Covenant With the Vampire (25 page)

There could only be one conclusion. V. was a killer, and my father his accomplice,
both of them suffering from the family madness that had begun to infect me.
I cried out to think that I, too, was fated to descend into this insanity, that
my hands should one day be stained with blood.

Are you an Impaler? One of the wolf-men?

“No,” I whispered. “No…”

I scrambled to my feet, stuffing the letter into my waistcoat, and climbed
back into the caleche, eager to be far away from the eerily deserted village.
I arrived at the castle in good time, though it was now shortly after midnight.
Nervous, perspiring despite the cool of night, I headed directly for the door
to V.“s drawing-room, pistol hidden beneath my waistcoat. I knocked; V. called
out his customary inquiry, and I gave my customary reply.

“Arkady!” he exclaimed jovially, from the other side of the heavy wood. “Nephew,
come!”

I put my hand upon the polished brass of the knob, and turned.

A flash of silver. My father bringing down the knife, cutting my tender
flesh. And behind him, a throne
-

Pain blotted out the image. I squeezed my eyes shut until it was gone…

Then opened them to the familiar sight of V. in his drawing-room - a sight which
would never, could never, look quite the same. As always, there was a blazing
fire in the fireplace, and the room seemed stuffy and uncomfortably warm. I
ran a hand across my forehead and drew it away wet, then closed the door behind
me.

V. sat in his chair, with his hands on the armrests, but this time he did not
greet me; in fact, he did not even so much as glance up, but kept his attention
focused on the crackling blaze. At his elbow, the end-table still bore the shimmering
decanter of slivovitz. Reluctantly, I forced my gaze from it to V., who stared
straight ahead into the crackling flames, his expression immobile and unreadable
as stone.

He was still as young as the last time I had seen him - a man now of fifty,
rather than eighty, years. Yet I could not permit myself to react, to be distracted
or frightened by this clear sign of my own incipient madness; the issue at hand
was far too urgent.

“Uncle,” I said quietly. The matter called for a strident, agitated tone, but
the overwhelming silence in the room filled me with a sudden unwillingness to
break it. “I am sorry to disturb you, but there is a matter of the most extreme
urgency we must discuss.”

V. gave no sign of hearing; his eyes never strayed from the object of their
focus. This behaviour was so unlike him as to be unnerving, but I made myself
continue:

“It has to do with the terrible discovery I made in the forest.”

He spoke, still staring into the flames. His voice was low and soft, but it
was an ominous softness, of the sort heard in the deep, deadly growl of a dog
just before the attack. “You would betray me.”

“What?” I whispered, my pulse quickening at what I took for an admission of
guilt.

He whipped like a serpent in his chair to face me with eyes ablaze with reflected
firelight; the stony expression was now one of murderous rage. “You would betray
me! Where are the letters?!”

I gaped at him, stunned to silence by his explosive fury, stunned that he should
know.

“Liar!” he shouted, with such force that I knew it carried throughout the castle.
The words seemed torn from him, from a wellspring of hatred that ran so deep
he shuddered as he screamed, “Deceiver! I know you did not give them to Laszlo
as I asked!” The firelight sparkled, reflecting off the spray of saliva that
accompanied his words like venom.

His anger was a terrifying thing, but for his sake, for Mary's sake, for all
of our sakes, I could no longer permit myself to tremble like a child in his
presence. The dead in the forest could no longer be ignored. If he had killed
diem, dear uncle or no, insane or no, he must be stopped.

I straightened, lifted my chin, did not permit my voice to shake as I said
calmly, “I took the letters to Bistritz myself.”

“And posted them both? Do not lie to me, Arkady! I warn you - I do not deal kindly
with liars!”

For a moment I considered whether it might be simpler just to lie, and persuade
him through deceit; but he would learn the truth soon enough, when his guests
failed to appear. “I posted the letter to the solicitor,” I admitted. “But the
letter to the guests - ”

“You destroyed it!”

Unwavering, I met his gaze. “Yes.”

He turned away with a long hiss, fury simmering in his eyes as he stared once
more into the fire.

