Even by wavering candlelight, I could see his face was transformed. No longer
was he the dull, gloating coachman, but a wild-eyed fury. He lunged like the
wolf who had attacked in the forest the day I had discovered the hidden graves.
I threw up my arms in defense, half believing that he would not harm me - that,
like the wolf, he was simply there to threaten, to discourage, to test.
We staggered backward like hell-bound dancers, his right hand clutching my
left wrist, my left hand clutching the wrist of the hand which reached for my
throat. We stood as close as lovers, so that I could smell his scent: sour sweat,
mixed with the faint odor of faeces and decay.
So we proceeded, our arms trembling mightily in deadlock, his madman's strength
forcing me back, away from the grisly site where Mueller and Jeffries had met
their deaths - until the mortared stones beneath my feet grew uneven, and I lost
my balance and fell.
My back struck the cold stone floor, forcing air from my lungs. I struggled
to rise at once, seeking my attacker's throat and trying in vain to clutch it,
but my left shoulder was pinned fast, evoking the image of the wolf in the forest,
paws upon my shoulders, holding me down but resisting the temptation to kill.
But this human wolf had no such compunctions. My attempt to rise distracted
my strength less than a second - but it was enough. Face contorted in an agony
of effort, teeth bared, he broke my grip and seized my throat.
I cried out - a short, indignant yelp - and grabbed his wrists, fighting for air
that would not come. I feared my battle was lost, that I, too, would suffer
Jeffries and Herr Mueller's post-mortem indignity upon that table.
Yet my cry was followed within two seconds - no more - by an abrupt, ringing explosion
to my right. In my confusion, I thought the revolver had spontaneously discharged,
but when my gaze darted in the direction of the noise, I saw that the inner
chamber door, which now we lay several feet from, had been flung open with force.
V. stood in the doorway, blazing - not with glory but wrath. His dark brows were
knitted together, and his features twisted by a rage terrible to behold. At
the same time he was beautiful, too, in the pitiless, blinding manner of the
sun, of an avenging angel. His hair was entirely jet, save for a few strands
gilt with vermeil, and his skin radiated the blush of eternal, virile youth.
I thought I looked upon myself perfected, redeemed. Our gazes locked, and the
fury in his eyes merged with unspeakable astonishment.
What impudent magic is this? he whispered passionately. Too soon - you are
freed too soon! Do you think to ruin my plans?
I stared at him with blank incomprehension. He narrowed his eyes, seemed to
judge my reaction sincere. As I watched, he came towards us with impossible
swiftness; or rather, he simply
loomed
large within my field of vision,
and without seeming to have moved at all, was suddenly standing beside us.
At the sight of him, my attacker recoiled and knelt like a penitent as I fell
back, gasping, against the floor. I fingered my throbbing neck and finally managed
to sit while Laszlo wept:
Do not be angry,
Domnia
fez! He tried to kill me -
V. spoke again, and his voice, though soft, sounded in the silent chamber like
thunder, like the wind and crashing cymbals, like the voice of God.
Then you should have let him.
The prince parted thumb and forefinger of one hand to form a vee and swooped
down to catch the soft part of Laszlo's neck therewith. With a muscular arm,
he lifted the quivering coachman - high, higher, until Laszlo's feet dangled inches
above the floor and his purple, gasping face hovered a foot above Vlad's own.
Death is all you deserve! V. hissed, with eyes that shone like dazzling green
stars. When you first came to me, did I not make you swear above all else that
you were never to harm him? Never to cast so much as an untoward glance at my
family, and least of all,
him?
Did I not? Did I
not?.
I have allowed you everything you desire, and still you disobey! This I will
never forgive! He shook the gagging man like a puppet; Laszlo kicked the air,
struggling vainly to breathe, to protest as V. closed his hand around his throat.
In the echoing stillness of the great chamber, I heard the wheezing sound of
air being forced from a windpipe, of bone and cartilage grinding together.
No! I shouted hoarsely. Stop!
I lunged. He glanced at me and raised his free hand - merely raised it, and
flicked it as though he were dismissing a housefly - to send me hurtling backwards
across the room.
