Bloodline (11 page)

“While you were ill, Lily told me of a maid she had hired who fainted dead away. The longer she worked at Carfax Hall, the paler and paler she grew.” My stomach tightened as I deduced the truth of the situation. “Harker must have been feeding from her instead of Lily.”

“So she
was
safe. But what about
now?”
John asked. “Is Harker draining Lily’s blood right now?”

I considered the possibility, then shook my head. “I do not think Quincey would touch her while they travel. The resulting
lethargy would make her a burdensome travelling companion.”

“Yes.” John sighed with relief. “Of course, you’re right.” He rubbed his tired eyes, worsening the dark circles around them. He hung his head in his hands.

“Perhaps you should rest, my love,” I suggested. “We will need our strength for the voyage … and whatever lies ahead.”

“You are right again,” he said, standing up slowly. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “You must retire too, darling. I shall need you to give me courage for the long road before us.”

I nodded my agreement. John took his leave and went to his room across the hall.

L
ATER

I undressed and tried to sleep, but I could not find slumber. Father’s papers called out to me. I needed to learn all I could.

I returned to the chair by the fire and continued reading the notes on Lucy Westenra. I was shocked to learn that they did not end with her death. Through Dracula’s repeated draining of her blood, Lucy became a demon just like Dracula himself.

Despite Father’s belief that Lucy was gone and buried, Lucy roamed the night in her white gown. She called to children in her sweet voice and when they left the safety of their bedrooms and came to her, she drank of their blood.

I felt utterly repulsed. How a good and pure woman had transformed into such an evil creature was beyond my
imagination. I would not allow Lily to meet such a fate.

Then another image came to me. Lily sleepwalking, trancelike, her white nightgown flowing, the very evening before Harker made his presence known in Purfleet.

Harker could not have intended to harm Lily then; he’d had endless other opportunities in the weeks that followed. I decided he must have lured Lily from her bed that night simply to get a look at his prey, toying with his powers as a cat does with a mouse.

Why would Harker restrain himself? Is he preserving Lily for some darker purpose … something we all have yet to imagine?

Journal of
Lily Shaw

6TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

We are aboard the
Alexandru.
The cabin I share with Antanasia is painted grey, lined with rivets and stained with the grime of a hundred sea voyages. It is most gloomy, but I care not a jot. I feel like a princess travelling on a liner—because my darling Quincey is with me. He is truly a fine and honourable man, and I am privileged to be his betrothed.

The day after our encounter in the storm, Quincey came to me. I felt quite tired and drained after such a wild night and so relaxed in my bed. Antanasia was in the sitting room, packing for our voyage, when Quincy entered.

He regarded me silently.

In that moment, I worried. With the perspective of a new day, what he would think of me? Would he think me cheap for giving in to my desire?

He walked to my bed and stood formally beside me. “Lily,” he began. “I come to see how you fare.”

I reached for his hand and he moved a pace away, ensuring that I could not get hold of him. I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes. After a night of passion, was my lover now shunning me? “Quincey.” I gulped out the words. “I am so sorry. In my mind, I am already your bride and yours forever.”

He knelt beside me then. “Poor, sweet child. You are still so innocent.” He gently smoothed back my hair with his strong hand. “It is true, we are bound to each other, but you are not yet my bride. I promise you now I will do my best to respect your honour until we are truly married—at my father’s house—for all eternity.”

He left me then and all my fears were dispelled.

Since that time he has been most tender and caring to me. Proof that his heart is true. When I long for Quincey’s touch, I will remember our night of passion by touching the memento of it that I hide from Antanasia.

It is a small love bite—no bigger than two pinpricks on my neck.

We set sail not long after, and I shall count the seconds until I am Quincey Harker’s bride!

L
ATER

Antanasia has pinned up her embroidered shawl to cover the dull wall beside my bunk. “That should feel more homely.” She smiled.

For a moment, I wondered at how permissive she has been—and how easily she had accepted my decision to elope with Quincey. When we were children, she was always so stern.

Perhaps she has a soul sensitive enough to appreciate the love Quincey and I hold for each other. As someone who cares for me, she must value it as I do—as a precious gift it would be foolish to throw away.

There was a tap on the cabin door. “Come in,” I called.

My heart soared as Quincey entered. I was as excited as if we had not seen each other in days, though it had only been an hour since we’d dined with the captain.

I had understood precious little of the captain’s conversation over dinner. He and Quincey had spoken entirely in Romanian, and I had not held a conversation in the language since I was a small child. However, I’d sensed a tension in the
old sailor. And now it would appear that it was because of Antanasia and me!

“I am sorry, ladies, but you must keep to your cabin,” Quincey informed us.

“Really?” I asked Quincey, surprised. “Why? Have we offended the captain in some way?”

Quincey shook his head. “No, Lily,” he said. “It is nothing that you have done. But you see, sailors believe it is bad luck to have women on board.”

“Bad luck?” I echoed, mystified.

“It is an old-fashioned superstition, but one they seem attached to,” Quincey explained. “The captain says that seeing you has unnerved his crew, so you must stay out of sight from now on.” He glanced around the room. “I shall go and see what I can find to make the cabin more comfortable for you. Do not trouble yourself with anything on deck. I will deal with the crew.”