“Uncle,” I said, with gentle firmness, “I did so because I am enormously worried
for your sake. For Mary's and Zsuzsa’s. For the baby’s. I will not have my family
living with… with such horrors surrounding them.”

He swiveled towards me again, half rising from his chair as he thundered: “And
did I not swear to you that no harm would come to you? Did I not swear it, upon
our family name?”

Dracul,
I thought,
or Tsepesh.
But I did not say it, for
it would only prolong the argument; and I understood now why he could, with
such certainty, guarantee our safety.

I saw madness in his eye, and it tore my heart; I knew then he was at the very
least aware of the murders, if not the perpetrator of them.

“Did I not swear it?” V. demanded. “Answer!”

“You did. But, Uncle - ”

“How could you fail to believe me? How could you think that I would lie to
you, or be disloyal? I told you not to go to Bistritz, yet you insisted on disobeying!
I told you never to interfere with my guests! This
one
rule - and you
have broken it again!” He rose and reached for the decanter sitting on the end-table,
and as I watched in horror, moved as if to cast it on the flames, then turned
and hurled it so that it flew over my head and struck the closed door behind
me, shattering with a glittering spray of crystal and plum-scented slivovitz.

I ducked and shielded myself with an arm, narrowly escaping injury; had he
aimed any lower, it would have struck me. And then, very deliberately, I raised
my head and brushed crystalline shards and brandy from my shoulders, and looked
at him through enlightened eyes.

My heart pounding with horror that I should ask him whom I loved such a question,
I slowly said, “The dead in the forest, Uncle. How did they come to be there?
How did they die?”

His rage had abated somewhat, but his chest still heaved slightly, and his
face was flushed. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised me intently, saying, with
terrifying softness, “Sometimes you take too much after your mother, Arkady.
You must learn not to be so willful. You must learn to withdraw yourself from
other people's affairs.”

My knees went weak, as though the very ground on which I stood collapsed beneath
my feet; somehow I managed to remain standing, but I could manage no more than
a stricken whisper. “What are you saying?”

“That it is pointless to worry about what lies in the forest. It would be wiser
to direct your attention to your own affairs. Now go! Go and think carefully
about your mistake, so that you avoid such idiocy in the future.”

I left, stunned and horrified, feeling as though the world itself had been
suddenly turned upside-down, as though I were surrounded by dark swirling evil,
by a whirlpool of madness that would soon pull me under to drown…

But that is not the extent of my current horror and misery. I have just risen,
prompted by an inexplicable impulse, and discovered in the pocket of my waistcoat
Radu's letter -
and
the letter
I
had written instructing the
visitors not to come to the castle. Dear God, is my memory no longer my own?
Did I only dream that I succeeded in burning V.“s letter in the fire? And if
so,
which letter did I leave with the innkeeper in Bistritz?
If the
visitors come -

I am going mad. As mad as my dear father must have gone to discover such evil,
as mad as my uncle, my kind, generous, loving uncle. I wish could blot out my
reason, force my mind to stop its relentless working, its unavoidable conclusion
that the murders were the work of, at the very least, decades, so Laszlo cannot
have been solely responsible. Nor could my father have been, for he died before
Jeffries ever appeared.

Oh, gods! V. is a murderer, not the immortal monster of legend the peasants
claim, but a monster nonetheless, and I have played his unwitting accomplice
in bringing Jeffries here.

What can I do? Despite Radu's claims (including the preposterous one about
Stefan; my brother was killed not by V. but a
dog,
a tragedy I witnessed
with my own eyes) it is difficult to believe that V. would harm any of his family;
the object of his madness seems to be outsiders…

… and the poor crippled and unwanted babies sacrificed to him by the peasants
(in return for their safety?). I am torn between protecting him and turning
him over to the authorities in Vienna; how can I betray my dear benefactor?
At the very least, I must try to procure him a doctor, a specialist who might
help. But I cannot permit -

No time to finish! I have just glanced up and seen through the open window
Laszlo, driving the coach toward the castle. And within, the two visitors - !
For their safety's sake, I shall follow at once…

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh

17 April, Late afternoon.

Zsuzsanna sleeps. So grey and waxen is her skin that were it not for the slight,
rapid rise and fall of her bosom beneath her nightgown, I would deem her days
dead. I sit at her bedside, fighting tears, fighting to be strong for the sake
of Arkady, who will soon come to take his place in this heartrending tableau.
I long for and dread his arrival.

