color of the sea at night. The brush of her fingers on the side of his neck made him tremble. Joanna gripped his shoulders, holding him steady from behind. "Take," she ordered.

It seemed as if Colleen tried to be gentle, but she had little experience. Her bite hurt, and as she dug deeper and began to drink, he cried out.

"Silence," Joanna hissed in his ear.

He did as she asked, praying that Colleen would listen to the flutter of his heart and stop in time.

But when she pulled away, lips red with his blood, Joanna took her place. Though he would likely die, he raised his arms and held her until they would no longer stay up on their own.

His senses reeling, he heard Colleen hiss, cough, force in gulps of air so she could scream, "Leave him… alone! The change… was already on… me when I wrote you!… And it was only… what I wanted."

Joanna released him so abruptly that he fell hard on the floor. Too weak to try to stand, he waited, beyond caring, for some decision to be made on whether he would live or die. Before they reached it, he lost what remained of his consciousness.

He woke in darkness in what must have been Colleen's bedroom, laid out on her bed, still in his clothes. He felt his neck, the raw wounds there. When he tried to rise, he realized how weak he was, how drained. But at least he had survived their wrath.