Covenant With the Vampire (36 page)

I lifted my head, my heartbeat quickening as another, more powerful revelation
presented itself. “And if I die uncorrupted… ?”

“He would be destroyed.”

“Zsuzsa!” Forgetful of the crucifix, I seized her hand; she drew back with
a small cry of pain. “Zsuzsa, you must promise me, then, that you will explain
everything to Mary and see to it that she and the child are well - ” I reached
for Father's revolver, hidden beneath my waistcoat.

She threw out her arm to stop me, wincing as our flesh touched. “No! It must
be an innocent death, Kasha. If you die by your own hand, or with your complicity,
your soul is forfeit, and the covenant upheld.”

I knelt before her. “Then kill me!”

She averted her face and stared for a moment at the sunlight dappling the forest
before she whispered, “This life is grotesque… yet too beautifully strange for
me to abandon, Brother. I have powers, abilities, beauty I never dreamed of
in my pathetic little human life. Do not ask me to surrender it so soon…”

“Zsuzsa, I don’t understand…”

She drew in a breath and turned back towards me, her perfect features marred,
twisted by inner turmoil. “If you destroy Vlad, you destroy me.”

I looked into her eyes and knew then that she still loved V. as much as she
hated him; that I would get from her no help beyond that she had already offered.
Indeed, I saw in those eyes the dawning of regret.

Abruptly, she added, “Flee, Kasha. Flee. Stay alive, for the baby's sake, and
see it is taken far from here. Because the moment it is born, Vlad will tie
it to him with the blood ritual… unless you prevent him.”

And she disappeared. Not subtly, not gradually, backing into the shadows, but
as abruptly as my brother's small spectre had vanished before my eyes in the
forest. One moment I stared at the image of my radiantly lovely sister; the
next, at the grey morning and the tall, distant shapes of trees.

I did not linger, but went back inside the castle, located the pain-relieving
herb Dunya had requested, and delivered it into her hands.

Mary's torment is constant now; surely the child will be born soon. I can no
longer bear to wait, writing and listening to her suffering.

I must take action.

The Diary of Arkady Dracul

Date unknown.

Night. Eternity has passed since last I wrote in this journal; but let me begin
at the moment I left off.

Mary's cries grew so desperate that I ran into the room to comfort her, dropping
the diary upon the night-table beside the bed. When they subsided I did not
remain, but took my place again in the hallway, waiting until I was certain
both women were too distracted to notice my departure; and then I slipped silently
down the dark, claustrophobic corridor, past the stone entry, back into V.“s
outer chamber, which housed the throne and the theatre of death.

I had already passed through the room twice that morning, each time hurriedly,
with eyes averted. This time, I entered and carefully noted my surroundings.

The air seemed stale, lifeless, heavy with death and the sorrows endured there.
To my left, the great throne sat unoccupied; before me, the velvet curtain was
still pulled back to reveal the strappado and other implements of torture. The
cleaver which Laszlo had hurled had been carefully replaced in the carving-block
with the other tools of the butcher's trade.

I walked behind the table on which Herr Mueller had lain and pulled the largest,
thickest blade from the block, then chose a short, sharpened stake and the heavy
mallet. Thus armed, I headed for the innermost sanctum. That door stood slightly
ajar as well. I nudged it with the toe of my boot, and heard it swing open with
a groan like that of a dying man.

I was surprised that V. trusted me enough to leave the door unbarred; I thought
of Zsuzsa speaking indignantly of his arrogance. He had let her glimpse his
heartlessness, yet his egotism could not permit him to believe she would not
still adore him. Was he so foolishly sure of my love, as well, that he feared
no betrayal?

I entered. Again, the smell of dust and faint decay. I moved immediately to
the larger of the two caskets, set Laszlo's knife silently on the floor, and,
with stake and mallet in one hand, opened the coffin's lid with the other.

It lifted easily, without resistance, and in the instant it rose, my heart
momentarily ceased its beating in response to the purest, coldest wave of fear
I have ever known. Yet it was oddly exhilarating, like standing in the breaking
waves of an arctic sea, and I knew in that instant I would not shrink from my
task.