Captain’s Log
The Alexandru

9TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

We are only a few days at sea, yet two of my men have fallen ill. They are pale and move about the decks as if there is no
life in them. I have ordered them to forgo their measures of rum until they recover.

Damn! This is nothing but bad luck, brought upon us by these women in our ship. At least the Englishman has paid a hefty fee for their passage. I only hope our passage will be a swift one. I am anxious to be rid of these passengers once and for all.

Journal of
Mary Seward

7TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

The
Katwyk
carries us away from England’s familiar shores. Our cabins are basic, but dry and warm enough. The sailors look at me warily. Women on board are supposed to be unlucky, but Captain Volkersen told me he will not pander to such superstitious nonsense, so I ignore their hostile glances.

Captain Volkersen has invited us to sup at his table. He is a friendly man, but we dare not share with him the truth of our mission. We shall save such talk for when we are alone and sit together reading Father’s notes.

L
ATER

The cheerful talk at the supper table with Captain Volkersen eased my heart—perhaps too much, for when John and I
returned to our cabin to read more of Jonathan Harker’s journal, we were not prepared for the horrors we were to read of Count Dracula….

These horrible creatures preyed upon infants! They would care not a bit about Lily’s gentle nature—her innocence.

How could Father have lived with these horrors etched in his heart and never betrayed it? If he helped vanquish such evils as this, then I love and admire him more than ever.

I passed the page to John, and as he read it, I saw him pale. “I thought I had witnessed every cruelty imaginable when I fought in the trenches,” he whispered, “but to think there are even worse deeds in the world chills my very soul.”

He must have been thinking of his dear Lily, though we dare not speak her name for fear of awakening imaginings
too horrible to bear. The poor girl surely has no idea of the haven to depravity she travels toward.

I know I shall not sleep tonight.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

9TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I write now at a little table Quincey has managed to procure for me. I have no idea how he has found such things, but my cabin has been transformed into a cosy hideaway, draped with rich cloth and with rugs upon the floor and lanterns hanging at every side. To me, it is like the bedchamber of a queen and all the dreary dampness has been banished. Even the porthole is covered so that I would not know I am on board a ship if it were not for the steady rocking of the floor beneath my chair.

My only small disappointment is that I cannot find the hand mirror that I packed. I have not seen my reflection in days. I fear I look a fright! But the mirror seems to have disappeared—and neither Antanasia nor Quincey has one either. I asked Quincey if we might borrow one. But he told me there are none to be found on board.

“Sailors rarely worry about their appearance,” he joked.

In these past days we have slipped into a habit of sleeping by day and wakening at night, the three of us cocooned in this strange all-at-sea world, so far from the cares of the real world. Quincey and I talk, while Antanasia sits quietly sewing in the corner.

It is as if Quincey has replaced the sun in my universe and it is around him that I spin and from him that I take my warmth.

My one link with the outside world is a smallish grate above the door, through which I can hear the creaking and groaning of the ship’s deck, the crash of the waves, and sailors’ voices. They sound like a rough lot, and I am glad not to have to bother myself with them.

Captain’s Log
The Alexandru

11TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

My two ill sailors have perished and now two more appear wan and lifeless. I am beginning to fear there is something unwholesome about our passengers.

I shall instruct the crew to be wary, to hang garlic, and to
protect themselves in whatever ways necessary. We must pray the tides are with us. For the faster we make port, the sooner we are all out of danger.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

11TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

It was stupid of me to go up on deck after Quincey’s warning, but I could not sleep and longed for some fresh, cool air. Antanasia was still slumbering.

I supposed it must be nearing dusk. Even if I was too late to catch the sun, I might see the stars. I would not invite trouble by venturing far.

I climbed the iron steps to the empty deck and emerged into the half-light. At the rail I leaned forward and stared out at the horizon, watching the stars beginning to appear in the vast dark sky above the sea’s inky surface.

I thought the footsteps behind me must be Quincey’s and prepared to beg his forgiveness with a kiss, smiling to myself as I anticipated the feel of his strong warm arms around me.

But then I caught the acrid tang of garlic—something I’d never smelled on Quincey.

I turned quickly and came face-to-face with one of the crew. His lined face was reddened with weather and rum, and his lustful expression made me stiffen in fear. I gripped the rail, feeling it smooth against my back, and started to slide away from him.

But the sailor followed, pushing against me until I was hard against the rail, leaning out over the ocean. I could sense the waves below me, speeding beside the hull. I longed to scream, but he lifted a rough finger to my lips.

“Hush, pretty one …” His thickened voice breathed in my ear. My rusty Romanian was no match for the rest of his words, but the menace in his tone terrified me. I wondered the hammering of my heart did not awaken the whole boat.

He let his finger move from my lips and reach for the edge of my bodice. I gasped, feeling the jagged coarseness of his nail against my flesh, and saw the sailor smile as my breast heaved beneath his hand.

I closed my eyes in terror and heard my gown rip as he roughly tore the bodice apart. The world seemed to swim inside my head and my knees began to buckle beneath me.