My shoulders and back struck the table where Herr Mueller's corpse lay, knocking
the wind from my lungs. For seconds I lay stunned, unable to draw a breath;
in the silence, I heard the dying man gag, then begin to gurgle, drowning as
the pressure broke blood vessels in his throat.
I came to myself and scrabbled across the floor, searching vainly in the darkness
for the lost gun, knowing the weapon would be useless against V.; yet I could
not sit idly by and watch a man, however twisted and evil, be murdered.
At last came a sound of abrupt, strangled finality which sounded more catlike
than human. I glanced up to see Laszlo swaying as he dangled from V.s hand
with the same eerily lifeless movement I had witnessed in Herr Mueller; his
pale eyes bulged from an apoplectically red face, and his tongue thrust forth
from an opened mouth. At his neck, V.s fingers dug so deeply into the flesh
I was surprised it had not torn.
I crawled away from this vision on my hands and knees, and did not turn to
look behind me at the sound of the body being dropped against the stone. I wanted
only to flee myself, to find shelter from awareness; to join Laszlo in the mindless
dark. I continued until I collapsed in the open doorway to the inner chamber
and lay my cheek against the cold stone, exhausted by the struggle, drawn to
the dark. Yet as I turned my head to lay it down, I glimpsed more radiant white
within, partially eclipsed by a foyer. Curiosity made me straighten, and crane
forward, struggling to see beyond the corner of the entryway.
Another flash of white, accompanied by a woman's soft moans. I thought at once
of my poor Mary, and my heart began beating rapidly. I grasped the lintel, pulled
myself onto unsteady legs, and entered, my heart full of dread. The room opened
to my left, on which side the wall jutted out a few feet, to prevent those outside
the door from seeing in when it was opened. I moved forward only far enough
to take in the entire room, and there I remained.
It was perhaps a third as large as the outer chamber, windowless and airless,
with the same faint smell of stone, earth, and decay as the family tomb. It
was darker than the outer room, so I could just distinguish the shapes of two
coffins, side by side, in front of me. Both were black, and the larger one was
draped with a banner bearing the same dragon emblem as the Impaler's shield.
Nearby, at the smaller coffin's head, awaited yet another startling combination
of flesh for my eyes to decipher.
In the foreground stood a creature with a schoolgirl's face and a woman's blooming
body whom I knew was Herr Mueller's child-bride. She was half-naked, her dress
unbuttoned and rolled down to her waist, her head tilted to one side so that
long, brunette curls - much like the curls of the china doll - cascaded down over
one seashell-pink shoulder and breast. But even her perfect porcelain skin seemed
dull in comparison to the radiant white flesh of the woman who stood behind
her.
My sister, brilliantly lovely in her grave cerements, just as she had appeared
to me earlier in the family tomb. Zsuzsanna had fastened her lips upon that
incarnadine neck to suck gently there, steadying herself by one hand clasped
about the bride's waist, the other cupped beneath her full breast. A strand
of Zsuzsa's hair, black with a dull blue sheen, had slipped forward and fallen
from the place she drank down the woman's torso to her waist, like a trail of
darkened blood.
And behind my sister, against the wall, stood a waist-high altar, draped in
black, upon which burned a single black candle which illumined the items thereon:
the golden chalice, the silver dagger with the inscribed black hilt, and a stone
pentacle, ill-dignified.
Frau Mueller's expression was slack, and her primrose lips parted with a dreamer's
sensuality; she arched her back against Zsuzsa and released small sighs that
seemed inspired as much by ecstasy as pain.
I released a sound, too; a loud gasp, at which my sister's eyes flew open at
once. The girl cried out and struggled, this time in unmistakable fear and pain - but
feebly, still entranced, eyes still closed. Zsuzsanna fanned her hand over the
girl's breast and pressed her tightly to her, as though anticipating a struggle,
and looked up in my direction.
Crimson dripped from my sister's lips, stained her teeth and tongue. Blood
welled from the two small wounds on the girl's neck. One tiny red river trickled
down onto her breast, onto her seducer's hand; the other braided itself into
the stray lock of Zsuzsanna's hair.