I pushed the lid fully back, and peered in the dimness at the scarlet lining,
worn and showing the clear impressions made over countless years by the weight
of head and torso upon the fabric.

Empty.

A man's distant voice, unfamiliar and oddly accented, broke the stillness.

“Hallo-o-o!”

The sound so startled me the mallet and stake dropped from my hand and clattered
against stone. My heart pounded furiously; had Zsuzsanna regretted her confession,
and, realising that she and V. might soon be destroyed, gone at once to warn
him?

I hurried into the outer chamber, scarcely seeing the unveiled theatre of death.

“Hallo-o-o!”

The call grew louder, more insistent; with a start, I realised it echoed off
the interior walls of the level below. A stranger had entered the castle.

I directed an agonised glance at the entryway that led to my wife's genteel
prison, from which her cries issued unceasing. I had no desire to leave her
in Dunya“s untrustworthy company, especially now that I was uncertain of V.”s
whereabouts; nor could I ignore the stranger's summons - for I knew, with unhappy
certainty, who called.

I hurried from the chamber and dashed down the spiraling staircase. Near the
main entryway, I chanced upon the stranger, who had just begun to climb the
stairs. We stopped several steps apart, I above and he below, to study each
other.

He was a tall, heavy-set bespectacled man with fair, thinning hair, a florid
complexion that showed beneath his goatee and moustache, and light-coloured
eyes. From his dress I took him to be well educated and from the upper classes;
from his demeanour, I took him to be thoughtful and steady. At the sight of
me, he recoiled, almost losing his balance on the stairs - then recovered with
a nervous smile and said, in strangely accented German:

“Forgive me for arriving unannounced, but I have my own carriage and wished
to arrive as soon as possible.”

For a moment, my wits left me; I did not speak. My expression must have alarmed
him, for he asked hesitantly, “This is the castle of the prince, Vlad Dracula,
yes?”

“Yes,” I said, when at last my mind returned. “Yes, it is, but you must leave
swiftly, sir - at once!”

His pale eyebrows met in a furrow above his spectacles as he gazed up at me;
with mild indignance, he straightened. “But I am Erwin Kohl, his invited guest!
Surely he must have spoken to someone of my arrival - ”

“Indeed, sir,” I replied, more cordially as I regained my poise. “And we are
sorry that no one was able to meet you at Bistritz, for the very reason you
must now leave: There is illness in the castle. Terrible illness.”

Still frowning, Kohl narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as he scrutinised
my face; I knew at once from the kind intelligence in his eyes and expression
that this was a man of keen perception.

I also knew that he sensed I was lying.

He lifted an eyebrow; beneath his disbelief, I saw a glimmer of concern. “Who
is ill? Perhaps I can help…”

“Everyone,” I said, descending a step towards him, “except myself.”

“It might explain the absence of servants,” he whispered to himself, then said
aloud to me, “And the prince… He is ill, too?”

“The prince is most afflicted of all.” I advanced another step closer; my tone
grew strident. “Sir, many have died! For your own safety, I must ask you to
leave at once!”

I uttered those words with genuine panic and frustration, for I meant them
utterly, and I believe he knew it. He should have reacted with fear and departed
with alacrity, but to my dismay, he straightened and stood his ground, then
set his jaw, tilted his chin slightly upwards, and in those subtle, stubborn
gestures, I saw my defeat.

He was determined to remain - for a reason I could not fathom.

“It does not matter. Let me see the prince.” His voice was velvet over stone:
soft on the surface, flint-hard beneath.

“No. You must leave
now.”
I quickly descended the remaining steps
towards him and took him by the shoulders, thinking to turn him around and lead
him down the staircase and out the castle. But he was a larger man than I, and
resisted. We scuffled clumsily, halfheartedly - both of us clearly neither men
of violence - with the outcome that he stood two steps above me, holding a pistol
in his steady hand.

“Take me to the prince,” he said again, and aimed the weapon carefully at my
forehead.

I gazed up into his eyes. They were pale blue, rational, the eyes of a compassionate
man. I did not judge him capable of cruelty; yet he seemed to have reached a
level of desperation that matched my own.