Then a wild shriek sounded out. The shock of it startled me into wakefulness and I opened my eyes to see Antanasia throw herself at the sailor, hitting and spitting like a wildcat, her face creased with fury.

The sailor cursed and staggered backward. Antanasia rushed at him again, hate blazing in her eyes. She hit him over and over with the vigour of one possessed! The sailor
dropped to his knees, covering his head and still cursing her.

And then I heard more footsteps. I felt strong arms around my waist, sweeping me up with a gentleness I recognised at once. Quincey’s sweet voice sounded in my ear. “Lily, Lily! Are you all right?”

I clung to him, cold with shock, trembling in terror as he carried me back to the safety of my cabin.

The next thing I knew, I was back on my bed, Quincey sitting at my side, feeding me Antanasia’s reviving sweet tea. He stared at me so intensely I feared he was angry I had disobeyed him. I looked at him from beneath my lashes, humble and penitent. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I only wanted the air.”

But there was no reproach in his eyes, only concern. He put down the tea and leaned close to me and softly kissed my hair. “There is no need for an innocent like you ever to be sorry,” he murmured.

Journal of
Mary Seward

9TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I made more chilling discoveries today as I progressed with Father’s diary. John and I sat reading by the light of a lamp
swaying from the cabin ceiling, its yellow glow illuminating the pages.

“Look at this, my love,” John said. He gave me the page he had been reading. “It records how they destroyed Lucy Westenra after she had become vampire….”

I braced myself for new horrors and then began to scan the words. They were Father’s:

I threw the paper onto the bunk, aghast at what lay ahead of us. So that was what the wooden stakes in Van Helsing’s bag were for.

With trembling hands I opened the bag and drew out one of the stakes. I ran my fingers, damp with fear, along its smooth shaft to the sharpened tip. With this cruel weapon we must destroy Harker.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

12TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

Both Antanasia and I drifted to sleep but were awoken before dawn by raised voices up on deck, filtering down to us through the grate in our door.

I heard feet running on the deck and more shouting but could make no sense of it. I pulled the bedding up around me and sat huddled, fearful of what further aggression might be occurring.

“What do you think is going on?” I asked Antanasia, who
had decided to brew tea on the stove in the corner of our cabin.

She shrugged. “Who knows what trouble those sailors have got themselves into?” she said disdainfully.

The door opened just then, and Quincey stepped into the room. “How are you, my love?” he asked, coming at once to my side and taking my hand.

I kissed him on the cheek. “Much better, thank you.” I smiled to reassure him he had no reason to worry. The nightmare of a few hours ago was beginning to fade, and remembering Quincey’s strong arms carrying me away from it only strengthened my feeling of safety in his care. “But what of the commotion up on deck?” I asked him.

“One of the sailors drank too much and had an accident,” Quincey explained gravely.

“What happened?” I asked.

Quincey shook his head. “He must have taken a fall on deck. When they discovered him, it was determined that he had snapped his neck.”

“Oh, the poor soul!” I gasped.

“Poor fool, more like, for wandering around a ship too drunk to walk straight,” Antanasia put in. “Captains are always too liberal with the rum ration.”

But my heart tightened with grief for the dead man. I felt my eyes fill with tears.

Quincey took a handkerchief from his pocket and
dabbed my cheeks. “Do not waste your pity on him, Lily,” he said quietly. “It was the brute who attempted to molest you.”

His words afflicted my heart even further. For I found that a part of me was glad! I took Quincey’s handkerchief and began to sob.

“There, there …” he said, stroking my tearstained cheek. “What a time you’ve had. We reach Varna in just days. Do not worry, poor sweet creature. Your ordeal will be over soon.”

Journal of
Mary Seward

13TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I could only pace my cabin this morning, unable to read anymore, anxious to be away from this ship and on our way, frustrated by the slow pace of the voyage. John read on, however, his concentration not wavering as he neared the end of the documents.

“Look,” he said. “The final page.” He held it up for me to see. The paper, though still yellowed, did not seem quite so old and worn as the others. “Jonathan Harker added this note seven years after Dracula was destroyed.”

I looked at John. We’d read of the brave American, Quincey P. Morris of Texas, who’d died heroically in the defeat of Dracula. But it wasn’t Quincey Morris’s spirit that had passed to the child…. I shuddered and read on.

“Poor Jonathan.” I sighed. “Tepes might well have been in residence then. But why would they return to a place of such dreadful memories?”

“Because Tepes
was
there,” John said slowly. “He already held sway over Mina Harker. Perhaps he wanted to see his son.”

I lowered my eyes to read the rest of the note. Its ending was chilling:

I thought sadly of how mistaken they were about Mina. She had already been lost to them—like the boy Quincey.

I pray Lily will not follow in Mina’s footsteps.

Now that we have finished reading all of Father’s notes, we understand the articles contained in Van Helsing’s bag. We must find replacements for the perished garlic—though from where, at this time of year, I do not know. Holy wafers should be easier to procure. We can only hope that together, all these will provide protection enough to save us from the horrors that await us.