My sister blinked at me with burnished brown-gold eyes, eyes that were blank
and feral, the eyes of a lioness interrupted while feeding on the kill. She
did not know me, for there was no sign of emotion or recognition in them; but
she must have judged me harmless, for she went back to her prey almost at once.
I watched as she bared inhumanly sharp teeth; watched as they sank into tender
flesh and widened the wounds. The girl cried out sharply and struggled, at which
Zsuzsanna swiftly fastened her lips upon the wounds and began to suck.
The girl at once fell still.
I would have thrown myself upon them and tried to free the girl, but I had
already felt the vampire's strength. I turned, thinking to fetch a weapon from
the outer room, but a hand upon my shoulder stopped me.
Arkady.
I looked up. V. stood before me, no longer the radiant avenging angel, but
an utterly human creature that spoke to me with my father's voice, gazed at
me with my father's eyes, held my father's Colt in his right hand.
Without thought, I snatched it from him and hurried towards my sister, whose
lips were still pressed to the neck of the girl in her arms. I stepped beside
them, pressed the cold metal barrel of the revolver against my sister's neck,
careful to angle it so that the girl was not threatened, and begged, Zsuzsa - stop!
Zsuzsa's eyes had been closed in focused ecstasy as she drank; now she did
not cease her drinking, but growled deep in her throat and lifted her lids enough
to look at me from the corner of her eyes. And in her satiated, slightly drunken
gaze, I saw no fear.
Stop! For the love of God, stop! I shouted, but I knew she would not, just
as I suspected that what I was about to do was useless, yet I did it nevertheless.
I squeezed the trigger. The weapon discharged; I stumbled backwards at its
report and coughed as a puff of sulfur smoke stung my throat, nose, eyes.
Zsuzsa staggered, her blood-smeared face raised, her lovely features contorted,
her sharp pearl teeth champing with rage. Still she held on to her victim. As
the smoke cleared, a blackened, gaping tear in her neck became visible, and
began to spurt bright, fresh blood which I knew was not her own.
Then she steadied; and as I watched, astounded, the wound ceased its bleeding,
and began
to close itself.
Within seconds, it was entirely healed,
and only the shadow of gunpowder remained as evidence of the insult. Zsuzsa
bowed her head once again, entirely unafraid of me, and pressed her lips again
to the girl's throat.
I threw myself upon her and tried to pull the girl away, knowing it was hopeless.
And my sister - my small, frail sister, once crippled and so feeble she could
scarcely walk down the manor steps to greet me - balanced her victim in one arm
and with the other struck me.
The strength of that blow propelled me across the room and into the wall; the
gun clattered to the floor. Somehow I managed to stay on my feet, and sagged,
with a low cry of defeat, against the cold stone.
There was nothing I could do to save the poor girl's life; nothing I could
do except watch, sobbing silently, as Zsuzsa drank. Frau Mueller's approaching
death seemed to fill my sister with increasing excitement and abandon, and she
began to drink more greedily, in loud, frenzied gulps, until at last the girl
gave a long, weak groan, and fell. Zsuzsa caught her, wrapping her arms about
the girl's waist, and lifting her as easily as a mother might an infant, held
her in her arms and continued to drink until Frau Mueller released a long, rattling
sigh.
V., who had been watching with solemn approval, stepped forward, and, taking
the girl from Zsuzsa's grasp, said: Enough! It is over. More is not good, not
when she is dead.
And panting Zsuzsa, her lips dripping blood, seemed to accept this. Lazily,
like an animal who has fed well and then goes to lie in the sun, she closed
her eyes with contentment and sank down onto the stone floor in front of the
altar to rest.
Carrying the girl's milk-white body in his arms, V. turned to me and said,
Come.
My wife! I demanded, sick at heart to think that she might have suffered
a fate similar to Frau Muellers. What have you done to my wife?
Come, V. commanded, in a tone that said if I wished ever to see Mary again,
I must obey at once.
He moved through the doorway. I picked up Father's revolver and followed, past
the motionless heap that remained of Laszlo, to the theatre of death and the
butcher's table, where V. laid Frau Mueller's corpse beside that of her husband.
He looked up at me and paused; at once I repeated, My wife! Where is Mary?
Tell me at once! Uselessly, I brandished the revolver.