I sat down on the step, put my elbows on my knees and my hands to my eyes and
laughed until tears came, thinking,
Now he will shoot me, and the covenant
will be broken and my family saved.

The alleged Mister Kohl did not fire, but stood quietly in the face of my hysterical
mirth, perhaps as surprised by my reaction as I had been by his.

I glanced up and demanded with faint irritation, “Well, kill me then, and be
done with it.” I fell silent, then, realising that urging my own death might
constitute suicide, and fulfill Vlad“s pact.

With a quizzical expression, the stranger asked, “Who are you?”

“Arkady Tsepesh, his great-nephew.” I laughed again, a sharp, humourless bark.
“Or rather, his great-great-great-great-grandson, many more times removed.”

“You must take me to him.”

Once more, I tried to laugh; it emerged a sob. “Would that I could; he has
hidden himself.” I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper. “He is a murderer -
worse than a murderer. That is why you must leave at once! Please… I beg you!
Go! You are not safe!”

Behind his spectacles, Kohl's eyes widened with amazement; that emotion soon
gave way to trust. Yet he remained, stubborn and immovable upon the stairs,
with the revolver still pointed at my head. “I believe you,” he said calmly.
“And I have no wish to harm
you.
But I must insist - ”

“Domnule! Domnule!”

Dunya hurried shrieking down the stairs, dark hair streaming from beneath her
scarf, bright red smeared upon her linen apron. So agitated was she that she
failed to react to the odd tableau of Kohl standing with pistol aimed at me
as I crouched two steps below. In German, the language she shared with her mistress
and had no doubt been speaking all the past night and morning, she cried, “Come
and help! The child is turned and I cannot move it! She is bleeding - ! I am afraid
they both will die!”

The tears and panic in her eyes were genuine. Without a thought for the gun
barrel pointed at my forehead, I rose and pushed my way past Kohl; V. and all
the demons of Hell could not have held me. Dunya and I ran up the stairs, through
the inner chamber, back to the elegant prison, to Mary's side.

The bed linens were stained crimson, and my wife swooning and so frightfully
pale I deemed her dead until she stirred and groaned. I sank to my knees beside
her and took her cold hand. She was in such blind misery that she did not recognise
me, and I was in such misery of my own - helpless as I looked upon my grey-lipped
wife - I gave no thought to the stranger, did not realise that he had followed,
until I heard his voice behind me saying to Dunya: “Keep her warm, and press
there.
I shall return at once.”

Even then, I listened to his words but did not truly hear them. Dunya unquestioningly
obeyed the stranger's orders, sobbing softly as, for the first time in my life,
I prayed. I am not sure whether I prayed to Mary, my father, or God, or some
abstract Good; but I know that the utter desperation of my heart rent the veil
between this world and the world unseen, and allowed me to reach through and
touch the hem of Something - a force - very real, very alive.

I offered my life, my soul, if only my wife might survive at this moment, if
only my child might be spared his father's fate. I prayed there might be Good
in the world, that It might be strong enough to conquer the Evil that had ruled
my family; I prayed the blood legacy might end with me.

So absorbed was my soul in its petition that I never noticed the stranger's
departure or return. I only know that at last a large, looming shadow fell over
Mary's pale face; I glanced up, fearing V… and instead saw the stranger, standing
like a great blond bear at the foot of the bed, his jacket gone, his shirtsleeves
rolled above his elbows. Dunya had kept candles burning in the windowless room;
tiny flames danced, reflected in his spectacles.

“I did not mention in my letter I am a physician,” said he, setting a large
black doctor's bag upon the bed. “I can perhaps help.” He bent low, and with
a discreet manipulation of the sheets, examined my wife by touch. “So. It is
true, the babe is turned. But we shall right him…”

He set to work. It happened soon after: Mary's piercing cry, followed swiftly
by the child’s, and then the stranger held up in his huge hands my slick and
bloodied child.

“A son,” he announced, and we grinned at each other with unrestrained delight,
as though we were not strangers, but old, dear friends sharing in this joy;
as though he had not minutes before held a pistol to my skull.