I understand now why he took to keeping a diary after his father's death. I
cannot bear merely sitting by Zsuzsanna's side, awaiting the approach of the
inevitable. Dunya was kind enough to fetch my pen and journal, and so I write.
It dulls the ache, and the fear, though nothing could now erase them.

As soon as my sweet husband is recovered from this fresh grief, I shall convince
him to leave. I do not care if my time comes on a carriage, or a train; my child
will not be born in this accursed house, will not come to know whatever hell
his poor father has endured because of that monster's love.

The legends are all true. I knew it in my heart the instant Vlad pressed his
lips to my hand; knew it, though schooling and reason would not permit me, until
today, to fully believe.

But those things have no power here. In this damned and magical place, only
Evil holds sway. I will fight it with all I know to be the highest Good: the
love between myself and my husband, our love for our child.

He
shall not have them
.

But Zsuzsanna is lost to us.

Oh, if only I could forget the way he looked at my belly at the
pomana
…

I can write no more of this; the pain is too great. Let me try to find peace
in the orderly recounting of the day's events.

Despite the laudanum, I woke early this morning, unable because of last night's
terror to sleep long, though I held a faint hope that perhaps it had been only
a vivid nightmare. Arkady was still sleeping soundly, with his pistol beside
him on the night-table - the first unhappy sign that last night had been no dream.
I rose, went over to the window, and pulled back the curtain to reveal sunlight
glinting off the cracked, pockmarked pane.

It is an omen. I try to convince myself otherwise, but I can no longer deny
what I know.

At the sight, I felt a sudden pain in my belly - not as sharp as I imagine a
birth-pang would be, but more of a rippling ache. I attributed it to indigestion
and distress, and held my side until it passed. It did, swiftly, and I closed
the curtain and dressed, leaving Arkady to sleep.

On my way toward the staircase, I paused at the open door to the next bedroom,
then went inside to stand before the cradle there. Earlier in the week, Dunya
brought it out to clean it. It is solid, polished cherry, a beautiful thing;
Arkady and his father - and who knows how many generations of Tsepesh children - have
lain in it.

The sight of the little cradle, its edges burnished to a dull gloss from the
touch of so many mothers’ hands, brought me to tears. I was bitterly disappointed
because I realised (then - but I will not stay now) that I could probably no longer
travel, and that the child would be born here at the manor. Movement grows more
difficult each day. The baby has dropped lower, and with a mother's instinct
I know my confinement is near its end.

Sadly, I made my waddling way down the stairs to breakfast. I was ravenous
and ate everything Cook put in front of me, but eating provoked more indigestion.
Cook kindly made me a tisane of mint, and I drank it out in the little garden,
where it was sunny and warm. I asked after Dunya, thinking to instruct her to
launder the linens and blankets for the little cradle, but none of the other
servants had yet seen her.

Feeling the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze on my face, listening to
the singing of birds, I felt strengthened enough to give myself a silent talking-to,
for the baby's sake. I knew the poor child sensed his mother's anxiety; it would
not be good for him, or me, to approach the moment of birth with a mind tormented
by visions of wolves and vampires. And so I made a pact with myself to banish
dark thoughts. From that moment on, I was resolved to be cheerful, to spend
my days thinking not about Zsuzsanna or Vlad - that I would entrust to Dunya - but
about the baby's arrival. All this talk of
strigoi
- it had to be nonsense,
and all the strange things I had seen were the result of pregnancy, grief, and
worry over my husband. The wolf who had attacked at my window had no doubt been
rabid, and his green eyes the product of my imagination, which was sorely troubled
by the knowledge of Vlad and Zsuzsanna's illicit romance.